Meera stood before the mirror, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed through her thick, waist-length hair. For years, her hair had been her identity — a symbol of beauty, tradition, and pride. Every compliment, every admiring glance, had built an invisible wall around her, one strand at a time. But today, she was ready to tear that wall down.
A month earlier, her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. The chemotherapy had begun almost immediately, and within weeks, the hair began to fall — slowly at first, then in clumps. Meera watched as her once vibrant and headstrong mother quietly folded under the weight of the illness. It wasn’t the treatment, or the pain, or even the fear that broke her spirit — it was the mirror. The image it reflected no longer resembled the woman she remembered.
“I feel like I’ve lost myself,” her mother whispered one night. That sentence pierced deeper than any diagnosis.
Meera had always been close to her mother, but now, more than ever, she wanted her to feel less alone. So, she made the decision.
“I’m going to do it,” she told her father quietly the next morning.
He didn’t understand at first. “You don’t need to prove anything, Meera.”
“It’s not about proving,” she said, “It’s about standing with her. If she looks in the mirror and sees me — bald, too — maybe she won’t feel so different. Maybe she’ll still feel like... us.”
At the temple on the hilltop, she sat down on the cold granite floor, her heart thudding loudly. The priest asked again, “Are you sure, child?” She nodded. “Yes. All of it.”
As the first strands fell, a strange calm washed over her. With each pass of the blade, she felt lighter — not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually. Her past insecurities, the need for validation, the fear of judgment — all of it drifted away with her hair.
When she stood up, head smooth and shining in the sunlight, she felt something she hadn’t expected: strength. Not just her own, but her mother’s too. When Meera walked through the door that evening, her mother’s eyes widened, tears welling.
“You look beautiful,” her mother said, voice cracking.
“So do you,” Meera replied.
In that moment, mirrors didn’t matter. Hair didn’t matter. Only love did.