You wash your hair

You step fully under the stream, letting the warm water soak your hair until it’s heavy and smooth against your scalp. The heat seeps into your neck and shoulders, making you close your eyes for a moment.

You reach for your shower gel, flip the lid, and squeeze a small, pearly blob into your palm. It smells fresh and lightly floral, a scent you’ve bought for years without thinking. You work it between your hands until it foams, then start at your neck and collarbones, using firm, circular strokes.

You wash under your arms first, fingertips pressing into the skin, lifting your elbows so you don’t miss anywhere. You rinse quickly, then move on, gliding over your chest and down your stomach, following the natural lines of your body.

When you reach between your legs, you swap to a gentler, unscented intimate wash from the caddy. You pour a little into your hand and wash slowly, carefully, just the outside, avoiding anything that doesn’t need soap. The water is warm against the sensitive skin as you rinse, making sure nothing lingers.

You bend slightly to soap along your thighs and behind your knees, then lift each foot in turn, washing your ankles and between your toes. The floor is warm from the water pooling briefly before it disappears down the drain.

Turning around, you let the spray run down your back, over the curve of your bum, rinsing away the last traces of suds.

You reach for the shampoo, the bottle slightly slick from the steam. The first squeeze into your palm is cool and pearly, the scent fresh and clean. You work it into your roots with your fingertips, small circular motions across your scalp. The lather is light at first, catching at your crown and around your ears, loosening the faint film of yesterday’s styling spray. You tilt your head forward so the water carries it through the length, then rinse thoroughly until your hair feels bare again.

You go in for a second shampoo, and now it blooms into a thicker, richer foam almost instantly. The sound is soft and close, bubbles popping under your nails as you massage along your parting, down to the nape, and over the temples where oil gathers. You take your time at the hairline, behind your ears, all those little spots that feel better for the attention. This wash feels cleaner, fresher, almost squeaky.

Another deep rinse, fingers combing from roots to ends, making sure every trace of suds slides away into the drain. The water runs clear, and your hair feels light again.

You reach for the conditioner. The cream is thicker, silkier, warmer in your hands as you smooth it through the mid-lengths to the very ends. You twist the strands gently, working it in until they’re coated and slippery. You let it sit.

Finally, you step back under the spray, tilting your head so the water cascades from crown to tips, rinsing until your hair feels clean and smooth with no weight left behind.

The air is warm and scented now, a quiet cloud of steam and soap that clings to you.