My boss made me do it by Vijay

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Nathan paced in front of the bathroom mirror, the razor lying on the counter like an executioner’s blade. His thick mustache, meticulously groomed for years, stared back at him from his reflection. It had always been his signature—a statement of his confidence and individuality. But tonight, that confidence was being tested.

The text message still burned in his mind. It was from his boss, a curt demand: "Clean-shaven only. It’s non-negotiable for the client meeting tomorrow."

Non-negotiable. Nathan scoffed. The mustache wasn’t just facial hair—it was his identity, his pride. But he couldn’t afford to lose this opportunity. It was either the mustache or the promotion he’d been chasing for years.

He sighed heavily, gripping the edge of the sink as he stared at his reflection. His fingers brushed over the mustache, almost as if to say goodbye. "You’ve been good to me," he muttered. "But I guess this is the end."

The air felt heavy as he turned on the tap, letting the warm water flow. He grabbed the can of shaving cream, shaking it with more force than necessary before spraying a generous amount into his hand. The scent of menthol filled the room, sharp and clinical.

As he lathered the cream over his upper lip, he hesitated, the cool foam a stark contrast to the heat building in his chest. His hands were trembling, a mix of anger, resentment, and strange anticipation. The thought of shaving off the mustache himself felt oddly intimate, almost intrusive. It wasn’t just a shave—it was a reckoning.

Nathan picked up the razor, its weight heavier than he remembered. His reflection stared back, defiant, as if daring him to go through with it. "Come on," he whispered to himself. "It’s just hair. You can do this."

He tilted his chin upward, positioning the blade at the edge of his mustache. The first stroke was hesitant, the razor gliding through the foam and cutting a thin strip of hair. The exposed skin felt alien, pale and vulnerable.

His stomach twisted as he stared at the bare patch. It was surreal, like seeing someone else’s face in the mirror. But there was no turning back now. With a deep breath, he pressed the razor against his skin again, this time moving with more purpose.

The room was silent except for the rhythmic sound of the blade scraping against his skin. Each stroke took away more of the mustache, leaving smooth, raw skin in its place. Nathan couldn’t decide what he felt more—relief or regret.

His hands grew steadier as he continued, the motions becoming almost mechanical. With each pass of the razor, the man staring back at him in the mirror changed. He looked… different. Younger, maybe. More exposed.

When he finished, Nathan turned on the tap and splashed cool water over his face, rinsing away the remaining foam. He grabbed a towel, patting his skin dry before finally looking at himself again.

The sight took his breath away. His upper lip, now bare, felt strange, almost naked. Without the mustache, his features seemed sharper, more pronounced. He ran a hand over the smooth skin, his fingers lingering as he tried to reconcile the man in the mirror with the man he thought he was.

There was a knock at the bathroom door, breaking the heavy silence. "You done in there?" his roommate, Chris, called. "You’ve been in there forever."

Nathan cleared his throat, his voice rough. "Yeah. I’m done."

He turned off the bathroom light and stepped out, the cool air brushing against his face. Chris glanced up from the couch, his eyes widening slightly. "Whoa," he said, a teasing grin forming. "It’s like meeting a whole new Nathan."

Nathan forced a smile, though his chest still felt tight. "Don’t get used to it," he muttered, brushing past him. "It’s temporary."

But as he sat in his room, staring at his reflection in the darkened window, he wasn’t so sure. The bare skin was strange, yes, but it wasn’t just vulnerability he felt—it was possibility. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. Maybe it was the start of something new.

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