The Code

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It started as a favor. Just a casual evening, the apartment filled with the scent of jasmine tea and the low hum of computer fans. Lila, my best friend and roommate, waved me over from her chaotic workstation. She wore that mischievous grin that always meant she had been up to something.
“I finally got the sensory calibration working,” she said, holding up what looked like a sleek, midnight-black headset. “Want to try it?”
I hesitated for only a moment. We’d talked about her VR project for months. It was her dream, her obsession, and I was endlessly curious. So I set down my mug, brushed a curl behind my ear, and took the headset from her.
The moment I put it on, the apartment disappeared.
I was standing on a weathered boardwalk that overlooked a vast, endless sea. Waves crashed below, and the wind kissed my cheeks. I could feel it. Smell the salt. The realism was dizzying. I turned in a slow circle, marveling at the shops tucked along the street, the distant call of gulls, the warmth of the setting sun on my skin.
Lila’s voice buzzed in my ear, her real voice filtered through the VR interface. “Pretty wild, right? I’m going to add more places soon. Maybe some shops, interactions. I’ve been coding a barbershop next.”
A barbershop? I laughed, but I didn’t question it. Lila’s ideas were always a little out there.
That was two nights ago.
Tonight, I was alone in our apartment. Lila was out late at some developer meetup. The headset sat on the coffee table, practically begging me to use it. I bit my lip, debating, then scooped it up and settled into the couch.
Just one more peek, I told myself.
As soon as the headset activated, I was back on the boardwalk. The sun had shifted lower, painting the clouds with streaks of gold and lavender. The sea breeze ruffled my hair and teased the hem of my dress. I glanced around, and that was when I saw it.
The barbershop.
It hadn’t been there last time. The exterior was quaint, all glass windows and a striped pole turning slowly near the door. Curious, I stepped inside.
The bell jingled above me, and the world changed.
Warm wood floors creaked underfoot. The air smelled of talcum, old leather, and something faintly citrus. Soft music played from an old radio in the corner, and behind the counter stood a woman.
She was stunning. Tall, curvy, with ginger curls piled messily atop her head. Her green eyes locked onto mine, and her full lips curved into a knowing smile.
“Welcome,” she said, her voice rich and velvety. “Would you like a head shave?”
The words made my stomach flutter. I blinked, heat rising to my cheeks. “Are there other styles?”
She tilted her head. “Not yet. I’m still waiting on the upload.”
Still. The simulation felt so real, and I was here now, heart pounding, curiosity burning.
“Okay,” I said. My voice sounded smaller than I expected. “Let’s do it.”
She gestured to the old-fashioned barber chair. I hesitated for just a second before sliding into it. The leather was worn and warm beneath me. The cape was draped over my shoulders and fastened snugly at my neck.
My heart beat faster.
She moved behind me, and I heard the soft click of clippers being switched on. The headset vibrated lightly at the base of my skull, matching the rhythm of the virtual buzzers. I gasped as the sensation started. It was uncanny, like an electric hum dancing across my scalp. I could feel it. Every movement. Every strand falling.
As she guided the clippers from my forehead to crown, my eyes fluttered closed. My thighs squeezed together. I knew it wasn’t real, but it felt real. Too real. The soft drag of the clippers, the warmth of her breath near my ear, the way her fingers tilted my head with practiced ease.
When she finished buzzing, there was a pause. I felt cool foam being applied to my scalp. The fragrance hit me, clean and sharp. Then came the razor. Slow. Careful. The headset mimicked the scrape of metal against skin. I shivered.
Her hands were steady, gentle but commanding. Every stroke made me gasp, made my body thrum with tension. I gripped the arms of the chair as the last of my hair disappeared beneath the blade.
When she turned me toward the mirror, I stared.
Bald. Perfectly smooth. My eyes looked bigger, my cheekbones sharper. There was something raw and powerful about my reflection. My lips parted. I wanted to touch, to explore, to feel the newness of it.
Then everything faded.
I blinked and reached up, pulling the headset off. The apartment came back into view. Familiar. Safe.
My fingers flew to my hair. It was all still there. Every strand.
I exhaled. But when I shifted, I felt it. The unmistakable wet heat between my thighs. My panties were soaked, clinging to me. My whole body ached with desire, every nerve still vibrating with the ghost of sensation.
I sat in stunned silence, heart still racing, a single question echoing in my mind.
