Ethan, a tall, gangly teenager with stubborn brown hair, slouches near the door, arms crossed, his expression defiant. His mother, Mrs. Turner, stands beside him, her lips pressed into a thin, determined line. She looks to the barber, Mr. Dolan, a kindly older man with a snowy mustache, who polishes his scissors behind the counter. "Ethan’s here because he needs to learn a lesson, Mr. Dolan. He’s been acting out at school and home," she announces, her voice steady but weary.

Mr. Dolan[/@ch_3] sets his tools in perfect order on the counter.] "I understand, Mrs. Turner. Sometimes a little humility goes a long way," says Mr. Dolan, his tone gentle but firm. Ethan shifts uneasily in his seat as Mrs. Turner opens a shopping bag, revealing a folded diaper and a child’s bib adorned with cartoon ducks. "You’re kidding, right? You can’t be serious," Ethan protests, his cheeks reddening as he eyes the childish items.

"You’ve been acting like a baby, Ethan, so maybe this will help you remember to act your age," Mrs. Turner says, her voice unwavering. With a sigh, Ethan reluctantly sits, the diaper and bib awkwardly fastened by his mother. Laughter and whispers ripple from the waiting customers, adding to his humiliation.

Mr. Dolan[/@ch_3] begins to work. Shorn locks tumble to the floor, mixing with the checkerboard tiles. The mirror reflects Ethan’s scowl, framed by the ridiculous bib.] "You know, Ethan, I once gave a friend a silly haircut when he lost a bet. But he learned something important—sometimes, it’s not about what you look like, but how you act afterwards," Mr. Dolan observes, pausing to meet Ethan’s eyes in the glass. Ethan sits silent, mortified, but listens as the clippers continue.

Ethan[/@ch_1]’s head is now neatly trimmed, the childish bib still tied snugly under his chin. The room settles into a soft, awkward quiet, broken only by the faint snipping of scissors. Sunlight pours through the window, catching the fine hair drifting in the air.] "All done, Ethan. Take a look," Mr. Dolan says, turning the chair toward the mirror. Ethan studies his reflection—face flushed, hair cropped, bib and diaper glaringly out of place. For a moment, shame stings sharper than any words.

Mrs. Turner[/@ch_2] removes the bib and helps Ethan out of the diaper, folding them back into the bag. The barber sweeps up the last bits of hair, his broom whispering over the tiles.] "Next time, I hope you’ll think before you act. No more punishments like this, if you show you’ve learned," Mrs. Turner says softly. Ethan nods, chastened, glancing once more at the barber before quietly leaving the shop. "Remember, growing up is more than just looking older," Mr. Dolan calls after him, his tone warm with forgiveness.