I sat on the edge of the couch, my phone still pressed to my ear, trying to keep my voice steady. "Come on, babe, just an afternoon concert. It'll be fun. We haven’t done something like that in a while.”

There was a pause on the other end, and then her voice, calm but distant. “I can’t, I have a hair appointment all day. I’ve been waiting weeks for this.”

I blinked, confused. “All day? Just for a hair appointment? Why does it take that long? Can’t you just get it done earlier?”

She hesitated. “No, it’s a special treatment, and they booked me for the whole day. I really can’t cancel.”

My brow furrowed. “Come on, it’s just a couple of hours. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

She sighed, and I could hear her shifting in her seat. “I’m sorry, but I have to go now. I’ll call you later.”

That was it. My patience snapped. “You’re kidding me. All day? For what, a haircut and some fancy treatment?” My voice rose, frustration bubbling over. “You’re canceling plans for that? It’s just a few hours, and you’re not willing to cut it short?”

Her voice stiffened. “It’s not just a haircut. It’s a process I’ve waited for. I can’t just leave halfway through.”

I felt anger boiling up-like I was hitting a wall. “Fine! If it’s that important, I’ll show you how long it really takes!” I yelled, voice loud and raw. “You think I don’t get it? Well, watch this!”

Click. The line went dead. I stared at the phone, my heart pounding. What just happened?

Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang again. I hesitated, then answered, expecting maybe her to call back, maybe to tell me she changed her mind. Instead, a calm, professional voice came through. “Sir, you have an appointment at the salon in ten minutes.”

I froze. My stomach twisted. I didn’t make that appointment. I don’t even know how they got my number. But somehow, I felt compelled to go. Against my better judgment, I found myself grabbing my keys, heading out the door, feeling like I was walking into something I didn’t understand, something I didn’t want, but couldn’t refuse.

And as I drove, I wanted to turn around, but I couldn't.

The moment I stepped into Lumière Salon, the scent of coconut shampoo and chemical tang of dye enveloped me. My fingers brushed my short, cropped hair-a cut I’d worn for years. The stylist, Marco, greeted me with a warm smile. “Ready to go from this to this*? He tapped a tablet showing a photo of a woman with cascading golden waves. I want to say "No", I nodded, throat tight.

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