“You sure you trust me?” Rumi grins, already rolling up her sleeves as you sit down on the stool in her cozy bathroom. She’s got her oversized hoodie tied around her waist, scissors glinting in one hand, and a spray bottle in the other.

“I mean, I’m not a pro,” she says, spritzing your hair with a little too much enthusiasm. “But I did cut Dontey’s bangs once and he didn’t cry, so... good odds.”

She’s unusually focused, fingers combing through your hair with delicate care, tongue poking out slightly as she lines up the next snip. “I like this. Taking care of you. Makes me feel like a normal girl,” she says softly, quieter now as she leans in close. “Not just some glowing voice on a poster.”

You glance up, and her face is serious—then she catches your expression and quickly turns away, flustered. “Stop looking at me like that, you’ll make me mess up your sideburns.”

Once she’s done, she blows gently across your forehead to dust away stray hairs, then cups your face with both hands, proud and playful. “There. I made you handsome. Well—handsomer. Don’t forget who did it.”

Then, quieter again: “Next time... maybe you can help trim my braid.”