"Is your hair dry now?" Mom asked. "No!" I lied. "Braid your hair as soon as they dry!" Her tone left no room for argument. The next thing I felt was her hand finding its way through my unconditioned wavy hair, gently massaging coconut oil onto my scalp. "You are getting late for school; let me braid them for you," Mom said as I looked at myself in the mirror. I stepped out of my home, joining my friend as we walked to the bus stop. Her hair was as silky as mulberry silk, glistening under the rays of dawn, tied into a ponytail. The bus arrived, and we ran toward it. I watched her run in front of me. I couldn't help but notice the way her hair swayed in the morning breeze, free from any entanglement. I ran too, but the weight of my bag on one shoulder and the heaviness of my hair on the other slowed me down.
We sat as the bus started to move. Her scalp was still wet, so she untied her hair as the rubber band glided off to let it breathe, still free. The bus stopped. So did our chit-chat, ready to pick up its next passenger. We knew who it was. I saw the instant panic in her eyes. She couldn't find her rubber band. I picked it up and placed it in her hands. But it was too late. The gaze entered before she stepped inside, scrutinising every strand of every braid of every girl on the bus. She sat in front of us, mumbling something undecipherable. To break the tension, I said, "How have you been, ma—" She cut me off. "Look who is here, the prettiest girl in the school," she said while applying lip gloss. "I know what you are trying to do," she added, fixing her eyes on my friend. The only sound was the engine. Everyone's eyes turned toward her. She tried to hide. The bus remained silent. "The hair… they are not dry yet," I said, hoping everything could stop there. She rolled her eyes, ignoring what I said. The school arrived. I helped braid her still-wet hair, hoping to avoid any more comments. We walked toward the assembly area. The only path to the assembly area was blocked by the group we feared most. Helpless, we walked past them. She rounded her back to shield her chest, grabbing her messy hair with one hand and me with the other. I could feel the stare as we passed, even though I was admired by them. Yet I was afraid to face them.
The assembly ended. The bell rang. Teachers started teaching. The day went on. It always did. The door crackled as Mom opened it, welcoming me with the warmest smile. She took my bag. I sighed as I felt the weight come off my shoulder. Then came the moment I had been waiting for. I ran to the mirror. My hands reached for the rubber band. Opening the plaits one by one, I could feel the air making its way through the valleys of my hair. My smile widened. The waves ebbed and flowed, lapping against my face. It was the only time I was able to see "me" the way I wanted myself to look. I began to detangle my hair. But for the first time, I did not look at my reflection. I looked outside the window. As my hands began sectioning my hair, I noticed the clouds hovered like never before, and so did my thoughts. What if I leave them open? What if I go to school like this? Would I be judged? Would I still be called "the prettiest"? Would I remain this confident? I did not know the answers. But I knew I had to find them. For me. For the unbraided me.
I deliberately woke up late the next day. Washed my hair. Wore my uniform. Wore my shoes. Mom screamed from the balcony, "Braid your hair as soon as they dry!" "Not today, Mom!" I ran toward the door, saving my dear life. This was my chance. I wasn't going to let it go. I joined my friend as we ran toward the bus. We ran hand in hand, laughing. "When did you become so fast?" she asked. "I have lost some weight," I said, glancing at my open hair. I pulled her rubber band on the way. I slipped it into my pocket. A surprised look appeared on her face. "What?" I asked. "Nothing," she smiled. "I have never seen your waves," she added. "Strange," I thought, because she had seen me grow up, and she had never seen the unbraided me.
We sat as the bus started to move. The bus stopped, ready to pick up its next passenger. We knew who it was. The gaze entered before she stepped inside. It no longer reached us. She sat behind us, mumbling something undecipherable. To break the tension, I said, "How have you been, ma'am?" while applying the lip gloss. The bus was bustling with noise. Her comments remained unheard. The school arrived. We walked toward the assembly area, excited for the celebration. The same group blocked our way. She rounded her back to shield her chest, grabbing her messy hair with one hand and me with the other. I could see their smirk. I could feel their stare. This time, not at her, but at me. Their eyes gathered like storm clouds—dark, heavy, waiting for permission to break. But this time, the lightning never struck me. The people I feared most were never my classmates. The clouds hovered again, this time carrying lightning. I stopped. I walked toward the bus in-charge. I smiled at her. "Happy Teacher's Day, ma'am." She frowned, looking at the two rubber bands in my hand. "You forgot these." "No," I smiled. "I don't think I need them anymore."