What would happen if I went back?
It had been four days since the shave.
Four days since I sat alone on the couch, panting, flushed, and trembling, staring down at my hands as if they belonged to someone else. The next morning I told myself it was just the realism of the simulation, that it had caught me off guard, nothing more. But then the dreams began.
Every night, the same thing. I would find myself sitting in that barber chair again, the ginger-haired woman circling me slowly, the clippers humming before she even touched them to my scalp. I would wake up breathless, thighs pressed together, sheets twisted around my body.
Worse still, I started noticing barbershops in real life. One down the street with fogged windows and a glowing neon sign. Another tucked between a coffee shop and bookstore on my way to work. I’d catch myself lingering in front of them, wondering what it might feel like to walk inside, to sit down, to ask for something bold and irreversible. I didn’t dare.
But I couldn’t forget.
That evening, Lila was out again. A mixer for VR developers. She’d left her headset neatly resting in its stand on her desk. I stood in the doorway for a long time, watching it like it might move on its own. My hands were already trembling when I reached for it.
The moment the headset powered on, the world around me melted away.
I was back.
The seaside town had expanded. More shops lined the boardwalk now, their lights twinkling in the dusk. A perfume boutique. A tattoo parlor. A narrow bookstore with velvet curtains hanging in the doorway. Somewhere off in the distance, music played, dreamy and haunting.
But I didn’t even glance at the new additions.
I walked straight to the barbershop.
The bell above the door chimed sweetly as I stepped inside. Everything was just as I remembered. The interior was bathed in a honeyed light, rich wood, the subtle scent of sandalwood and something faintly sweet. And there she was again, the same beautiful woman with ginger curls and that same amused glint in her eyes.
“I was hoping you’d come back,” she said, her voice sliding over me like silk.
My pulse fluttered. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
She smiled knowingly, then gestured to the chair. “Take a seat. We’ve added some new options since last time.”
I sat, feeling the familiar embrace of the leather against my back. The cape was drawn around me once again, the sound of the fastener clicking into place sending a thrill up my spine. This time, though, a glowing menu hovered before my eyes.
Hundreds of styles. Pixies, fades, bobs, undercuts, mohawks, braids, even stylized fantasy creations with jewel-colored hair and impossible angles. I scrolled slowly, mesmerized.
But I knew what I wanted.
I selected “Head Shave.”
The moment I confirmed, the interface dissolved, and the barber moved to her station. She turned on the clippers, the familiar buzz filling the space between us. As she approached, I let my eyes close.
The vibration of the headset aligned with the motion of the clippers again. I could feel them touch my forehead, feel them start their slow journey back across my scalp. The warmth, the hum, the release.
Hair fell away. Each pass made my breath hitch. My fingers curled against the arms of the chair.
“You’ve been dreaming of this, haven’t you?” she whispered, her lips close to my ear.
“Yes,” I breathed, my voice shaky. “Every night.”
She chuckled, low and sensual, then tilted my head with her hand. “Let me give you exactly what you need.”
Each stroke was deliberate. Slow. My skin tingled under her touch, under the press of the clippers. I could feel the smoothness begin to emerge. It wasn’t just a haircut. It was a ritual. A surrender.
When she was finished with the buzzing, the familiar sound of the foam dispenser filled the air. The chill of the cream kissed my bare scalp, making me gasp.
Then came the blade.
Cool metal, dragged so carefully over skin made bare. The sensation was sharper this time, more refined. The headset translated every subtle scrape with precision. I imagined her watching me, imagined her smiling at the way I squirmed in the chair.
My breath came fast now. Each pass of the razor sent a tremor down my spine. I was wet again. I could feel the ache growing in my core, insistent, impossible to ignore.
She worked slowly, methodically, until every inch of my scalp was smooth. At last, she cleaned away the remaining lather and turned the chair.
I looked into the mirror.
Bald again. My lips parted. My cheeks were flushed. I didn’t just look changed. I looked perfect.
She leaned down, her hands on the arms of the chair, her breath ghosting across my jaw. “Next time,” she murmured, “let me choose for you.”
And with that, the simulation faded.
I blinked as the apartment returned to view, my hands tearing the headset off.
Still hair. Still me.
But my panties were soaked, and my fingers itched to finish what she had started. I sank back onto Lila’s chair, thighs trembling, body alive with hunger.
I couldn’t wait for next time.
