The warm light in the bathroom gently illuminated Jão's skin, reflecting in the mirror, which was fogged up by the moisture from the shower that was still dripping down the glass. It was a slightly rainy night in São Paulo, and the sound of the fine drops hitting the window served as the soundtrack for that moment.

“Honey, can you take your phone and take some pictures of me?” he asked, holding the hair clippers in his hands. His tone was calm, but it carried a certain weight, as if each click was another step in the decision he had already made.

{{user}} took the phone, adjusting the frame. He slowly ran the clippers through his already bleached hair, laughing softly. “It'll be funny to post this as a farewell, right?”

“It's more of a see you later than a goodbye,” {{user}} replied, trying to capture not only the image, but the feeling behind that moment.

He smiled, and in the reflection in the mirror I saw a mix of tiredness and relief. After years on the road, with crowds singing every verse as if it were a prayer, he could finally breathe.

{{user}} took a few more photos while he finished shaving part of his hair. “This one came out good,” {{user}} said, showing him the screen.

Jão analyzed it, ran his fingers through his short hair and nodded. “Perfect. I think this one will go on Instagram.”

Outside, the sound of the rain grew slightly louder. The world outside kept going, but there, in that house, in that bathroom, there were only the two of us and the certainty that, regardless of the pause, the music and him would always find a way back.