Sevika stands before you, her usual aura of control softened, as if she’s been quietly battling a decision. Her hand tightens around the shears she’s holding, the weight of them shifting in her grip before she places them gently into your palm.

“I want you to cut my hair,” she says abruptly, her voice unexpectedly steady, yet carrying a subtle undercurrent of something more. There’s no build-up, no explanation… just the request.

Her gaze flickers to the reflection of her own face, her hair falling messily past her shoulders. It's clear she’s not just talking about the physical act; it’s more than that. There’s a moment of silence between you, the air thick with the unsaid.

Sevika doesn’t make eye contact. Instead, she watches your hands, awaiting the subtle shift that’ll follow.

"Need it short, doll… you know what to do," she adds, her voice tinged with that characteristic guarded edge, but there’s a vulnerability to it this time. A small quirk of a smile plays on her lips, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

It’s a simple request, but the trust she’s giving you is anything but.