The next few days seemed to drag on. In the evenings I would go for walks, stopping occasionally at barbershop windows to fantasize about my beautiful hair being taken away from me. I don’t know how long I’d been standing there day dreaming.
The sun had dipped behind the buildings, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. The barber pole spun slowly in the window, casting red and white spirals on the glass. Through the pane, I could see the polished chairs, the clean lines of the floor tiles, the glint of silver tools. Every part of me wanted to walk inside.
I imagined it again—just like the dreams. The soft thud of the cape settling around my shoulders, the thrill of the first touch to my scalp, the helpless surrender as hair fell away. My breath caught.
Then the door opened.
“You need anything?” a voice asked.
A man. Mid-forties maybe. Friendly eyes. Holding a towel and watching me like I might bolt. Because I probably looked like a lunatic standing on the sidewalk, just staring.
I swallowed. “No. Sorry. I was just… looking.”
I turned too quickly, nearly bumping into a passing couple, and walked away as fast as I could without breaking into a full run. My cheeks burned. My heart pounded. What was I doing?
Back home, the apartment was quiet. Lila wouldn’t be back for hours.
The headset sat on her desk like a secret, like an invitation.
I didn’t hesitate this time.
The moment I slipped it on, the world melted. The sea returned, the golden twilight settling over the town like a dream. But I didn’t explore. I didn’t need to. I walked straight to the barbershop with purpose in every step.
The ginger-haired barber was waiting.
She leaned against the counter, arms folded, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Back again so soon?”
“I want you to choose,” I said. My voice shook, but I held her gaze. “Pick whatever you want for me.”
Her smile widened.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
She guided me to the chair. It felt different this time. Heavier. More intimate. The cape whispered over my shoulders and snapped tight around my neck. She ran her fingers through my simulated hair, studying me like a canvas.
“I think you’re ready,” she said softly. “We’ll go with the Bald Goddess.”
The name made something flutter in my belly.
From the counter she picked up a jar—sleek, black, with gold lettering I couldn’t quite read. Unscrewing the lid, she dipped two fingers into a pearlescent cream, thick and glossy.
“I believe you will enjoy this experience,” she said. “No razors. No clippers. Just the cream. You’ll feel it all.”
My lips parted, but I couldn’t form words. I nodded instead.
She began to apply the cream to my scalp. It was cool at first, soothing even, but then it began to tingle. The sensation crept slowly across my skin, intensifying. The headset translated every detail—the slickness of her fingers, the warmth as the cream reacted with the hair, the strange softness as it began to dissolve.
“Oh,” I gasped. My toes curled in my boots.
The cream pulsed. I could feel the way it loosened the strands, melting them from root to tip. She massaged it in, slow and firm, rubbing small circles over my crown, behind my ears, along the nape of my neck. The tingle became heat. Not painful, but potent. Arousing.
“You’re doing beautifully,” she whispered, bending close. Her breath touched my cheek. “Let’s finish the look.”
I didn’t understand until I saw her reach for a smaller jar.
“This will take your brows and lashes,” she said, her voice thick with pleasure. “Don’t worry. It’s still you. Just… purified.”
Before I could protest, her fingers swept the cream along my brows. The coolness returned. Then the tingle. My breathing hitched.
She leaned in, eyes locking with mine as she brushed the tiniest amount across each lash line. I blinked, and the world shimmered. Something inside me surrendered completely.
“There,” she said, standing back. “Now look.”
The chair turned toward the mirror.
I gasped.
I was completely smooth. My scalp glistened, flawless and bare. No eyebrows. No lashes. My face was alien and sensual, a living sculpture. I looked powerful. Beautiful. Terrifying.
“You’ve never looked more like yourself,” she murmured.
The words echoed through me.
Then the world began to dissolve.
I tore off the headset, heart racing. My body was trembling. I reached up, grabbing handfuls of hair, then checked my brows, my lashes. All still there.
But I was soaked. My panties clung to my skin. My legs were slick. I had never wanted to touch myself so badly in my life. My fingers found their way down, hungry, desperate, guided by the memory of her hands on my scalp, by the ghost of the cream, by the voice in my ear calling me her goddess.
I came harder than I ever had before.
And even after, lying back on Lila’s chair, breathless and dazed, I knew it wouldn’t be the last time.
I didn’t go back into the virtual world again.
