Long hair love

Chapter 8 - The Black Hairband

On Sunday morning, Ishan stood beside the stove making tea while Ritika prepared breakfast.

His hair had become long enough to fall forward whenever he lowered his face. He pushed it behind his ears before checking the milk. A few seconds later, the soft front strands slipped free again.

Ritika watched him tuck them back for the third time.

"Wait," she said.

She went to her bedroom and returned with a plain black plastic hairband.

Ishan looked at the curved band in her hand.

"What will I do with that?"

"Keep your hair away from the tea."

"I have never worn one."

"I know."

Ritika stepped closer but waited.

"Let me put it on once."

Ishan glanced at the pan and then lowered the flame.

"Fine."

"Stand still."

Ritika moved behind him. She gathered the hair near his forehead with her fingers, slid the black band over it, and settled the ends behind his ears. When one section caught beneath the band, she freed it and placed it properly with the rest.

Ishan stayed still because he did not know which way to move without disturbing her work.

"Done," Ritika said.

He turned towards the dark kitchen window.

The reflection was not clear, but he could see that his whole face was uncovered. The band held the longer hair back while the ends curved around his jaw and the back of his neck. A few fine strands remained near his temples.

Without hair covering them, his clean-shaven cheeks looked rounder and softer.

"It feels strange," he said.

"Because your hair is not in your eyes?"

"Because I can feel the band."

"Give it five minutes."

Ishan returned to the stove.

He finished the tea without touching his hair once.

During breakfast, he forgot about the band until Ritika looked at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"You are looking at it."

"I am looking at someone using both hands to eat."

Ishan shook his head, but he did not remove the band.

He wore it while helping her clear the table and while cutting vegetables for lunch. Each time he bent over the counter, his hair remained away from his face.

By afternoon, the pressure behind his ears had become noticeable. He removed the band and placed it on the dining table.

The loose hair returned immediately.

This time, the inconvenience felt sharper because he had spent several hours without it.

That evening, Ishan took the black band into his bedroom for yoga.

Ritika knew about his routine. He had told her how the videos had helped him become more active while she was away. He simply preferred doing yoga inside his room, where he could follow the movements without anyone watching.

Before beginning, he tried to place the hairband the way Ritika had.

It took him three attempts to get both ends behind his ears. Even then, it sat slightly farther back on one side.

For the standing movements, it worked.

When he bent forward, the smooth band shifted. During the next movement, one end began pressing behind his ear. He adjusted it, continued, and then felt it slide again when he lowered his head.

By the middle of the routine, he removed it and placed it beside his phone.

His hair fell towards the floor during the next bend.

At dinner, Ritika was serving dal when Ishan pointed towards the black band on the table.

"That band does not sit properly during yoga."

"What happens?"

"It moves whenever I bend, and then it presses here." He touched the place behind his ear. "I spend more time adjusting it than doing yoga."

Ritika nodded as if he had confirmed something she already knew.

"Plastic bands are not good for that."

"You gave it to me."

"For cooking, not for bending upside down."

Ishan mixed rice with dal.

"Then I still have the same problem."

"No. I know the exact solution."

He looked at her suspiciously.

"What solution?"

"Tomorrow."

The next evening, Ritika came to his room before he began yoga. She carried a wide black cotton hairband.

Unlike the plastic band, it was soft and flexible.

"This one will not press behind your ears," she said.

Ishan held it between both hands and stretched it slightly.

"You put it on," Ritika added.

"You did it yesterday."

"Yesterday you did not know how a hairband sat. Now you do."

Ishan faced the mirror. He pulled the cotton band over his head, but some hair became trapped across his forehead. He removed it and tried again.

On the second attempt, the band sat too low on one side. He pushed that edge upwards and used his fingers to free the longer hair at the back.

One small section remained caught near his left ear, and the band was not perfectly straight.

He turned towards Ritika.

"It looks wrong."

"It is a little uneven," she said. "But it is holding your hair."

Ishan bent forward once, then straightened.

The band stayed in place.

"Workable," Ritika decided.

"That means it looks bad."

"It means you wore it yourself on your second attempt. Do your yoga."

She left him alone and closed the door.

Ishan started the video.

The cotton band remained secure through every forward bend. It did not press behind his ears, and he completed the routine without stopping to move his hair.

When he finished, the band was still slightly uneven.

He looked at it in the mirror and smiled.

It was not neat, but it had worked because he had put it there.

The cotton band solved the yoga problem. The plastic band was still better when he wanted the rest of his hair to remain loose.

Two days later, Ritika placed the plastic band on him again before they started cooking. This time, Ishan understood enough to lower his head and move his hair back for her.

The band kept the longer sections away from his face, but the soft front hairs near his temples slipped out while he chopped onions.

One strand touched his eyelashes.

He tried to blow it away.

"That will not work for the shorter hair," Ritika said.

"Do you have another exact solution?"

"We have bobby pins."

She opened a drawer and returned with two slim black pins.

Ishan looked at them in her palm.

"Those tiny things will hold it?"

"If they are put in properly."

Ritika stood in front of him.

"Let me."

Ishan put down the knife.

She gathered the soft section near his right temple, twisted it back just enough to keep it together, and slid one bobby pin into his hair. Then she repeated the same action on his left side.

Her fingers worked slowly so that the pins did not pull.

"Does that hurt?" she asked.

"No."

"Move your head."

Ishan turned from side to side. Nothing fell into his eyes.

The bobby pins were almost hidden against his dark hair. Unlike the plastic band, they did not push all his hair away from his face. They only held the troublesome front sections, leaving the rest to curve softly around his cheeks and jaw.

He looked at his reflection in the microwave door.

The style was neater than his usual hair pushed behind his ears. It made the new softness of his face easier to see.

For a moment, Ishan simply looked.

Then Ritika handed the knife back to him.

"Onions," she reminded him.

He returned to the chopping board.

The pins stayed in his hair for the rest of the evening. Ishan did not yet know how to place them himself, but he was beginning to understand that growing his hair was only the first choice.

Learning how to manage it would be made of smaller choices.

For now, he let Ritika help.