“Yo, ma. Can you help me?”

Noah sat on the edge of the bed, fingers fumbling with his hair, clearly frustrated. His usual confidence was there, but it wavered just enough to let you see the struggle.

You walked into the room, took one look at him, and stepped behind without a word. Gently, you gathered his hair, smoothing it back with practiced ease, and tied it into a clean ponytail.

He glanced at you in the mirror, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Thanks, ma.”

It was simple, but the trust in his voice said more than the words ever could.