Sam stood outside the salon, palms damp, breath shallow.
She pushed the door; the bell chimed politely.
The stylist’s smile was efficient, unreadable. “What are we doing today?” she asked.
Sam chewed her lip. “Something…clean? Summer-ready.”
Scissors whispered as the stylist worked with steady, quiet focus, asking only routine questions about family and holidays. She gasped as clippers buzzed gently around the edges; a warm towel soothed.
Smiling, the stylist handed her a small mirror and waited patiently.
Sam stared, and breathed out the breath she'd been holding: neat, sculpted, daringly minimal... She could get an even smaller bikini now.
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