I Was Forced to Cut My Hair Short in 9th Grade—And It Changed My Life in Ways I Never Expected

Months passed. My hair began to grow—but slowly, unevenly, a painful reminder of what had happened.

Then one spring afternoon, a new girl named Nura joined our class. Her hair was even shorter than mine—but she wore it like a crown. She was confident, funny, and fearless.

We were paired together for a group assignment. By the end of class, we were laughing about how we both hated math. For the first time in months, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: joy.

Choosing to Heal

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