21.0
Hey guys ??
Before we jump into the chapter, I just wanted to clear up two quick things!
First — Brooks is 31. I know I mentioned 35 in an earlier chapter, but that was totally my mistake. Second — I'm a senior in college and working full time, so sometimes I might miss little details when I'm revising before posting.
I try to update as often as I can because I truly love writing this story and sharing it with you all. So if you ever catch small errors, just know it's coming from a tired-but-happy writer who's doing her best. Thanks for being patient and for loving these characters as much as I do ??
Enjoy this short update.
The hum of dryers and faint smell of bleach filled the salon, settling into my clothes the way it always did.
I stood at my station, parting through a client's hair, the sharp scent of argan oil hanging in the air. The motions were automatic: section, pin, trim.
The kind of work you could do while your mind wandered somewhere else.
Across the room, Kian pretended not to watch me.
He'd been like that for weeks now — quiet but calculated. Short answers, drawn-out silences, an edge in his tone whenever we crossed paths.
Little things. Petty things.
The kind of behavior that wasn't loud enough to call out, but just loud enough to feel.
I learned to ignore it.
Men like Kian hated nothing more than not being given a reaction.
"Hey."
I looked up. Julian stood behind me, a comb in his hand, his smock half-unbuttoned like he'd gotten too warm halfway through a cut. His curls were a little messy — the kind that said he'd been rushing but didn't care.
He leaned against the counter beside my station, his reflection overlapping mine in the mirror. "You've been quiet lately. Everything good?"
I clipped the last section, brushed hair off my client's shoulder, and forced a small smile. "Yeah. Just tired, I think."
Julian raised an eyebrow. "Work tired or life tired?"
"Both."
He hummed, like he knew not to press. "How's your little one?"
The mention of Alina pulled something lighter from me. "Good. She's... really good, actually."
He smiled. "And her dad?"
My hands stilled for a second, but I kept combing, eyes fixed on the mirror. "He's... around now."
Julian blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah." I nodded, pretending to be focused on a flyaway strand. "It's been about a month. He comes by every Saturday."
Julian tilted his head, studying my face through the mirror. "That's big, Amira."
"I know."
"You sound surprised."
"I am."
What I didn't say was that Brooks had shown up every week, exactly when he said he would. That Alina waited by the window like she knew the sound of his car. That the first time she fell asleep in his lap, I almost cried.
I just smiled faintly and said, "He's trying."
Julian nodded. "That's all anybody can do."
Across the room, Kian laughed at something a client said — too loud, too forced. His eyes flicked toward me again, quick and sharp.
Julian caught it. "He's still on that weird shit, huh?"
I shrugged, brushing stray hair off my smock. "He'll get over it."
"Or you will."
"Exactly."
Julian grinned, then pushed off the counter. "You need a lunch buddy later, let me know. You always look like you've got a lot on your mind."
"I always do," I said, light but true.
He chuckled and went back to his station, leaving behind a faint echo of cologne and the kind of quiet that followed when the noise in your head got too loud.
When he left, I caught my reflection again — jaw set, shoulders tight, eyes distant.
I loosened my grip on the comb, rolled my shoulders, tried to soften.
The mirror didn't cooperate.
I could feel Kian's stare again. But instead of meeting it, I reached for the spray bottle and misted the air until the smell of water and citrus filled my space.
That helped.
By the time I clocked out for lunch, my feet hurt and the air felt too thick.
I stepped outside, letting the door swing shut behind me.
The sunlight hit like a reset — warm, clean, open.
Outside, the air felt easier to breathe.
The sun was strong enough to sting a little, the kind of heat that made everything look softer at the edges.
Alina was on the swings, legs pumping hard, hair flying back with each rise.
Her laughter carried across the playground—bright, unfiltered, the kind that always found a way to reach me even when I didn't want it to.
I sat on a bench a few yards away, half-watching, half-scrolling. Around us, parents called out reminders, kids chased soccer balls, a dog barked at a squirrel. It was one of those afternoons that looked peaceful if you didn't think too hard about it.
Alina jumped off mid-swing and ran toward the jungle gym, her sneakers flashing silver in the light.
"Careful," I called, out of habit more than worry.
