Long hair love

Chapter 2 - The Crown in the Mirror

For the next week, Ritika noticed Ishan standing near every useful mirror in the flat.

The mirror beside the hall cupboard gave him a view from the front. The bathroom mirror had a brighter light. His bedroom wardrobe showed the top of his head if he bent forward at an uncomfortable angle.

He used all three.

On Tuesday morning, Ritika found him holding his phone above his head.

"What are you doing?"

Ishan quickly lowered it. "Nothing."

"You are taking a photograph of the ceiling?"

"I was checking something."

"Your hair again?"

He did not answer. He opened the photograph and enlarged it with two fingers.

The crown was not bald. That was what he kept telling himself. The hair was only thinner in one small area. Under the bathroom light, however, his scalp showed through more than it had a year ago.

He moved the longer hair from one side over it.

"It looks worse in photographs," he said.

"Everything looks worse when you photograph it from three inches away."

"It has become thin."

Ritika came closer. She looked without touching his hair.

"A little," she admitted.

"A little means you can see it."

"Only because you showed me exactly where to look."

Ishan turned back to the mirror. His hair covered his ears and touched the upper part of his neck. He had kept the extra length because it gave him more volume around the sides. It often looked untidy, but he did not want to cut it.

The hair at the back had recently begun brushing his T-shirt collar. He liked feeling it there. He did not only want to cover the thin crown. He wanted the rest to keep growing.

If the crown became fuller, he thought he could let all of it reach his shoulders without worrying that the extra length would make the thin place more obvious.

"Maybe I should start using something," he said.

"Then find something reliable. Don't buy the first packet you see online."

"I know."

"You say that before doing exactly the opposite."

Ishan put his phone away.

He had never paid much attention to his appearance before. He bought similar T-shirts in different colours and replaced his shoes only when the soles complained. Hair felt different. Every fallen strand on his desk seemed important.

That afternoon, he searched for hair-care routines.

One video advised oil every night. Another said that too much oil made the scalp worse. A third insisted that only a special wooden comb mattered.

After forty minutes, Ishan had collected many suggestions and understood none of them.

He closed the videos and checked the photograph of his crown again.

The following day was one of Ishan's office days.

The lift had bright ceiling lights and polished steel doors. Ishan entered alone, opened the front camera on his phone, and raised it above his head.

He moved the hair at his crown to one side.

The lift stopped on the next floor.

The doors opened while his arm was still raised.

Naina and Priya stood outside.

Neither woman entered for a second.

"Are you taking a photograph in the lift?" Naina asked.

Ishan lowered his phone. "I was checking my hair."

They stepped inside, and the doors closed.

"In office-lift lighting?" Priya asked. "That light makes everybody look unwell."

"It is becoming thin at the crown."

He showed them the photograph.

Naina enlarged it and looked carefully.

"It is a little thin," she said. "But if you want to compare photographs, use the same light and angle every time."

"Only you can turn hair into a testing process," Priya said.

"Bad evidence gives bad results."

Priya handed the phone back to Ishan. "And don't start using five different things together."

"I only need one thing that works."

"Everybody needs that," she said. "The problem is finding it."

Naina looked at the hair curling around his ears. "The longer sides suit you. Don't cut everything because of one bad photograph."

"I don't want to cut it," Ishan said immediately.

The quickness of his answer surprised even him.

The lift reached their floor.

Before Ishan could put his phone away, Naina added, "Stop checking it in every reflective surface. You will walk into somebody."

"I don't do that."

Priya looked at the steel doors.

Ishan put the phone in his pocket.

Shortly after lunch, Naina asked for his help with a failed test. Priya joined them because the same problem had reached her support queue.

Ishan found the cause and explained the correction without making either woman feel that she had missed something obvious. It was one reason they trusted him.

"Solved," Naina said. "We owe you tea."

"You already owe me four teas."

"Keep an account. One day we will pay everything together."

Later that afternoon, a message appeared in the larger office group. A colleague had shared a shopping link for a hair supplement and written that it had helped him.

Ishan opened the link.

The product page showed a mostly white box covered by a pale label. Before reading the label, Ishan scrolled straight to the review section.

