The Salon Secret
"Zoya runs the most popular Pakistani beauty salon in Birmingham. When new client Samir keeps booking appointments he doesn't need, she realizes he's there for more than a haircut."
The Salon Secret
"You don't need a haircut."
Zoya crossed her arms as Samir walked in for the fourth time that week. His hair was perfect—it had been perfect the first time too.
"Maybe I'm particular."
"Maybe you're stalking me."
"Maybe—" He smiled, that devastating smile. "I just like being here. Your salon is... peaceful."
"It's a salon. We wax things and gossip."
"Exactly." He sat in the chair. "Trim the sides."
He kept coming. For haircuts, beard trims, the occasional (clearly unnecessary) eyebrow shaping.
The aunties who frequented Zoya's salon were delighted. "Such a handsome boy," they whispered. "And so devoted."
"He's not devoted. He's weird."
"He's smitten, beti." Aunty Nasreen patted her hand. "We old women know."
She confronted him after close.
"What do you actually want, Samir?"
"You." No hesitation. "I saw you at my cousin's wedding three months ago. You did the bridal makeup. I couldn't stop watching you work—the concentration, the care, the way you made my cousin feel beautiful."
"And you've been getting unnecessary haircuts ever since?"
"Best plan I could think of." He stepped closer. "I'm not smooth, Zoya. I'm not good at flirting. But I know what I want, and it's you."
"You don't even know me."
"Then let me learn." He took her hand. "One dinner. If you feel nothing, I'll stop coming."
"Promise?"
"Promise." His eyes were earnest. "But I don't think you'll feel nothing."
He was right.
Dinner was wonderful. He was funny, kind, and looked at her like she was the only woman alive.
"How did you know?" she asked afterward, in his car.
"Know what?"
"That I'd say yes. Eventually."
"I didn't." His smile was soft. "I just hoped."
They made it to her flat—small, cluttered with salon supplies.
"Professional hazard," she apologized.
"I love it." He kissed her. "I love everything about you."
He made love to her like she was precious—slow, thorough, devoted. When he finally entered her, Zoya felt something click.
"Meri jaan," he breathed. "Worth every unnecessary haircut."
"So many haircuts."
"I'd get a thousand more." He moved deeper. "For you, anything."
"The aunties are going to be insufferable," Zoya said afterward.
"The aunties are going to get free threading for life." He grinned. "Consider it gratitude for their encouragement."
"They didn't encourage you."
"They didn't discourage me either." He pulled her close. "Let me keep coming to your salon. As your boyfriend. Eventually, more."
The wedding happened in her salon—nowhere else felt right.
The aunties cried happy tears and claimed full credit.
Best haircut either of them ever got.