Karan was a typical college student at Zenith College in Aurangabad—spirited, easygoing, and known for his unusually long hair that fell below his chest. Having maintained it for years, he was proud of his thick, dark locks. Often, when strolling through the Aurangabad East area or riding his bike past Skylark Towers, he would tie his hair up in a low ponytail or simply let it flow behind him. His friends—Neha, Anjali, and Sanya—had teased him about his hair many times, but their playful jabs were never anything he took seriously. Until one day, their teasing took a sudden turn.

It all started on a rainy afternoon at the Kedar Chowk area in Aurangabad. Classes had wrapped up early because of the monsoon downpour, so the group had decided to hang out at a small café near the station. They sipped on hot chai and munched on samosas, discussing the newest Bollywood movies and complaining about the mountainous loads of college assignments. Karan was distracted by his phone, not noticing how his three friends occasionally exchanged mischievous glances.

“Karan, we have a surprise for you,” Neha said suddenly, her voice bright with excitement.

“A surprise? For me?” Karan cocked his head, slightly suspicious but also curious.

“Yeah, something that’s long overdue,” Anjali added with a playful grin. “You’ll thank us later.”

Sanya, the quietest of the bunch, merely smiled. She fiddled with the scrunchie around her wrist, her gaze shifting between Neha and Anjali, as if confirming that they were indeed about to move forward with their plan.

Karan shrugged. “Alright. I’m up for anything.”

They finished their chai, paid the bill, and stepped out into the drizzle. None of the girls bothered to elaborate on what the “surprise” was, fueling Karan’s curiosity all the more. He had no idea what lay in store for him.

Before he knew it, Karan was whisked along the bustling streets of Aurangabad East. The rainy weather made everything glisten under the streetlights. Rickshaws weaved through the narrow lanes, vendors called out to passersby, and a mild smell of damp earth mixed with the usual aromas of roadside snacks and spices.

“Where exactly are we going?” Karan asked, weaving around puddles.

“You’ll see,” Neha said, her tone brimming with mischief.

“We’re almost there,” Anjali chimed in.

Sanya’s eyes danced with excitement as she pulled Karan a step faster, occasionally tugging lightly at the sleeve of his T-shirt to hurry him along. He felt uneasy under their unwavering grins but decided to trust them. After all, they had been his friends since the first year of college.

When they reached a small, brightly lit salon, Karan hesitated. It was called “Glamour Beauty Salon,” a place known for women’s haircuts and styling. The neon pink sign reflected on the puddles outside. A familiar sweet scent of hair conditioner and shampoo wafted out each time someone opened the door.

“What are we doing here?” Karan asked, blinking in confusion.

“You’re about to find out,” Neha replied, hooking her arm through his. “You’re coming with us.”

“But this is a ladies’ salon, isn’t it?” he asked, feeling a sudden rush of nerves.

Sanya nodded, putting her hand on his back. “Exactly.”

Before Karan could protest, Anjali guided him inside. The hum of hairdryers and low chatter in Hindi filled the air. A flicker of bright fluorescent lights and large mirrors lined the walls. Women were getting their hair styled, dyed, and cut. Instantly, Karan felt out of place, but before he could say a word, the three friends ushered him to a corner seat by a large mirror.

Once inside, the salon staff offered them seats, albeit with bemused expressions at the sight of a young man who looked quite anxious. Neha approached the salon’s manager—an older lady everyone called “Aunty,” known for her no-nonsense attitude—and whispered a few instructions. Aunty nodded, a smile tugging at her lips as she gave Karan a once-over.

Karan noticed Neha slip some cash into Aunty’s hand. A prickling sensation of dread crawled up his spine. He couldn’t guess what they’d just arranged. Next to him, Sanya was rummaging through the shelves, picking up combs and clips, eyeing them like she was choosing tools for an elaborate art project.

Anjali, meanwhile, was leaning over Karan’s shoulder, her chin nearly touching him. “You’re going to look so… cute after this,” she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Karan’s face burned. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see. Be patient, Karan,” Sanya said, placing a hand lightly on top of his head. She patted it as if reassuring a child.

He wanted to question them further, but the whirl of events made his mind spin. The sounds of blowdryers and the strong chemical smell of hair dyes were almost suffocating. He glanced around the salon, noticing the curious stares from other customers. Some of them openly giggled, while others just raised their eyebrows, seemingly amused at the sight of him in a women’s salon.

Aunty walked over, brandishing a wide-tooth comb and a spray bottle filled with water. In fluent Marathi, she asked Karan to lean back. Confused but too overwhelmed to argue, he obeyed. The chairs squeaked as he settled into a reclined position, head resting on a basin.

“You’ll smell the shampoo first,” Neha giggled.

