Reshma had always been admired for her beauty and brains. Growing up in Hyderabad, she was the kind of girl who naturally attracted attention—whether it was from her classmates, family, or the boys in her school. With her long, V-shaped hair that cascaded down past her shoulders, tapering to a point that reached her waist, she embodied an almost ethereal beauty. Her hair had always been one of her defining features, glossy and black, it was often the first thing people commented on. But for Reshma, it had become both a blessing and a burden. She had always been the girl who stood out, the one who caught everyone’s eye as soon as she entered a room, whether she liked it or not.
In school, she had been a natural at balancing social life and academics. Her sharp mind and quiet confidence made her a favorite in class, and she always stood out during group discussions. But by the time she entered junior college, things started to change. With the increasing number of boys paying her unwanted attention, Reshma found herself distracted. Compliments about her looks and remarks on how pretty she was became a constant presence in her daily life. It wasn’t that she disliked the attention—it was just that it interfered with the only thing that truly mattered to her now: her studies.
Her friends, the ones who genuinely admired her for her intelligence and ambition, were supportive. But even they couldn’t help but notice how much her focus had started to waver. Despite the growing pressure of the 12th board exams and the impending NEET (National Eligibility cum Entrance Test), she was becoming increasingly distracted. Her social media notifications never stopped, and every time she went out, whether it was to the local grocery store or a tuition class, there was always someone—often a boy—commenting or following her gaze.
It wasn’t just the boys. It was the whole web of attention, the people who admired her looks or her success, who followed her on social media and admired her photos. As much as Reshma appreciated their admiration, it felt more like a weight than a gift. She wanted to be known for her intellect, for her potential to become a doctor, not for the way she looked.
It all came to a head one evening after her coaching class, when her professor, Dr. Iyer, called her aside after class.
“Reshma,” he said, his voice firm but kind, “I’ve been noticing a trend in your performance. You’re a brilliant student, but I think something is pulling your focus away. Your grades are slipping, and you’re not contributing in class as much as you used to. I know you have the potential to rank high in NEET, but I’m concerned you’re letting external distractions get to you. Have you thought about simplifying your life? Perhaps… changing how you present yourself?”
Reshma blinked in surprise. “What do you mean, sir?”
Dr. Iyer leaned forward, his gaze gentle but knowing. “I understand the pressures of being noticed. You have a certain… charm about you, and people are drawn to that. But you’re going to need laser focus for the next few years if you want to excel in the exams. Simplifying things—dressing simpler, making yourself look less attention-grabbing—might be just the thing you need. It’ll help you clear your mind. You don’t need to be the prettiest or most admired girl in the room right now. You need to be the most disciplined, the most focused.”
Reshma sat there, processing his words. Dr. Iyer was right. She had been caught up in the whirlwind of attention—whether it was from the compliments, the boys who wanted to be her friends, or the countless likes and comments on her social media posts. It was starting to feel like a game she couldn’t win, one that was taking her away from the only thing that truly mattered now: her future.
That night, after returning to her dorm, Reshma stood in front of her mirror, looking at her reflection. Her flowing hair framed her face like a luxurious curtain, beautiful and flirty. But it was a constant reminder of everything she had to avoid: distractions, attention, the never-ending compliments.
She didn’t want to be rude or dismissive to those who admired her. It wasn’t their fault she felt distracted, but she couldn’t deny it any longer. She had to make a change. A big change. She had to do something that would not only remove the physical distraction of her hair but also reflect her commitment to her goals.
The decision came slowly but surely. Reshma knew she wasn’t ready to completely withdraw from the world, but she needed something drastic. She decided to go for simplicity—not just in her wardrobe, but in her entire appearance. She would wear modest, plain clothes—no more experimenting with bright colors or fashionable trends. She wanted to go unnoticed, blending in rather than standing out. And when it came to her hair, the decision was clear: something big had to be done. She was staying away from her home and her parents wouldn’t disagree much with what decision she would take, so Reshma was okay for the change.
Her hair had been healthy and unkempt in a sense—beautiful, yes, but always attracting attention no matter what hairstyle she kept. A normal short haircut would strip away some of the visual allure that made her stand out, she thought. It was time to shed the image of the girl everyone admired, and instead, focus on becoming the girl who would be known for her intellect, for her discipline, and for her drive.
The next day, after some thought, Reshma chose a simple, no-frills barbershop in her neighborhood. It wasn’t a high-end salon, and there were no fancy stylists or styling tools. It was a small, humble place with faded signs outside and a couple of old wooden chairs inside. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was perfect. She didn’t want luxury; she wanted efficiency. It was inexpensive and practical—just what she needed for this momentous change.
