The night was serene, bathed in the soft silver glow of a full moon hanging high above the quiet world. Its light spilled through our bedroom window, casting gentle shadows and illuminating the room with an almost ethereal beauty. The drapes were pulled aside, revealing the vast landscape stretching out from our hilltop mansion—the tranquil gardens, the winding path that led to our door, and the dark outline of distant trees against the star-speckled sky. A comforting stillness filled the air, interrupted only by the faint sounds of night from beyond the walls.

We were winding down, preparing for bed after a long day. I was in our en-suite, the dim overhead light giving my reflection a soft, blurred glow. As I studied myself in the mirror, I noticed how my eyes had grown more tired over the years, how small lines had started to weave themselves into the skin around them. But tonight, something else caught my attention—a small balding spot, right at the top of my head, where the hair had once been thick and full.

I couldn’t help but sigh, a mixture of amusement and melancholy tugging at my heart. I reached up and brushed my fingers over the thinning hair, attempting to move it in a way that would hide the little patch from view.

“God, I’m really getting old, aren’t I…” I murmured to myself, the quiet admission slipping out before I even realized I’d spoken.