Sure enough, he did. A flowery scent of jasmine and coconut oil shampoo permeated the air. The warm water cascaded onto his scalp, and Aunty massaged the shampoo through his hair with practiced efficiency. Each swirl of her fingers made him more aware of how long his hair was—how easy it was for someone to treat it like a woman’s hair.

As Aunty rinsed out the shampoo and conditioned his hair, he heard Anjali’s voice behind him, “We told you we had a surprise. It’s time for a new style. And trust us, you’re going to be… adorable.”

Karan felt his stomach flip. “What do you mean by that exactly?”

Neha smirked. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing bad. You’ll look… different.”

The water was turned off, and Aunty wrapped a towel around Karan’s head, patting it dry. Drips of water trickled down his neck, sending a small chill through him. He tried to push down the fluttering nerves in his stomach.

Steered away from the wash basin, Karan was led to a stylist’s chair facing a huge mirror. The bright lights above reflected harshly off the glass, making him squint. The seat was raised higher than typical barber chairs, designed so that the stylist could easily work on a woman’s hair. A black cape was whisked around his neck and snapped into place. One by one, the girls surrounded him—Neha on his right, Anjali on his left, and Sanya standing behind him.

“So, Karan,” Sanya cooed, “do you trust us?”

He gulped. “I—I guess?”

“Good,” Neha said cheerfully, though her grin was devilish.

She reached forward and began to comb his damp, silky hair. The comb’s teeth glided through easily at first, but then they paused at a few tangles, tugging the strands sharply enough to make Karan wince. He felt the subtle pulls on his scalp, each one a small reminder of how vulnerable he was in this moment. Neha’s playful smirk never wavered as she continued.

Anjali took the comb from Neha and smoothed out Karan’s hair until it lay flat across his forehead. The sensation of his wet hair being manipulated, parted, and pinned was strange—he felt like a model in a ladies’ salon, and that alone made him blush. From time to time, he could hear giggles from the other women in the salon, or see them half-turning to watch the scene.

Sanya rummaged in a small drawer and pulled out a pink hair clip. She pinned back sections of Karan’s long hair so that the front section hung loose over his face. He blinked, noticing that the piece of hair near his eyes felt a bit too short to be pinned back with the rest.

Aunty then stepped in. She held a smaller comb, the kind typically used to section hair precisely. She drew a crisp line across his scalp, separating a triangular section right at the front.

“Now hold still,” Aunty said in a calm, professional tone.

Karan still had no real idea of what was about to happen. He thought maybe they’d just trim off split ends, or maybe give him layers. A significant haircut was never on his radar, and certainly not something “girly.” His heart hammered in his chest, a mixture of anticipation and dread swirling.

Aunty took the front section of Karan’s hair—damp and combed forward over his forehead—and lifted it up between her fingers. She reached to her waist for a long pair of salon scissors. They made a small clicking noise as she opened and closed them, testing the blades.

“Ready?” Aunty asked, more as a formality than an actual question, because before Karan could respond, the scissors were already sliding into that thick section of hair.

Munch… snip… The first cut tore through the silence, slicing off what felt like several inches of hair in one go. Karan couldn’t believe how close to his brow line she was cutting. He felt the cool air on the newly exposed skin of his forehead. Time seemed to slow, the metallic scent of the scissors mixing with the subtle floral aroma of his freshly shampooed hair. His heart pounded louder in his ears.

He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t form. Neha placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder, as if silently telling him it was too late to protest now. Anjali’s eyes sparkled with glee, and Sanya leaned forward, her breath just grazing his ear.

“Don’t worry,” Sanya whispered. “It’s just bangs… girly bangs.”

That word—bangs—sent his mind whirling. He’d never had bangs in his life. He recalled seeing them on his female classmates, but the idea of himself sporting such a style felt alien and mortifying.

With each snip, more hair fell onto the cape, creating a small, dark pile on his lap. The sound of the blades was almost deafening to him. Aunty worked meticulously, combing the damp strands forward, checking symmetry, then cutting a tiny bit more to achieve a neat, blunt line across his forehead. The hair framed his face now, the ends curling slightly under the pressure of being wet.

From behind, Neha rummaged through the towel, collecting the fallen strands. “Look at this!” she teased, holding up a fistful of his hair like a trophy. “This was all yours, Karan. Feels lighter, huh?”

He swallowed hard, unable to form a response.

Aunty stepped back, inspecting her work. “Perfect,” she said. She took out a smaller pair of thinning shears, just to tidy up any stray hair that might cause unevenness. Her fingers brushed against Karan’s forehead, sending tiny shocks of cold air wherever his now-short hair no longer covered.

Once the bangs were cut, Aunty unclipped the rest of his hair. He felt it swish around his shoulders, the length still mostly intact, but the front section was entirely transformed. Suddenly, Neha came around to stand before him, her mouth twisting into a triumphant grin.