She waved me off, climbing anyway.
I unlocked my phone again, swiping through old pictures until I landed on one I'd taken the other day—her sitting on the couch, coloring, tongue poking out in concentration.
I snapped another photo now, zooming in as she hung upside down from the bars, her shirt slipping to reveal a strip of her belly. I typed a message before I could overthink it.
Amira
photo attached
It took him a few minutes to reply.
Brooks loved a message
Brooks
She looks cute
Brooks
How's your day?
I watched the screen for a moment, thumb hovering.
Amira
Slow. We stopped at the park before going home.
Alina had found a new friend—a little girl in a purple shirt. They were trading the swing back and forth, counting down before jumping off like it was a competition. Her joy was so whole it made the rest of the week feel far away.
A breeze came through, soft and sudden. I leaned back, closed my eyes for a second, and let myself just sit there—no noise, no pretending. Just the sound of her voice and the creak of the swing.
When I opened my eyes again, my phone buzzed.
Brooks
She's got your smile.
I stared at that one longer. There was nothing flirtatious in it, but something about it lingered. It was simple. Observant. Too honest.
Amira
People say that.
Brooks
They're right.
I didn't reply after that.
Instead, I called out that it was time to go. Alina groaned but followed, kicking at the mulch as she walked. I wiped her hands clean with a wipe and buckled her in once we reached the car.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I glanced at the rearview mirror—she was already half-asleep, popsicle stains on her chin, bracelet glinting in the sunlight.
By the time we got home, the sky was already starting to turn. That in-between color—half gold, half gray—where the day doesn't know what it wants to be.
Alina fell asleep on the couch before I could even take her shoes off, the popsicle still faintly staining her lips. I covered her with a blanket, brushed her curls off her face, and just stood there a minute. Watching her breathe. The apartment was too still again.
I walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of water I didn't really want, and checked my phone. No new messages.
Until it rang.
Brooks.
I hesitated before answering, wiped my hands on a dish towel, and pressed the phone to my ear. "Hey."
"Hey," he said. His voice was low, calm in that deliberate way it got when he'd been thinking too much. "I was going over some things with the campaign's finance team today and it made me think—what would you say if I opened an investment account for Alina?"
I blinked. "For what?"
"For when she's older. College, business, whatever she wants." He said it like he was talking about replacing a light bulb. "It'd be structured like a trust. She can get it when she's eighteen. No big deal."
I huffed a quiet laugh. "You talk about setting up a trust like it's nothing that's a big financial responsibility."
He chuckled. "What, I can't have a financially responsible dad feeling?"
"Quoting love island after complaining any time I tried to turn it on is crazy work."
"I dabble here and there," he said.
That earned an actual laugh from me, small but real. "Yeah right. You were probably tuned in every night with Peacock premium."
We bantered back and forth for a moment.
He cleared his throat. "How's she doing?"
"Out cold," I said, glancing at the couch. "Didn't even make it through the drive home."
He hummed softly. "Tiring day, then."
"It was."
The quiet that followed wasn't awkward, just thoughtful. Comfortable in a way I hadn't expected. Then my phone buzzed, another message sliding in.
I looked at the texts for a second before saying, "Sam texted me."
"Sam?" Brooks asked. "You guys aren't friends anymore?"
"No." I leaned against the counter, tracing my finger along the rim of my glass. "The same day I moved out of the house—that was the last time we talked. She came by the shop a few weeks ago, but before that? It'd been almost five years."
"What'd she say?"
"Mostly that she missed me."
He was quiet again, like he was weighing how much to say. Then, simply "You should talk to her."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." His tone softened. "I'm sure it was just a petty argument."
I didn't tell him the argument was about him.
I let that sit. "I'll think about it."
"A step closer to personal growth," he said lightly.
I smiled. "Whatever."
A yawn slipped out before I could stop it. "I should bring her upstairs."
"Alright," he said. "I'll let you go."
"Goodnight, Brooks."
"Night, Amira."
The line went quiet.
I stared at my reflection in the dark screen for a moment before opening Sam's message again. My thumbs hovered, the weight of old memories pressing in. Then I typed.
I hit send before I could change my mind.
