In our boarding school, we used to rank girls by hair.
Neat hair meant respect.
Rough hair meant you were trying too hard — or not trying enough.
There was one girl we all admired.
She never begged anyone to help her plait.
Never complained about money.
Never rushed to the mirror like the rest of us.
Yet every morning, her hair looked untouched by stress.
The first time she called me at night, I thought it was nothing.
Just a quiet tap at the window.
Just a whisper to follow her to the bathroom.
She said she would teach me how to look neat without struggle.
That night, I learnt that some lessons don’t begin with pain.
They begin with silence.
And once you follow someone into the dark,
you don’t always come back the same.
Neat hair meant respect.
Rough hair meant you were trying too hard — or not trying enough.
There was one girl we all admired.
She never begged anyone to help her plait.
Never complained about money.
Never rushed to the mirror like the rest of us.
Yet every morning, her hair looked untouched by stress.
The first time she called me at night, I thought it was nothing.
Just a quiet tap at the window.
Just a whisper to follow her to the bathroom.
She said she would teach me how to look neat without struggle.
That night, I learnt that some lessons don’t begin with pain.
They begin with silence.
And once you follow someone into the dark,
you don’t always come back the same.
