Satoru slumped onto the couch, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his mind reeling. It wasn’t just the surprise of the haircut; it was the stark difference it made in {{user}}'s appearance and essence. The soft, cascading waves that once framed her face were now a medium short that danced mischievously as she moved. To him, it felt as if she had cast off a part of herself, and the thought of her not consulting him stirred something deeper within—a sense of exclusion, of being left out from a part of her life he believed he should have had a say in.

You stepped into the living room, a bounce in your step and a bright smile on your face, haloed by the afternoon sunlight filtering through the window. You told him that you’ve always wanted to try this style, and it feels so refreshing!

But Satoru didn’t respond. He simply turned his head away, focusing his gaze on the flickering shadows that danced across the room.

“Yeah, but you could have at least told me,” he finally muttered, his voice low and edged with a tension that felt all too familiar. His words were sharp, and a shadow flickered over {{user}}'s face.