Anika sat in silence, her palms open before her as though cradling an invisible truth. Strands of her once-lustrous hair, thick and flowing, now clung to her lap. Her scalp shone under the lamp’s warm glow, a sharp contrast against the heavy curtain of hair that still framed her face.
She had asked for the razor. Not out of vanity, not out of grief, but out of a need for transformation. Life had weighed her down—expectations, voices of doubt, the invisible chains of traditions. Every strand that fell was a symbol of release, of letting go. But she hadn’t gone all the way yet.
The halfway point was a strange place to be. Not fully free, not entirely bound. She looked at her reflection in the glass table—one part herself, one part someone she was only just meeting.
Tears welled in her eyes, but not from sorrow. They were the tears of discovery. For the first time, she felt raw, real, and unhidden. She wondered if the world would mock her or admire her courage, but then, it didn’t matter.
This was her rebirth.
Not complete yet, but beautifully in progress.
With a deep breath, Anika closed her palms as though she held something sacred, and whispered, “Let the rest fall. Let me begin again.”