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
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