“Oh, wow,” she cooed, “You look… so adorable.” She emphasized the word “adorable,” her eyes raking over his brand-new bangs.

Anjali slapped her thigh in laughter. “He looks like one of us now!”

Sanya chimed in. “Finally, we got rid of that long fringe. Now you have actual bangs.”

Karan stared at himself in the mirror, mouth slightly open. He could hardly recognize his own reflection. The blunt bangs lay straight across his forehead, stopping just above his eyebrows. The rest of his hair was still long and brushed out—just as thick and flowing as before—but the girly bangs changed the entire shape of his face, giving him a softer, almost feminine look.

His friends’ voices washed over him:

“Karan, or shall we call you Karina now?”

“Look at you! So cute!”

“Should we paint his nails next?”

He blushed fiercely, wanting to hide behind his old, longer front sections of hair, but they were gone. He had no curtain left to conceal his burning cheeks. He looked at the mound of severed hair in his lap, feeling a bizarre mixture of shock, embarrassment, and, oddly enough, a strange thrill that he couldn’t quite identify.

The noises of the salon resumed around them—hairdryers whirring, customers chatting, and the snipping of scissors at other stations. Yet it felt like everyone’s attention was on him. Some women openly stared, some giggled, and others just smiled knowingly. Anjali gently tilted his chin upward, forcing him to maintain eye contact with his own reflection.

“Don’t worry,” she said, trying to sound consoling yet still brimming with playful malice. “You’ll get used to it.”

Sanya leaned in and took a photo on her phone before he could stop her. “We need to keep a memory of this moment,” she declared.

Aunty chimed in. “Do you want me to blow-dry it or style it further?”

Neha nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please. Make the bangs look nice and neat.”

Aunty plugged in a hairdryer and began to gently blow-dry Karan’s new bangs. The heat fanned across his forehead, and she used a round brush to curl the very ends inward, giving them a classic blunt style. He could smell the faint hint of hairspray as she lightly spritzed the fringe to hold it in place. With each pass of the hairdryer, Karan felt more and more of that airy feeling above his eyebrows, where hair once covered him.

Anjali took the opportunity to run her fingers through the rest of his length, sometimes yanking on knots a little too roughly, causing him to wince. “You better take care of this hair now,” she teased. “We went through all this trouble for your makeover.”

The final result was a neat, short fringe that starkly contrasted with his still-long hair. The reflection that stared back at him was simultaneously humiliating and mesmerizing. He felt hyper-aware of the stares and comments from everyone around. Even Neha gave him an approving nod, as if proud of a job well done.

Once the payment was settled, Karan’s friends hurried him out of the salon. The drizzle outside had lessened to a light sprinkle. The neon pink sign of “Glamour Beauty Salon” glowed behind him in the evening twilight. The lively streets of Aurangabad East were abuzz with people, and he could swear every passerby glanced at him. He tried to tell himself it was just his imagination, but the incessant giggles from Neha, Anjali, and Sanya convinced him otherwise.

“He’s blushing so much,” Anjali teased, poking at his cheek.

“Karan, you okay there? Or should we say Karina?” Neha joked.

Sanya placed a playful hand on his shoulder. “Think of it as a punishment or a lesson. Next time, don’t be so cocky about your hair.”

Karan tried to muster a comeback, but words failed him. A mild breeze brushed across his new bangs, tickling his forehead in a way he’d never experienced before. His scalp still tingled from the combing and tugging in the salon. His clothes clung slightly from the humidity, and the salon’s fruity hair product scent followed him into the street, a lingering reminder of everything that had just happened.

Despite feeling mortified and humiliated, he couldn’t entirely deny a strange sense of relief. The fear of the unknown was over—his hair had been cut. He was stuck with these bangs, at least for a while, and there was nothing else to do but own them. As the group made their way through the bustling roads—passing Galaxy Square and heading toward the station—he tried to sink into the crowd, but there was no hiding those freshly snipped bangs.

The day ended with the four of them heading to their usual hangout near the corner of the station road. They grabbed another round of chai, and whenever Karan looked down at his reflection in the steel glass used for tea, he would see that short fringe bobbing across his forehead. Neha and Anjali continued to tease him lightly, and Sanya snapped a few more photos.

By the time he reached home, the shock had finally begun to wear off, replaced by a resigned acceptance—and a part of him even found it all slightly amusing. After all, it had been a bizarre day. If nothing else, he had a story to tell—one set in the bustling heart of Aurangabad, featuring mischievous friends, a cunning salon aunty, and a surprise haircut he’d never forget.

He pushed open his front door, still catching faint whiffs of jasmine shampoo. As he walked inside, he couldn’t help but wonder how he would face his classmates in college the next day.

But that was a concern for the morning. For now, he let out a deep sigh, reached up to pat those blunt bangs he never asked for, and whispered under his breath, “Guess I’ll have to get used to being called… cute.”