Negative Energy at the Shampoo Sink
Nico drummed his fingers anxiously against the reception counter. His chest and shoulders had locked up tight. That never meant anything good. Ever since childhood, he’d known this feeling meant trouble was coming.
His throat tightened. He needed water.
He poured himself a little from the pitcher on the counter, but after one sip, he grimaced and set the glass back down. The icy water only made his throat feel tighter. He pressed the back of his hand to his damp forehead. His whole body trembled.
What the hell was about to happen?
Desperately, he searched for Mia, but the kitchen had swallowed her up again. She had no intention of coming out. Mia knew exactly what kind of client was arriving, and she wanted no part of it. She’d already spent enough time talking to the woman on the phone before the appointment.
Cheerful laughter drifted in from outside. One voice bright and tinkling, the other familiar and reassuring.
Lara came down the steps leading to the salon beside a woman with waist-length flame-red hair and the tired eyes of someone older than she was trying to look.
Nico let out a breath of relief. So his instincts had been wrong after all. Maybe he dealt with too many people these days. Maybe his intuition wasn’t what it used to be.
“Come in, darling,” Lara said, holding the door open wide. “You can leave your things over here.” She pointed to the sofa against the wall. “Can I get you anything while Nico gets set up? Coffee? Tea?”
The woman shook her head with a nervous smile. The strained little smile briefly revealed the age her makeup worked so carefully to hide. The ten years concealed beneath soft foundation and carefully chosen colors instantly resurfaced in her eyes and tired expression.
“Thank you, but I don’t eat or drink in unfamiliar places. I can’t drink from cups that pass through so many hands in a single day.”
Nico couldn’t believe what he was hearing, though his face remained perfectly still. He pulled out the chair and guided the client toward the shampoo sink.
The woman waited while he arranged her hair in the basin, then leaned back comfortably. She took a long, satisfied breath and slowly exhaled.
The warm mix of stale coffee, cigarettes, and honeydew gum in her breath made Nico’s stomach clench instantly.
He jerked upright and stepped back. Leaning beneath the sink, he pretended to adjust the pipes. He needed a moment.
He took several deep breaths, trying to clear the smell from his lungs.
But he couldn’t stay hidden there forever.
He straightened up and began washing her hair.
As if sensing his weakness, the woman let out a huge yawn without even covering her mouth.
The color drained from Nico’s face.
Tiny stars flickered in front of his eyes, and the floor seemed to soften beneath his feet.
“One second…” he whispered shakily.
He stumbled blindly toward the restroom.
By the time the door closed behind him, the world around him had gone completely black.
Lara — whose own client had arrived in the meantime — stared at the bathroom door behind the reception desk in alarm.
Mia, meanwhile, acted as though nothing unusual had happened. She sprang from her chair and appeared beside the shampoo sink in seconds. With confident, practiced movements, she shampooed and massaged the woman’s thick hair.
“Hmm…” the woman murmured. “Your energy is so much better than your colleague’s. Would it be possible for you to do my hair instead?”
“Oh, I’m not actually a stylist,” Mia said apologetically. “I can probably do a cool braid or something, but cutting and coloring? Definitely not.”
“What a shame,” the woman sighed. “I’m afraid if that man touches my hair, it’ll start falling out.”
“Falling out?” Mia repeated, startled.
A sorrowful sigh escaped the woman’s lips.
“My hair is extremely sensitive to its surroundings. If it’s exposed to negative energy, it starts shedding. Sometimes it’s enough for a sick person to stay near me too long.”
Mia listened with genuine curiosity.
A deep line creased the woman’s forehead. She let out a distressed little groan.
“I think I’m about to have a panic attack,” she said miserably.
“Oh, come on,” Mia soothed her. “Nothing bad’s going to happen. Nico’s the best hairstylist around. He doesn’t have a single free appointment. And hair this beautiful will only look even better once he’s worked on it.”
The woman slowly opened her eyes.
She tried to look at Mia, but her gaze kept darting around.
“Please believe me… I can feel that he mustn’t touch me. I’m certain my hair rejected him. The moment he came near me, it released defensive energies. It doesn’t want to get sick and fall out.”
A suffocating silence settled over the salon.
Everyone froze mid-motion.
Lara and her client stood there like statues, watching the distressed woman in stunned silence. Nico’s tense, shame-filled silence seemed almost visible through the solid bathroom door.
“What would you like us to do?” Mia asked gently.
“Just dry it, please.”
Mia gave a small nod to show she understood.
She wrapped the mass of red hair in a thick, soft towel and guided the woman back to the mirror. Then she waited for her to settle comfortably into the chair.
Lara resumed her conversation with her own client in a hushed voice.
Meanwhile, Nico waited until the salon had emptied and Mia flipped the “Open” sign around for lunch break.
Lara stared ahead in disbelief.
“Well. ‘Her hair rejected you’ definitely sounds better than ‘you nearly passed out after she yawned in your face.’”