It was supposed to be the last cut of the night — one man in the chair, his friend waiting by the wall. But the barber wasn’t in a rush. Every line, every brush of his hand carried something heavier than routine. The friend stopped pretending he wasn’t watching, and the barber stopped pretending he didn’t notice. By the time the clippers went quiet, the shop belonged to all three of them — and the touch wasn’t just about a fade anymore.

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