Upstairs, Alina stirred when I lifted her, but didn't wake. Her bracelet glinted faintly under the lamp light as I carried her to bed.
By the time I got to my room, I could barely keep my eyes open. I peeled off my clothes one piece at a time, letting them fall where they landed, too tired to care. All I wanted was a hot shower and a cold pillow.
The light from my phone buzzed against the dresser.
I ignored it at first, pulling my hair free from its tie. Then it buzzed again — three short vibrations in a row.
I sighed and grabbed it.
Salon Group Chat — 9:42 PM
Kian: Tomorrow I only need Rina, Leona, and Sabrina on the floor. Hair side's probably gonna be slow, so no need for extra hands.
I blinked at the message.
There were only four of us on the hair side. Rina. Leona. Sabrina. And me.
So, basically, I was the extra hands.
I scrolled up, waiting for him to say more, but that was it. Just the one message.
A sour heat started climbing my throat. Tomorrow wasn't a holiday. We weren't short-staffed. There'd been a full schedule when I left today.
This wasn't scheduling. This was petty.
I switched over to my messages and pulled up Julian's name.
Amira
Did Kian text the barber chat anything about tomorrow?
Julian
Nope. Just checked. Why?
Amira
He told the hair side not to come in except Rina, Leona, and Sabrina.
Julian
I seen we're booked half the day on both sides before I left.
My pulse was already kicking up. I went back to the salon chat — still nothing.
I hit the call button before I could talk myself out of it.
He answered quick, like he'd been waiting. "What?"
I ignored the tone. "You're cutting my shift tomorrow?"
"It's gonna be slow," he said, bored already. "No point in having four people standing around."
I frowned. "It's not slow. You literally confirmed a full schedule before we left."
"Things change," he said. "Clients cancel. You know how it goes."
"That's interesting," I said evenly. "So only the hair side is suddenly experiencing cancellations."
"They pull walk-ins. You don't."
I laughed under my breath. "Right. Because walk-ins for a lineup are such a big moneymaker compared to color clients."
"Amira," he said, voice dropping lower. "Don't start."
"I'm not starting anything," I said. "You started it when you singled me out. So, I'm just asking—what's this really about?"
He scoffed. "You think everything's about you. Maybe I just didn't feel like dealing with your energy tomorrow."
"My energy?"
"Yeah," he said. "You've been walking around like your shit don't stink. Acting all untouchable lately. I don't need that in my salon."
"Your salon," I repeated, the word catching. "Got it. I didn't realize matching energy suddenly meant I'm bad vibes."
"Watch yourself."
"No," I said, calm but firm. "You watch how you talk to people who keep your books full."
"You keep acting like you're doing me a favor," he shot back. "You're an employee. Not a partner. Don't get it twisted."
"It doesn't matter if I'm just an employee I think I've earned the right not to be treated like shit."
He snorted. "Then maybe go work somewhere that worships you the way you need."
And then the line went dead.
I stared at the screen, the call log still open, my own reflection looking back at me. For a second, I didn't even feel angry—just stunned. Like he'd slapped the air out of the room.
The quiet hit harder than any insult.
I set the phone down, exhaled slowly through my nose, and turned the shower on. The pipes groaned before the water rushed out.
It hit cold, sharp, sliding over my shoulders like punishment. I stood there and let it.
I didn't even know how we got here—me and Kian. It wasn't supposed to turn into anything. One night blurred by too many drinks, too many glances that lasted too long, and suddenly I was tangled up with my boss like I'd never learned a damn thing.
Irresponsible. Distasteful.
The kind of mistake that sneaks up on you looking like comfort until it costs you something real.
I should've known better.
Now I was paying for it—shift by shift, petty text by petty text.
He'd make good on this. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon.
That's how men like him worked—quiet retaliation dressed up as "business decisions."
I pressed my palms against the tile, water running down my arms, and made myself a promise.
Tomorrow, I'd start looking.
Even if it was just to see what else was out there.
Because if he could cut me once, he could cut me again—and I didn't have the luxury of pride.
I had a mouth to feed.
The water stayed cold, but I stayed there anyway, letting it wash over me until I couldn't tell if it was the chill or the exhaustion that made me shiver.