Anaya stood in front of the mirror, her fingers tracing the smooth curve of her freshly shaved head. It was still strange, the feeling of nothingness where her hair once was. Not a strand remained—only the glint of the morning light bouncing off her scalp, a reflection of change, courage, and something deeper than she could explain.
She lifted her phone and turned to capture the moment. This wasn’t vanity—it was proof. Proof that she had made it through something not everyone understood.
For months, Anaya had hidden behind long, thick waves that framed her face and softened her presence. Her hair was her armor, her comfort, her silence. When the world hurt, she’d run her fingers through it. When she doubted herself, she’d let it fall like a curtain between her and reality.
One morning, without telling anyone, she walked into a small salon tucked into a narrow street, sat down, and simply said, “Take it all off.”
The barber hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not,” she replied honestly. “But do it anyway.”
And now, standing in the mirror, she saw herself clearly for the first time—not a girl behind a veil, but a woman reborn. Vulnerable yet powerful. There was no more hiding.
In the reflection behind her, her past lingered—a thousand fears she once carried, now just shadows on the wall.
She smiled at her reflection, lifted her chin, and whispered, “I am still me. In fact, I think I’ve finally met her.”