Rohan to Rohini (A Feel-Good Story)

Chapter 1: Two Saturdays

It started with my hair brushing the back of my neck.

I was making tea, and when I turned towards the window, the ends of my hair touched my skin. It tickled a little. I turned again, just to feel it again.

Between looking for a job and settling into it, I hadn’t had a haircut in three months.

For the last three Saturdays, I had planned to get a haircut. Every time, I was too lazy, and I skipped it. But this Saturday was different. My wallet was upstairs, my sandals were by the door, and I had no work left to finish. Nothing was stopping me. I stood there until the tea started to boil over, and I decided not to go.

This time, it wasn’t laziness.

I was twenty-four, and I lived in Pune with my mother and my sister, Ananya. Mummy went to the bank every morning, and Ananya went to her design studio. I stayed at home. A few months earlier, I had joined a software company as a fresher, and the whole team worked from home. So for most of the day, I had the house to myself, and nobody saw how often I touched my hair to feel the new length. Even alone, I felt a little shy each time.

That evening, at the washbasin, I pushed my wet hair back and looked at myself in the mirror. The hair on the sides fell softly around my face. I turned my head and let it fall against my face. Then I did it again. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I only knew I liked what I saw, a little more than I expected.

Ananya came home from the studio and stood behind me.

“Didn’t you say you were getting a haircut?”

“I didn’t feel like going.”

“Oh, of course. You were so busy today.”

I threw a little water at her. She moved away, laughing, and went to change. I waited until she left, and then I looked in the mirror again.

On Sunday, I went out to buy shampoo. My usual salon was open. The barber saw me through the door and pointed to an empty chair.

I almost went in. I knew exactly what would happen: the sheet around my neck, the same old question, the machine moving quickly around my ears. By the time I reached home, that soft bit of hair would be gone, and nobody would ever know that I had wanted to keep it.

I smiled, shook my head, and walked on. My heart was beating fast, as if I had done something much bigger than skip a haircut.

On Monday, I had my weekly call with Meera. Work still felt new to me, and in most meetings I understood only half of what people said. When I got stuck and messaged the team, most of them sent a link, or wrote “will check”, or didn’t reply at all. Meera was the only one who really helped. She had been in the company for three years. In my second week, she had suggested we talk on video at least once a week. “Otherwise we’re just names in a chat,” she said.

That Monday, while she explained something on her screen, I saw myself in the small box in the corner. My hair was over my ears. I tucked it back. She didn’t notice. But I did.

The next Saturday, Ananya saw me pressing the sides of my hair down with wet fingers.

“Still too lazy to get a haircut?”

“Yes.”

She leaned against the door. I quickly took my hand away from my hair, as if she had caught me doing something wrong.

“Does it look messy?” I asked. What I really wanted to ask was, does it look wrong?

“A little at the back. Turn around.”

I turned. She pressed down a piece of hair that was sticking up near my collar. “There. Better.”

That was all. No joke. No questions. Something tight in my chest relaxed.

That night, I made dinner. I have always liked good food, and I started cooking during corona. I never stopped. It was one of the few things I was sure I was good at.

At dinner, my mother looked at me across the table. She was back from the bank and had changed her clothes. Her watch was next to her plate.

“Are you growing your hair?”

I could have said no. I could have said I was just being lazy. Instead, I asked, “Can I? Does it look bad?”

“It looks nice. You can try.” She broke a piece of roti. “But you will have to oil it regularly. I’ll do it for you.”

I nodded and reached for the rice. I didn’t say anything, because I was afraid my voice would shake. She had said yes so easily, as if I had only asked to borrow the scooter.

After dinner, I brought out two small bowls of milk malai burfi that I had made in the afternoon. Ananya finished hers before I even sat down. Mummy ate slowly and said it was better than the sweet shop’s. When I made it, I didn’t know it would feel like a thank-you.

Later, I combed my hair in front of the mirror. I moved the front away from my eyes, and then I stopped with the comb above one ear.

I put the comb down and left my hair the way it was.