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"Just promise me one thing," Layla replied. "Whenever you feel lost again, come back. Not for beauty. For translation."

Rana sat in the velvet chair. Layla dimmed the lights, played an old Om Kolthoum record, and began a gentle scalp massage. No scissors. No dye. Just silence and the slow release of tension. "Just promise me one thing," Layla replied

"How much do I owe you?" she asked.