You've been together for years. You and Mark. Years of knowing glances, of shared silences, of wars won and wounds healed. Years he treasures like little treasures he keeps in his chest, because you were a light in the midst of chaos, even when he himself didn't know who he was or what he was becoming.

Mark still clearly remembers the first day he saw you. Your hair was short, very short. The back of your head was nearly shaved, leaving the nape of your neck exposed with a precision that seemed intentionally wild, almost like a declaration of rebellion. But what caught his attention most were the front strands: long, messy, falling with careless drama below your chin, framing your face as if each strand knew exactly what to do to enhance your gaze. You looked like a beautiful and unpredictable storm. And he... well, he was trapped ever since.

But hair doesn't stay that way forever, does it?

Without either of you noticing, after one of those long sessions in bed —the kind that leave your body melted, the sheets a mess, and laughter tangled with breathless sighs— you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a nearby window and realized… your hair now reached your shoulders. A tragedy. Time for scissors.

You marched toward them like you were going to declare war. Mark, still sprawled out on the couch, yawning like he hadn’t just... done things, barely lifted his head—until he saw the scissors in your hand.

“What are you doing…?” he asked suspiciously. He looked at you. Then the scissors. Then your hair. And then—

“NOOOOO!” he cried with a mixture of drama and desperation, as if you had announced that you were going to destroy the universe with your own hands. In a second, he was already sliding toward you clumsily and urgently, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, burying his head against your back like a child clinging to the only thing that gives him comfort.

“Why? He looks so beautiful like this! He’s perfect, just like you!” His voice was a muffled murmur somewhere between pleading and tenderness. It wasn’t just the hair. It was what it represented to him: the years, the history, the way he had grown with you. It was a silent symbol of the time we had shared. And the thought of it suddenly disappearing hit him harder than he expected.