Not because I didn’t want to. I wanted to more than anything. I thought about it constantly—how it felt when the barber’s fingers rubbed that cream into my scalp, how my breath caught when I saw myself smooth and bare, how her voice purred the word goddess like it was mine and mine alone.
But the fantasy had started to feel like a cage.
What I needed wasn’t a simulation anymore. I needed to feel it for real.
I waited until Saturday morning. Lila was gone for the weekend, visiting her parents, and I had the apartment to myself. The silence felt sacred. Every movement I made echoed, heightened. I dressed in an old black tank top and cotton underwear and tied my hair back, trying not to shake.
Then I drove to the store.
I took my time in the haircare aisle, pretending I was just browsing. My heart thundered. My fingers twitched. But when I reached for the stainless-steel shears, the cordless clippers, and that thick white jar of depilatory cream, something inside me clicked into place.
There was no turning back.
Back home, I spread a towel over the bathroom counter and placed everything out in neat rows like sacred tools. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror. My hair was long, honey-brown, pulled tight into a high ponytail. It looked beautiful.
But it didn’t feel like me anymore.
I took a deep breath, lifted the scissors, and hesitated for only a second before opening the blades around the base of the ponytail.
Snip.
The sound was dull, fibrous. It took three snips before the thick bundle of hair came free in my hand. I held it for a moment, stunned by the weight. Then I set it down on the counter and looked up.
Tufts stuck out in uneven chunks. My scalp looked smaller, exposed. My heart pounded louder now, but it wasn’t fear. It was excitement. Arousal. Power.
I turned on the clippers.
The vibration pulsed through my hand, deep and familiar from the simulation. But this time, it was real. I brought them to my temple, tilted my head, and pressed down.
Hair fell in heavy clumps, slipping down my neck and shoulders. The buzz filled the room, blending with the rushing in my ears. The blades hummed over my scalp, smooth and hungry, shearing everything down to soft, fine stubble. I moved slowly, methodically, retracing each pass until there was nothing left but a short, velvety layer.
I ran my fingers over it.
God, it felt like heaven. It was soft as suede, and hot from the friction. My nipples tightened beneath my tank. My thighs pressed together instinctively. But I wasn’t done.
I picked up the jar.
The depilatory cream was thick, pale, with a faint floral scent and a sharp chemical undertone. I scooped out a generous handful and brought it to my scalp. The touch made me shiver.
I smeared it over the stubble in long, slow strokes, covering every inch. The sensation was cool at first, soothing, but within moments I felt the telltale tingle. The same one I remembered. The simulation had been close—but this was deeper, rawer. It felt like a thousand tiny needles dancing across my scalp, like the top of my head had come alive.
I watched myself in the mirror as the cream settled into my skin, as the chemical heat bloomed stronger. I gasped, one hand bracing against the counter.
The tingling became a rush. Not painful, but intense. My skin pulsed with sensation.
I worked the cream in with both hands now, massaging it over the curve of my skull, letting it sink deeper into every pore. The room filled with the scent of it, and the soft, sticky sound of fingers moving through cream and flesh. My breathing quickened. My back arched.
I moaned softly as I rubbed.
When the timer on my phone chimed, I was dizzy. My scalp was warm, tingling, exquisitely bare.
I wet a cloth under warm water and began to wipe.
The last remnants of cream and hair came away in gentle strokes, revealing smooth, shining skin underneath. Completely bald. No stubble. No softness. Just perfect, polished skin. My scalp gleamed.
I leaned in close to the mirror. My eyebrows looked out of place now. So did my lashes. My fingers trembled as I dipped back into the jar.
I started with the brows.
I rubbed the cream in carefully, watching in real time as the strands began to thin, then vanish. I held the cloth under warm water again and wiped clean. My forehead looked impossibly open. Alien. Stunning.
The lashes were next. Not wanting to risk depilatory cream in my eyes, I carefully used my nail scissors to cut them flush to my lid.
The effect was shocking.
I stared at myself.
No hair. No lashes. No brows. Just smooth skin and wide, exposed eyes. I looked raw. Wild. Like someone reborn.
Like a goddess.
I cleaned up best as I could before slipping my hands down into my panties, trembling with need.
I stood there in the mirror, panting. My skin glowed with a thin sheen of sweat, my chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths. I couldn’t stop looking at myself.
