Mom's
Morning: Shruti’s New Look
The morning light streamed through the windows as Yash called out to Shruti. “Get ready. We’re going out for something important,” he said firmly, his voice echoing through the room.
Shruti, still shaken from the events of the previous night, quietly dressed in a white, tight-fitting kurta and pajama. She hesitated in front of the mirror, staring at her shortened hair. Her once waist-length hair now barely touched her chest, tied into a tiny bun that reminded her of a tennis ball. The memory of her hair as a full, handball-sized bun felt like a distant dream.
Yash waited impatiently by the car as she reluctantly joined him. The silence in the car was heavy, filled with unspoken tension. Shruti glanced at him nervously, unsure of where they were heading. When the car suddenly stopped outside a salon, her heart skipped a beat.
“What are we doing here?” she asked hesitantly.
Yash didn’t answer, simply gesturing for her to follow him inside.
The salon was bustling with activity, the air filled with the scent of shampoo and sprays. Shruti felt her chest tighten as she sat in the salon chair. Yash walked over to the stylist, speaking to her in hushed tones before returning to Shruti.
“We’re here for highlights and a trim,” he said casually.
Shruti blinked in surprise. “Just highlights and a trim?” she asked, her voice laced with cautious hope.
“Yes,” Yash replied, his tone surprisingly calm.
Her shoulders relaxed as relief washed over her. The idea of adding golden and brown highlights excited her, and she nodded in agreement. The stylist began her work, sectioning Shruti’s hair with care and placing foils for the highlights.
As the process continued, Shruti felt herself relaxing for the first time since the previous night. The soothing sounds of the salon and the stylist’s gentle touch lulled her into a light sleep.
But as she dozed, the sound of scissors snipping nearby entered her dreams. She dismissed it as noise from another client. Little did she know, it was closer than she imagined.
When she finally woke up, the stylist was finishing her work, running her fingers through Shruti’s hair with a satisfied smile. Shruti’s hand instinctively went to her hair, and she froze.
Her hair, which had reached her chest that morning, now barely grazed her collarbones. It was cut in soft layers, styled with warm golden and brown highlights that shimmered in the light. A few face-framing bangs accentuated her features, giving her an effortlessly modern look.
“Done!” the stylist announced cheerfully. “You look amazing.”
Shruti’s heart sank. She stared at her reflection in shock. Her once long, cascading hair was now a chic shoulder-length cut, and the highlights, while beautiful, made her look completely different.
Yash walked over, a satisfied smile on his face. “Perfect,” he said, tilting his head as he admired her.
Shruti turned to him, her voice trembling. “You said just a trim. Why… why did you cut it this short?”
He smirked. “It’s not short. It’s stylish. Besides, you fell asleep, so I figured you wouldn’t mind a little change.”
Her shock turned to anger. “You didn’t even ask me!” she exclaimed, her voice rising.
“You didn’t answer my questions last night,” he replied, his tone cold. “This is your fresh start. The old Shruti is gone.”
Tears pricked her eyes as she touched her hair, the unfamiliar length sending waves of disbelief through her. The stylist handed her a mirror, and she reluctantly examined the back. The soft layers framed her shoulders perfectly, but the realization of how much she’d lost left her speechless.
On the drive home, Shruti sat silently, her fingers running through her hair repeatedly as if trying to convince herself it was real.
Once they reached home, her emotions boiled over. She turned to Yash, her voice breaking. “Why do you keep doing this? Do you enjoy seeing me like this?”
Yash stepped closer, his expression unyielding. “I told you, Shruti. You need to learn. Every inch of hair I take is a reminder of the promises you broke. This is what happens when you betray trust.”
Her tears spilled over, and she turned away, unwilling to let him see her completely break. “You don’t understand,” she whispered.
He sighed, his voice softening slightly. “You look beautiful, Shruti. You’ll get used to it.”
She didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror across the room. The stranger staring back felt both foreign and familiar—a constant reminder of how much she had changed in just 24 hours.
The weeks that followed felt like a blur for Shruti, her once-vibrant spirit dulled by the heavy price she paid for Yash’s perception of her betrayal. Each time she caught her reflection—her shoulder-length hair glowing with golden highlights—it reminded her of what she had lost, but also of what remained. She had been broken by Yash’s punishment, but she wasn’t destroyed. Her hair, once a symbol of her pride, now spoke of resilience and the strength to reclaim herself.
One dawn, as the first light painted the horizon, Shruti stood by the mirror, tracing the sharp edges of her new look. The price she had paid for Yash’s trust had cost her dearly, but she realized it wasn’t a price she could continue to endure. Before leaving, she penned a note for him: “I gave up everything for love, believing it meant surrender. But love isn’t about possession; it’s about freedom, trust, and respect. I cannot pay this price anymore. Please don’t follow me.” With trembling hands, she folded the note and placed it on the dining table, then stepped out into the crisp morning air, leaving behind the man who couldn’t see past his own anger.
As the bus carried her away, Shruti felt the wind on her face and the weight lifting from her heart. She touched her hair—short, light, and full of promise. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, she felt free of the debt of betrayal she had been made to carry. This was her moment of rebirth, and she vowed never again to let anyone decide her worth or make her pay for love.
