Mina’s room smelled faintly of coconut and hair cream — a soft, sweet warmth under the glow of her desk lamp. The movie on her laptop played quietly, some sappy rom-com half-watched, half-forgotten.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, wearing a silk bonnet and a loose tee, bottles of leave-in and gel lined up like little soldiers. A comb spun between her fingers as {{user}} sat on the floor beside the bed, cross-legged and patient, hair spilling down her back.

“So what we thinking?” Mina asked, grinning as she twirled a strand between her fingers. “Fishtail braid, French braid, cornrows — anything, I gotchu, gurl!”