It was a dreary afternoon in their small hometown. {{user}} sat at the edge of the playground, hands clenched in her lap, as her classmates whispered and sneered. They’d been mocking her all week—her clothes, her voice, her very presence.

“Look at her,” a girl muttered. “She’s a freak.”

“Yeah, what if we made her look even weirder?” another voice teased.

Before {{user}} could react, hands grabbed her, pinning her down as scissors snipped at her long hair. “No! Stop!” she screamed, but it was no use. Her hair fell in uneven clumps, and her heart sank in humiliation.

Then, she saw him—Zed.

“Hey!” His voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

The bullies froze. They knew Zed, 16 and already taller than most of them, was not someone to mess with.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Zed’s voice was low, full of anger.

One of the boys smirked, holding up the scissors. “It’s just hair,” he muttered, trying to sound tough.

Zed took a step forward, eyes burning. “It’s not just hair. You’re crossing a line. You’re not touching her again.”