The Loneliest Season of My Life
In the weeks that followed, I withdrew. I wore hoodies with large hoods to hide my head. I sat alone at lunch. I stopped raising my hand in class. My grades slipped. Teachers asked if everything was okay at home. I nodded, smiled, lied.
“You were getting too vain,” she said. “You needed to be taught a lesson.”
Then she went back to scrolling through her phone.
A Spark of Light: The Day Nura Walked In
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
Over lunch one day, Nura told me she had cut her hair by choice—to donate it to kids with cancer. I was in awe.
“It’s different when it’s your decision,” I said quietly.
She nodded. “Exactly.”
She didn’t gasp. She didn’t pity me.
She simply held my hand and said, “Hair grows back. And so does your spirit.”
