She sat very still as the last soft hum of the razor faded away.
For a moment, the room felt unusually quiet—like it was holding its breath with her. The green sheet beneath her was slightly wrinkled, the air cool against her newly bare scalp. She lifted her chin a little, as if testing how the world felt without the weight she’d carried for so long.
When she’d decided to shave her head, it hadn’t been impulsive. It was a decision that came after weeks of thinking, of looking in mirrors and not quite recognizing herself anymore. Hair had always been something she hid behind—styled carefully, adjusted constantly. Letting it go felt terrifying… and necessary.
The first pass of the razor had made her flinch. The second felt oddly calming. By the time the final strokes were done, fear had been replaced with something quieter and stronger: relief.
She reached up slowly, fingertips brushing over smooth skin. No strands to tuck away. No imperfections to conceal. Just her—exactly as she was.
She caught her reflection and studied it. Her eyes looked bigger. Clearer. There was a softness there, but also resolve. This wasn’t about loss. It was about choosing herself, on her own terms.
People would have opinions. She knew that. Questions, stares, assumptions. But sitting there, wrapped in that stillness, none of it mattered.
For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was becoming someone else.
She felt like she had arrived.