The next morning, he called his usual barber, Mr. Tiwari, who had been trimming his hair with the same electric razor for two decades.
Priya stared for a second, then burst out laughing. But it was a kind laugh. “Okay, fine,” she admitted. “That’s actually kind of cool.”
Rohan smiled. He didn’t have Kohli’s hair, or his cover drive, or his millions. But he had learned something better: the only haircut that truly suits you is the one you stop hiding behind. And sometimes, a very bad idea is the only thing that can lead you to the right one.
On day three, she looked up from her phone during dinner and announced, “Mamu, your hair is a crime scene.”
Rohan Mehta was a man of quiet habits. He wore the same gray sneakers to his data analyst job every day, ate butter chicken every Friday, and had sported the same nondescript side-part hairstyle since his engineering college placements in 2014. His life was a spreadsheet: orderly, predictable, and beige.
At the office on Monday, there was a collective intake of breath. His colleague, Neha, whispered, “Did you lose a bet?” His boss, Mr. Sharma, stared for a long moment and then simply said, “Rohan. The quarterly report. Focus on the fundamentals.”