Mom's
Your Hair, Not in the Eyes of That Man
Shruti was a striking woman, tall with soft curves and a graceful presence. Her chest, full and prominent, added to her allure. But it was her hair that truly set her apart—long, dark as midnight, and cascading down her back like a waterfall. It reached her waist, full of volume and shine, a symbol of her beauty and power.
Late Night Confrontation
“Wasn’t it your duty tonight?” Shruti asked, crossing her arms as her husband, Yash, stepped inside their dimly lit home. The clock struck 2 AM, and the air between them was heavy with unspoken tension.
“It’s late. Let’s go to bed,” Yash replied curtly, avoiding her gaze.
“Yash,” Shruti pressed, her voice rising slightly. “I was at Naina’s house. She’s alone; you know how she gets—”
Before she could finish, Yash’s sharp tone cut her off. “I know exactly where you were, Shruti. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” He turned and walked toward their bedroom, leaving her standing in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat.
As she followed him, her mind raced. She knew her excuse was flimsy. Once inside the bedroom, she tied her waist-length hair into a bun, her only comfort. It was the one thing she had left unchanged since her marriage, a symbol of the life she had abandoned to elope with Yash.
Lying on the bed, Yash pretended to sleep, but Shruti could feel his anger radiating across the room. Unable to rest, she sat at her dressing table, combing her hair in long, soothing strokes.
The silence was broken by Yash’s cold voice. “Did you drink?”
Shruti froze, then turned to face him. “Is drinking a crime in this country? You’re a policeman. You tell me.”
Sitting up, Yash’s eyes narrowed. “It’s wrong for a housewife to come home drunk in the middle of the night.”
Shruti scoffed, attempting to deflect. “You’re the law enforcement officer here. Did you even smell alcohol, or are you just guessing?”
“I don’t need to guess,” he snapped. “I wanted to hear it from you.”
She ignored him and resumed combing her hair, the strands glinting under the dim light. Suddenly, Yash rose from the bed and grabbed her hair, his fingers tangling roughly in the silken strands.
“What the—Yash!” she cried, wincing in pain.
“I know everything, Shruti,” he hissed, his grip tightening. “You left the house this morning, went to college, and by noon, you were gone. You spent the entire day with him.”
Her heart sank. He knew.
“Who is he?” Yash demanded, his tone low and menacing. “Tell me his name, or should I find out myself?”
Feigning innocence, Shruti stammered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yash yanked her hair harder, making her cry out. “Don’t play dumb with me. If you hate me so much, why don’t you just divorce me?”
“And go back to my family?” she shot back. “I left everything for you, Yash. Everything.”
“Then start acting like it!” he roared, dragging her toward the bed. Wrapping her hair around his hand, he began searching for scissors.
“Yash, no! Please!” she begged, struggling to free herself.
He found the scissors and held them up, the cold metal glinting ominously in the dim light. “You won’t stop seeing him, will you? Fine. Let me remind you who you belong to.”
Night: Shruti’s Haircut
The room was dimly lit, shadows flickering on the walls as Yash paced back and forth. Shruti sat on the edge of the bed, trembling, her long, silky hair cascading down her back. Yash’s eyes fixed on her, dark and unreadable, as he finally spoke.
“Who is he, Shruti?” he asked coldly, his voice sharp as a knife.
She looked away, unable to meet his gaze, her lips trembling. “I made a mistake, Yash. Please, just let this go. I won’t meet him again, I swear.”
Her words only fueled his anger. “Who is he?” he demanded, grabbing her hair with his left hand. The familiar softness of her strands—once a source of his adoration—now filled him with bitterness. He looked around until his eyes landed on a pair of scissors lying on the table. Picking them up, he placed them against her hair.
“Answer me,” he growled.
Shruti flinched at the touch of cold metal against her hair. “Yash, please don’t do this! I’ll never see him again. I promise!”
But her silence on his question was deafening. Yash’s grip tightened, his patience snapping. “Fine. If you won’t answer, then I’ll take away what you value the most—your pride.”
He yanked her hair back, gathering it into his hands. “I’ll cut it all off, Shruti. Every inch of it, until you speak the truth.”
“No! Please!” she cried, tears streaming down her face. But Yash was unmoved.
With one swift snip, he cut off five inches of her waist-length hair, leaving it just below her hips. He held the severed locks in front of her. “Where did you meet him?”
Shruti sobbed, unable to speak. Her silence angered him further. Without hesitation, he cut another five inches, reducing her hair to her lower back.
“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice cold and commanding.
Finally, in a trembling voice, Shruti whispered, “At a hotel…”
Yash’s jaw clenched, his grip on the scissors tightening. “What were you doing there with him?”
Shruti froze, her fear paralyzing her. Her silence was enough of an answer for him. Raising the scissors once more, he mercilessly cut her hair again, this time reducing it to her chest. He threw the severed strands in her face, his frustration evident.
“Answer me!”
She sobbed uncontrollably, her once-prized hair now lying in a heap around her. Finally, broken and defeated, she admitted, “We… we were in a relationship. I went to the hotel to… be with him.”
Yash’s eyes darkened as he absorbed her confession. The room was silent except for the sound of her muffled sobs. He dropped the scissors onto the table with a clatter and stepped in front of her.
Leaning down, he tilted her chin up and kissed her. Shruti’s face flushed a deep red, her tears mingling with her humiliation. She wanted to scream, to run, but her body betrayed her, frozen in place.
“Undress,” he ordered, his voice low and firm.
Shruti hesitated, her trembling hands moving to unbutton her shirt. Soon, she stood before him, stripped down to her innerwear, her chest-length hair framing her tear-streaked face. Her cherry-red cheeks burned with shame as she avoided his gaze.
Yash stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his tone soft but commanding. “This is your reminder, Shruti. You belong to me. No one else.”
She stood there, vulnerable and defeated, as he turned away, leaving her to grapple with the weight of his words—and the shorn remnants of her once-beautiful hair.
Continue….
