Rhia looked at her long tresses, caressing them, playing with them – sometimes tying them in a top knot, sometimes, in a half pony, using her fingers to hold them up for a few seconds before letting them fall down again. She spent a full fifteen minutes preening in front of the mirror.
It wasn’t just the hair. Could she actually trust the hairstylist? What if he messed up? What if the new look actually didn’t suit her? Was she doing the right thing by putting in so much faith in a stranger – that too with her thick, luxurious tresses.
Forget whether the new look would suit her or not. What would her husband say? She knew he loved her hair. Often he’d wrap his fingers around the loose tendrils that framed her face and play around with them. She loved it when he did that. What if the new style left nothing to curl around his fingers.
Rhia thought for a moment longer. Did she really want to do this? From somewhere inside of her came a resounding ‘yes’. She picked up her phone and made an appointment with the salon for the next day.
This was one decision she’d go through with. After all, it wasn’t every day that one could gift Hair to a Cancer patient.