23.0 #2
I set the phone down and just sat there for a moment, staring at my reflection in the dark glass. The ache behind my ribs didn't feel as sharp now—just tired, like something that wanted to rest.
After a while, I got up, went to Alina's door, and cracked it open. She was asleep, face still a little puffy, hair sprawled across the pillow.
I knelt beside her bed and whispered, "I'm sorry, baby."
Then I brushed her curls back, kissed her forehead, and stayed there a minute longer than I needed to, just to make sure she stayed small and safe in her world—before I turned out the light and closed the door.
By the time I got to the shop the next morning, Rina was sweeping, music low on the speaker, and the blow dryers hummed in the background like white noise.
Kian wasn't there.
That alone made the air feel lighter.
I clocked in, tied my smock, and tried not to think about the four days I'd been off.
Four days of "slow traffic" that didn't feel slow at all when you were the only one not on the schedule.
I'd told myself to let it go. That it wasn't worth the energy.
But deep down, I knew what he was doing—and why.
"Morning," Rina said, smiling through the mirror. "You good?"
"Trying to be," I said, sectioning off my client's hair. "How about you?"
She shrugged. "Better now that you're back. It's been chaos in here."
I smiled faintly. "Let me guess—the slow traffic days weren't really slow days'?"
"Girl," she groaned. "We were in here with heads back to back. Even Kian had to shampoo some people. Poor soul didn't know what he was over there doing."
"That sounds like him."
It felt good to laugh about it for a second, to pretend it was normal. The morning slipped by in small, easy motions—foil, rinse, blow dry, chat. The kind of rhythm that used to calm me.
By early afternoon, I'd almost forgotten about the ache sitting in the back of my chest. Until the door swung open, and a man in a delivery uniform walked in holding a massive bouquet.
"Delivery for... Amira?"
The room fell quiet.
Rina's head snapped up. "Ohhh," she said, eyes wide. "Girl, you got a secret admirer?"
My client turned in the chair, smiling. "They're beautiful."
The bouquet was huge—long-stemmed red roses wrapped in white paper, tied with a silk bow. The kind of flowers that looked like they belonged in a movie, not a hair salon on a Tuesday. My stomach fluttered as soon as I saw the tag tucked into the ribbon.
I smiled before I could stop it.
Rina leaned over my shoulder, grinning. "Oh, that's definitely a man."
"Rina," I warned, laughing softly.
"What?" she said, all teeth. "I'm just saying. Look at that handwriting."
Even a few of the clients were whispering and smiling. The whole place felt light for a minute, like someone had cracked a window.
I found an empty vase under the sink and filled it with water. The roses opened slowly under the light, like they knew they were being watched.
By the time the last few clients left and the music turned low again, it was just me and Rina in the shop. She grabbed her phone, switching the camera on. "No way you're leaving without a picture," she said. "Pose."
I groaned. "Rina, please."
"Pose," she repeated, waving her hand.
I laughed and posed, halfhearted but happy. The smell of the roses was thick and sweet, the kind that stayed on your skin.
"Girl, you better take those to the car," Rina said, scrolling through the pictures. "Before Kian comes in and sees them and has an attitude."
I rolled my eyes. "He's not even here."
"Yeah, but you know how he—"
The bell over the door rang.
We both froze.
Kian stepped inside, head down, scrolling his phone. He looked up a second later—and saw them. The flowers, the vase, the tiny card propped against the mirror. His jaw flexed before he even spoke.
"Did someone die?" he asked flatly.
Rina shot me a look and mumbled something about checking the back before disappearing.
I turned to him. "No. They're just flowers."
He raised an eyebrow. "From who?"
I met his eyes in the mirror. "Does it matter?"
He smirked. "Guess not. This not y'all house though. Anything personal needs to be sent to your cribs not here."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut with. He dropped his bag on the counter, the sound loud against the tile. "Somebody needs to sweep up in here," he said.
"I already did," I said, still combing through my last client's hair.
He walked over to the corner, picked up a handful of stray clippings from the floor from a stylist counter, and let them fall on the floor . "Looks like you missed a spot."
I froze.
He looked at me through the mirror, daring me. "Go ahead, do it."
My hands tightened around the comb. "Kian, I'm not doing this with you."
"Doing what?" His tone was all fake innocence. "I'm just asking my employee to make sure she do her task and keep the shop clean."
"No, you're trying to embarrass me," I said quietly. "You've been doing that for weeks."
His jaw ticked. "Bitch here you go."
"You took me off the schedule for four days."
"Because I didn't need you those days."
"Bullshit," I snapped before I could stop myself. "You're punishing me for something that has nothing to do with work."
He gave a humorless laugh. "You think everything's intentional. Nobody gives a fuck about you that bad."
"No," I said, standing a little taller. "But I know when something's personal."
His gaze narrowed, slow and deliberate. "Then maybe go find somewhere else that doesn't feel so personal."
The air left the room.
I stared at him, pulse hammering. He meant it. He wanted me to quit.
And maybe I should've stayed quiet. Maybe I should've let it go like I always did. But something in me snapped right then—the same small, quiet part of me that had been swallowing every word since the day I met him.
"Fine," I said. My voice didn't even shake. "I will."
He didn't say anything. Just stood there, arms crossed, smug in a way that made my stomach twist.
I untied my smock, folded it neatly, and set it on the counter. My reflection looked calm, too calm, as I grabbed my purse, the flowers, and my keys.
Rina peeked out from the back, her eyes wide. "Amira?"
I forced a small smile. "I'll call you later."
And then I walked out.
The heat hit me first—the kind that sticks to your throat. I stood there for a second, breathing it in. The hum of the city carried on like nothing had happened. But inside, everything had shifted.
For once, it didn't feel like running. It felt like choosing myself.
I set the bouquet in the passenger seat, the stems resting against a folded sweater. The smell of roses filled the car, heavy and sweet, clinging to the air like perfume.
My hands were still shaking a little as I started the engine. Not from anger this time, but something else—something that felt almost like release.
The streetlights blurred against the windshield as I drove, their glow washing over the petals every few seconds. For the first time in a while, I didn't feel small.
I didn't know what came next—another shop, another job—but for now, I just let the quiet hum of the car carry me home.
The roses swayed gently with each turn, their scent softening the edges of the night.
It wasn't peace, not yet.
But it was a start.