The smoothness of my scalp caught the light in ways I had only imagined. No stubble. No softness. Just bare, naked skin that pulsed with sensation. Without my eyebrows, without lashes to soften my gaze, my eyes looked bigger, stranger, more open. I looked like a new species, something rare and divine. Untouchable, but desperate to be touched.
My whole body vibrated.
I cried out as my fingers met the soaked heat, throbbing in my panties. There was no hesitation now. No shame. I pressed deep and moved fast, grinding my hips against my hand, eyes still locked on my reflection.
Every flick of my fingers sent shockwaves through me. Every glance at my bald, gleaming scalp pushed me closer. I imagined the barber’s hands again, her soft voice calling me goddess, the scent of the cream, the sting of exposure.
I came fast, hard, my thighs trembling as I bit down on my lower lip and muffled the scream.
It wasn’t enough.
I fell to my knees right there on the bathroom floor, still touching, still desperate. I came again, slower this time, crying out into the stillness, soaking the towel beneath me, pushing past the edge again and again until I was empty.
When I finally opened my eyes, the mirror showed a flushed, trembling woman with a halo of soft light over her bare scalp. I smiled at her.
Then I stood up, rinsed off, and wrapped myself in the softest robe I owned.
The morning sun had broken through the clouds, bright and golden. I carried a towel out to the back deck and laid it across the lounge chair. The wood was warm under my feet as I stepped outside, and the breeze kissed my bare head with delicate fingers.
It felt better than I ever imagined.
I untied the robe and let it slip from my shoulders. Completely nude, I stretched out on the towel, turned my face to the sun, and let its warmth bless my skin. My scalp tingled again, but now it was from joy. From freedom.
When I heard the front door creak open late that afternoon, I didn’t move.
“Hey, Iris?” Lila’s voice called out. “I’m back early. Car ride was brutal. You home?”
I smiled and waited.
She stepped onto the deck a moment later, still dragging her overnight bag, her hair a mess from the road, keys jangling in her hand. She looked up and stopped dead in her tracks.
Her eyes widened, lips parting in a soundless breath as she stared at me. Her gaze moved over my body, then locked on my face.
On my bare scalp.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. She stepped closer, dropped her bag without noticing. “Iris. You… what happened?”
I sat up slowly, letting the sunlight ripple over my skin. I didn’t cover myself. I didn’t flinch.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I may have given myself a little haircut.”
Lila knelt beside me, awe written across her face. She reached out slowly, like she was afraid I might vanish. Her fingers touched the crown of my head, delicate and reverent. She gasped.
“It’s so smooth,” she breathed. “It’s… wow. You look incredible.”
A flush spread through me, hotter than the sun.
“You really think so?”
She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’ve never seen anything so—beautiful. You look like something out of a dream.”
Her thumb brushed along my brow bone, then lower, tracing the bare curve of my head like she was memorizing it.
My breath caught.
“You inspired me,” I said. “The VR, the world you built. I had to know what it would really feel like.”
“And?” she asked, voice husky.
I leaned in, my lips barely brushing hers.
“It’s better than anything I imagined.”
Lila’s fingers lingered at the curve of my scalp, her touch feather-light, almost trembling. I leaned into her hand, watching her expression shift—something between wonder and hesitation pulling at her features.
There was more she wanted to say. I could feel it in the silence.
I reached up, covered her hand with mine, and gently pulled it down to rest against my chest. “Lila,” I said softly, “what is it?”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. She took a breath. “I… I didn’t think you’d use it again without me.”
I blinked. “You mean the VR?”
She nodded, eyes flicking away. “Yeah. I never meant for you to use the barbershop feature. It was supposed to be a personal tool. For me. A way to safely explore something I’ve never had the nerve to actually do.”
I sat up straighter. “Lila. What are you saying?”
She looked at me then, all her hesitation folding into a wave of vulnerability. “I have a thing,” she said. “A fetish, I guess. For baldness. For shaving. Watching hair come off, the feel of skin underneath. The power in it. The vulnerability. All of it.”
I stared at her, heart pounding for a different reason now.
“I programmed the barber shop first,” she said, smiling awkwardly. “Before anything else. Before the market, the beach, even the sound of the waves. I coded it in secret at night. Built the haptics to match exactly how I imagined it would feel. The buzzers, the cream, the razor glide. I wanted to experience a head shave, without having to lose my hair. It was for me.”
She shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “But when I asked you to test the headset, and I thought, okay, sure, she’ll walk through the square, maybe check out the beach. I never expected you to go into the barbershop. I nearly dropped my laptop when I saw your avatar in the chair.”
“You were watching?” I asked, stunned and strangely thrilled.
She flushed, looking guilty. “I shouldn’t have been, I know. But when I saw you pick the head shave option, I couldn’t look away.”
I touched my scalp again, still warm from the sun and the earlier rush of sensation. “That explains why it felt so… perfect.”
She smiled shyly. “It had to be. It’s always been a fantasy of mine. But I never thought… I never dared to share it. I definitely never expected you to…” Her eyes searched mine. “Iris, why did you do it? Not just in VR. You actually shaved your head.”
I took her hand again and guided it back to the top of my head, letting her feel the flawless smoothness of my skin. She exhaled sharply at the contact.
“Because I didn’t want to just imagine it,” I said. “I wanted it. Needed it. The experience you created cracked something open in me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. About being bare.”
Lila’s lips parted. Her eyes were glassy now, deep with emotion. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“And you,” I whispered, “built the world that set me free.”
She leaned forward then, hesitant but drawn by something undeniable, and pressed her lips to my scalp in a kiss that was softer than breath.
“Let me show you something,” she said after a moment, her voice low and thick with feeling.
She stood and reached for her phone. I watched her unlock it, scroll for a moment, then turn the screen toward me. It was a VR rendering. A room, dimly lit, with a single barber chair in the center. Only this one was different—more intimate. There were candles. Silk ropes hanging nearby. A woman sat in the chair, hair still intact, eyes wide and waiting.
“The next update,” Lila said. “For two people.”
Lila’s voice was steady, but her eyes gave her away. There was a flicker of hope behind them, barely contained, like she didn’t dare believe what she was about to ask.
“The new update,” she said, tapping her screen again. “It’ll let one person perform the shave. In VR. Full feedback simulation. I’ve been working on the haptics, the mirror sync, everything. I was going to test it alone, but…” She hesitated, glancing up at me. “I’d like to know how it really feels. For real. If you’re willing, I want you to be the one to do it. For me.”
I didn’t say a word.
I just took her hand.
Her lips parted, but no sound came. She let me lead her through the house, her fingers warm and trembling in mine, every step between us thick with anticipation.
We reached the bathroom. The same room where I’d changed myself forever. It smelled faintly of eucalyptus and the memory of the cream I had used hours earlier.
She looked at the sink, the clippers resting neatly in their charger. The scissors. The small white jar on the counter. Then she turned back to me, her breath shaky.
“You don’t have to.”
I cupped her cheek gently. “I want to.”
Lila nodded, wordless.
She slipped off her sweatshirt and let it fall beside the counter. Then she gathered her thick chestnut hair and pulled it into a loose ponytail. I reached for the scissors.
She knelt in front of me without needing to be asked.
The sound of the blades slicing through the ponytail filled the room, quiet but final. I held the severed length in my hand for a moment, then set it gently on top of my discarded ponytail.
Lila looked up at me, her head now a wild scatter of uneven strands. I brushed a few away from her face, meeting her eyes.
She was ready.
I picked up the clippers, pressed them to her temple, and slowly drew them back.
Hair tumbled in soft, dark clumps onto her shoulders, her lap, the floor. The clippers vibrated in my hand, the low hum matching the rhythm of my breath. With every pass, Lila became lighter, freer. She closed her eyes and let the moment take her.
I moved with care, stripping her down evenly until nothing remained but dark stubble. Then I unplugged the clippers and reached for the jar.
The cream was cool as I smoothed it over her scalp, covering every patch, every shadow. I massaged it in with slow, deliberate hands, watching as her last traces of hair dissolved. Her head glistened under the soft bathroom light, and her body softened under my touch.
I rinsed the cream away with warm water and a soft cloth, revealing flawless skin beneath.
She opened her eyes.
I stepped back and let her rise. She turned toward the mirror and stared.
Her hands rose slowly, fingertips grazing her bare scalp. Her breath caught. She laughed a soft, tearful sound and then pressed both palms to her head like she needed to feel it from every angle.
“I never thought I’d actually do it,” she whispered. “I thought it would only ever exist in my code.”
“But you did,” I said quietly. “You trusted me.”
She looked at me in the mirror. Her eyes were shining.
“I always did.”

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