He went directly to the ratings and reviews. Several people praised the product. Others said it had done nothing. One person complained about the smell.

The colleague who shared the link had also posted two pictures of his hair taken three months apart. The later one did look better, although the light and angle were different.

Ishan returned to the positive reviews. In his mind, the thin crown filled in first. Then the rest of his hair grew past his neck without looking weak or uneven.

He closed the page. By evening, he remembered only the positive reviews and the white packaging.

A few minutes later, Naina messaged him separately.

**Please don't buy the first thing from the office group.**

**I am reading about it.**

**You said that about the release notes also.**

He laughed.

Priya sent another message.

**Don't use it with three other hair products.**

**Both of you have become like my sister.**

**Good,** Priya replied.

That evening, Ishan pressed and held the original office-group message, then forwarded its link directly to Ritika without opening it again.

**Can you get this?**

Her reply came twenty minutes later.

**The one from this link?**

**Yes. Office person used it.**

**How long do the reviews say you must use it?**

**At least two months. They said that is when you can properly see progress.**

**Two months means remembering it every day.**

**I will remember.**

The next morning, Ishan found three strands of hair near his pillow. He placed them together on his palm and immediately felt foolish.

By lunch, he messaged Ritika again.

**Did you check the link?**

She called him instead of replying.

"You really want to try it?"

"Yes."

"Because of a few reviews?"

"Not only that. I want to grow my hair longer. I don't want the crown becoming thinner while everything else grows."

"Fine. I will show the link at our regular medical store. If they have it, I will bring one sealed packet."

"Thank you, Didi."

"First read everything printed on it."

"I will."

"And don't begin three other hair routines with it."

"Only one oil video looked useful."

"Ishu."

"Fine. One thing at a time."

That evening, Ritika entered the flat carrying vegetables, groceries, two milk packets, and a small paper bag from their regular medical store.

Ishan looked up from the sofa.

"You bought it?"

"This is what they gave me after I showed them your link."

"Keep the milk in the fridge, Didi. It is getting warm."

"I know."

She placed the grocery bags on the dining table. "Read the medicine packet before using it."

"Yes, Didi."

"Don't say yes like a child."

"Then don't give instructions like a school principal."

"A school principal would confiscate your game."

Ishan glanced towards the television. "That seems excessive."

Ritika nearly smiled.

He was in the middle of an online match.

"Keep it in the drawer," he said. "I will check it later."

Her face tightened.

"You have been worried about your hair for ten days."

"This match will finish in five minutes."

"Your five minutes lasts half an hour."

"Please, Didi. It is an online game."

Ritika picked up the bag.

"If I have to remind you about the thing you begged me to buy, I will return it."

"No reminders. Promise."

Ritika carried the small paper bag to the drawer near the hall cupboard.

The drawer was still untidy. Several similar paper bags from the same medical store were already inside. Those contained her remaining medicine packets.

Without thinking about where she placed it, Ritika opened the drawer and pushed Ishan's bag into the available space.

One milk packet slipped against the vegetables on the table.

"Move your laptop," she told Ishan. "The groceries need space."

"After this round."

"Of course."

Ritika closed the drawer and carried the milk to the refrigerator. Then she began putting away the vegetables and other groceries.

She did not look at the medicine drawer again.

Ishan finished his game twenty-three minutes later.

He stood and started walking towards his room. As he passed the narrow mirror beside the cupboard, the thin area at his crown caught the light.

He stopped.

He pulled one of the longer side strands down. It reached below his ear but remained far from his shoulder. He imagined it longer, fuller, and heavy enough to stay in place instead of rising around his face.

Then he remembered the medicine.

Ishan opened the outside drawer.

The paper bags had shifted against one another. He moved a cable and pulled forward the first bag that seemed new.

Inside it was a mostly white box.

That matched the only detail he remembered from the product page.

Before he could read the name, the Teams ringtone sounded from his laptop.

His phone lit up with a message from Priya.

**Where are you? We have been waiting for some time.**

Ishan looked at the clock and panicked. He had been away longer than he realized.

He carried the white packet to his computer table, opened the right-hand drawer, and placed it inside.

Then he joined the Teams call.

The packet Ritika had bought for his hair remained in the outside drawer.