For days, she had looked at herself in the mirror: familiar, yet changed. Her hair was thinning, strands scattered across the pillow every night and stuck in her brush every morning. It became torture. She was tired of fighting not only the illness but also this constant reminder.
— “That’s it,” she whispered to herself. “If I have to, I’ll accept it. For life.”
She put on her favorite sweater, gathered her last strength, and went to the barbershop, where men with tough looks always worked — tattoos, earrings, and stern faces. But she knew: behind that exterior was kindness. They had always treated her warmly, as she had been going there for many years.
When she walked in, the men immediately sensed that something had changed. She sat down in the chair, hugged herself with her arms, and said in a trembling voice:
— “Guys… my hair is falling out. It’s… because of the chemo. I can’t take it anymore. Please shave it all off.”
The barbershop fell silent. No one dared to joke, as they usually did. The barber, her longtime friend, simply nodded, turned on the clippers, and the buzzing filled the room.
The first locks fell to the floor. She felt the cool air touch the bare skin of her scalp. At that moment, her heart clenched. Tears flowed on their own. She covered her face with her hands, sobbing:
— “God… what a pity… my hair… I grew it for so many years…”
The barber gently placed a hand on her shoulder but couldn’t find the words. She trembled like a child who had lost the most precious thing. It seemed as though, along with her hair, part of her femininity and strength was falling away.
Her friend, the “tough” barber, switched off the clippers, looked at her, and suddenly said:
— “You’re not alone in this.”
He picked up the clippers, brought them to his own head, and drew a straight line through his thick, long hair. The sound of the blades filled the air again, and black locks fell beside hers.
The young woman stared at him in shock, her tear-filled eyes wide open:
— “What are you doing?! Why?”
He smiled, continuing to cut his own hair.
— “If you’re going through this, then I am too. Hair will grow back, but friendship and support are more important.”
The tears of pain in her eyes turned into tears of surprise and gratitude. Her shoulders trembled, but no longer from despair — from the overwhelming emotions.
She watched as his hair fell to the floor alongside hers, and for the first time in a long while, she felt that she truly wasn’t alone in this battle.
Even the other barbers froze, watching the scene.
The young woman whispered softly:
— “Thank you… you can’t imagine how much this means to me.”
He placed his hand on hers and said:
— “Now look in the mirror. You’re beautiful. Not because of your hair. You’re beautiful because you’re fighting.”
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