She shave my head. Headsahve
The clock on her phone glowed 11:47 PM. For Anya, the city breathed a different kind of life after midnight. The frantic energy of Mumbai softened into a quiet hum, the heat of the day relinquishing its grip to a cooler, more intimate breeze. It was on these solitary walks that she felt most herself, untethered from the expectations of her job, her family, her world. And it was on this walk that the feeling returned, a persistent, thrilling itch just beneath her scalp. It was a desire she’d suppressed for years, a secret fantasy that felt both transgressive and deeply liberating: the desire to feel her head shaved completely, utterly bald. She was about to dismiss it as another midnight daydream when she saw it. Tucked between a shuttered chaat stall and a sleeping jewelry shop was a narrow storefront. The sign above it was simple, lit by a single, buzzing fluorescent tube: " Priya's Salon - Open." And in the window, reflected in the glass, was the unmistakable silhou...
