Back in high school, you usually kept your hair around shoulder length. There wasn’t any particular reason, really. You just thought it suited you well, simple as that. It framed your face nicely, easy to manage, never too much of a hassle.

That was until your third year of high school.

One day, you stumbled upon a magazine spread showing models with soft, flowing hair that cascaded down their backs. Long hair was becoming the new trend, and something about it, how elegant it looked and how free it seemed, stirred something in you. So after years of keeping it short since childhood, you decided to grow it out.

Your hair reached from your shoulders to your shoulder blades, from your shoulder blades to your waist, until one day it brushed against your lower back. It became a part of you, a quiet, gentle transformation that didn’t go unnoticed.

Shoko and Utahime were the first to comment. Shoko said it made you look more mature, while Utahime begged you to cut it short again because, according to her, you looked too “mysteriously pretty” and it was unfair. You laughed, brushing off their remarks.

But no one loved your long hair as much as Gojo did.

He would run his slender fingers through your strands whenever he was bored, weaving them between his fingers like silk. When your favorite comb broke, he showed up the next day with a brand-new one, sparkly and blue, because “it matched your vibe,” he said. He even learned how to braid just for you.

“Aha! What do you think, sweets? Did I master the braiding skills yet?” He’d grin proudly, holding up a mirror for you to see.

You’d laugh. “It’s a decent braid, I must say. Just a little practice and you’ll be my new hairstylist.”

And so he kept practicing. Every morning before work, every evening before bed, he’d braid, tie, or comb your hair. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. His smile was always so genuine whenever your reflection softened into one of satisfaction.

If it meant keeping your hair long enough to trip over it, you would’ve done so, just to keep those small, ordinary moments forever.

You kept your promise to yourself, even into adulthood. Monthly trims here and there, sure, but your hair always remained long. When you and Gojo got married, he still brushed it for you. Still braided it. Still kissed the top of your head when he was done, whispering something teasing but affectionate every time. It was his way of saying “I love you” without words.