The sun poured through the sheer curtains, turning the beige walls of Alice's room golden. A breeze teased at the edges of her open window, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and early spring.
Alice sat cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by storybooks and colored pencils. Her pajamas were slightly wrinkled, and her hair… was a tangled battlefield.
A hopeless mess of loose strands, tiny knots, and yesterday's pigtails clinging on for dear life.
Chris had tried to help that morning. He poked his head into her room, took one look at the mop on her head, and quickly retreated. "Nope," he declared. "I may know how to disarm a bomb, but I'm not touching that chaos."
He left her with a banana, a wink, and no solutions.
Now, Alice sat there, cheeks puffed in frustration, trying to part her hair with a comb that snagged every few inches. Her arms ached. She winced with every pull. A tear slipped out—not from the pain, but from the growing frustration of not being able to look… neat.
Elvin found her like that.
He had just returned from his morning jog, sweat still clinging to his collar, when he passed her room and saw her sitting on the floor, face red and wet, gripping a brush with trembling fingers.
Without a word, he stepped inside.
Alice froze and looked up, her lip wobbling.
He crouched in front of her. "Did you hurt yourself?"
She shook her head quickly, embarrassed. "It's my hair… I just… I can't make it nice. I tried…"
Elvin didn't speak. He gently took the brush from her hand and examined the strands.
"It's not that bad," he said softly, though it clearly was.
Alice sniffled. "It won't listen to me."
He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Come sit on the chair."
She blinked. "What?"
"The chair. Sit facing the window."
She obeyed silently, padding barefoot to the wooden chair by her desk. She sat, back straight, unsure what to expect.
Elvin rolled up his sleeves, pulled another chair behind her, and sat down.
"I haven't done this in years," he muttered. "But I used to braid your mother's hair. When she was younger than you."
Alice gasped. "Really?"
He nodded, carefully parting the top of her hair with his fingers.
His touch was gentle, patient. He used the comb sparingly, smoothing rather than tugging. Alice sat completely still, heart racing—not from nervousness, but something else.
Something warm.
The kind of warmth that seeps into the cracks you didn't know existed.
Outside, birds chirped. The world went on. But in that tiny corner of the house, time slowed. Elvin's fingers moved slowly, twisting and weaving her thick hair with surprising care. He wasn't a hairstylist—his braid was slightly uneven, with a few loose strands. But it felt… perfect.
Every so often, he would pause and mutter things like, "Too loose," or "Your hair's a lot softer now," or "Stop wiggling."
She giggled once. "Sorry."
"No giggling in formation," he teased.
Alice beamed. She liked this side of him. The one that only came out in quiet mornings and small gestures. The one the world rarely saw.
When he finished, he tied it off with a pale ribbon she'd dropped near the bed.
"Done," he said, brushing the stray hairs off her shoulder.
Alice turned to look at the mirror.
The braid wasn't perfect, but it was beautiful.
"Thank you…" she whispered.
Elvin stood, brushing off his hands. "If you want, I can do it again tomorrow. Until you learn it yourself."
"I'd like that."
He glanced at her face—bright eyes, soft smile, no more tears—and nodded once. "Good."
Then, as if nothing monumental had just happened, he turned and left for his shower.
Alice remained seated, her fingers tracing the braid gently.
She didn't understand all her feelings yet. But she knew that every time Elvin treated her this kindly, this gently, something inside her stirred. Something that made her want to stay by his side forever.
Not as a little girl.
But something more.
That day, when Chris returned, he took one look at her hair and dropped his phone.
"Elvin braided that?" he gawked. "Our Elvin? Big, scary, stoic Elvin?"
Alice smirked. "He's not scary."
"He's basically a tank with feelings."
She twirled once, braid swinging behind her. "He said I'm growing prettier."
Chris made gagging sounds but smiled.
And that night, when Elvin passed her room to say goodnight, she didn't just wave from her bed. She ran up and hugged him tightly, face buried against his chest.
He stiffened in surprise, then slowly wrapped his arms around her in return.
Neither said anything.
They didn't need to.