The barber, an older man with gentle hands, greeted her as she sat down in the chair. He asked her how she wanted her hair cut, and Reshma simply replied, “Very short”.
As Reshma sat in the barber’s chair, her long hair—beautiful and thick—fell past her shoulders in a V-shape, tapering down to her waist. The barber, a seasoned man with weathered hands, paused, his eyes reflecting a trace of hesitation. He had always been accustomed to cutting shorter styles, but there was something about the length of her hair, its glossy black sheen, that made him feel like he was taking away a piece of her beauty. It was as though he was unraveling the very thing that made her beautiful in the eyes of the world. But Reshma’s steady gaze, a quiet approval in her eyes, told him she was resolute. She nodded, signaling him to proceed, and so, with a deep breath, he set to work.
The barber now pulled out his favorite pair of steel scissors and two different combs. He gently pulled all of her hair from the back, his fingers holding it firmly in a bunch like a pony-tail, his eyes now at Reshma as Reshma said “Chota karna hai bhaiya, daro mat, kaat do” (I want it cut short, please don’t hesitate, cut it off”). The barber nodded as he snipped the ponytail from the middle and then continued to reduce the length at her back area when Reshma said “Kat te raho” (“Keep cutting”). The barber okayed and cut out another bunch of hair measuring 4-5 inches. The sound of the scissors closing—snip, snip, snip—was rhythmic, but each cut felt like a small liberation for Reshma. The locks fell softly to the floor, pooling around her feet, black and glossy in the dim light of the shop. He continued cutting, slowly reducing the length, pausing between each section to see if she wanted him to stop. This went on for a couple of minutes as Reshma witnessed her hair raining down.
Each time, Reshma’s response was the same: “Keep going.” With her approval, the barber snipped further, shortening her hair inch by inch. Soon, the familiar weight of her long hair was gone. The barber realized it was a matter of cutting a boy’s hair, so he worked methodically as he sprayed more water on Reshma’s hair and continued running the scissors. Reshma’s hair was being cut shorter and shorter, as she watched the pieces falling in uneven lengths, some just a few inches long, others a little longer. Each lock seemed to have a life of its own as it drifted down in different directions, clinging to the cape, the floor, and the barber’s hands. Seeing this made her weep for a second, but then she held onto her courage. The room was slowly filling with a black sea of hair—clumps and strands everywhere, all mixed together in a chaotic yet deliberate display of transformation. The barber now opted for a pixie, and asked how long he should keep the bangs to which Reshma said that no hair should come down her forehead during studies. The barber then held his comb through her bangs and over her forehead and with three successive strokes, the scissors chopped off thick long bangs close to the scalp. A huge pile of hair ran down the cape exposing her forehead clearly. The more he cut, the less recognizable Reshma’s face became, as her once long locks now framed her features in sharp, angled sections. Finally, with a few last decisive cuts, the barber stopped at an ultra-short length resembling a boy. Reshma had a tapered nape and sides now, exposing the smooth skin at her neck and around her ears. As he stepped back to assess his work, the floor was littered with countless bits of black hair, all in varying lengths, scattered far beyond the cape. The long, thick locks that had once defined her beauty were now gone, and in their place, Reshma was unrecognizable, her face framed by a clean, bold, ultra-short style that reflected a new resolve.
As the last of her hair was chopped away, Reshma was left with a short, practical boycut. No longer did her hair reach down her back like a flowing river—it was now neat, controlled, and understated. Her face seemed sharper now, her features more pronounced. She looked more mature, and more focused. The change was almost immediate. The air felt different on her neck, cooler, lighter. Her reflection in the mirror looked unfamiliar, but somehow, Reshma knew this was the version of herself she needed to be.
Later that day, Reshma sat in her room, staring at the screen of her phone – she looked like a male version of herself. She uploaded a new profile picture on social media—a simple image of her with her newly cropped hair, wearing a modest sweater and with no makeup. As soon as the picture was posted, the notifications started flooding in, but the reactions were not the same. Instead of the usual barrage of comments complimenting her beauty or hair, there was silence. Her followers, the ones who had once admired her looks, now seemed distant. Her follower count didn’t drop, but the engagement was nearly nonexistent. No more heart-eye emojis, no more compliments on her “stunning new look.”
At first, Reshma felt a pang of regret, a tiny voice inside her whispering that she missed the attention. But then she remembered Dr. Iyer’s words. She was doing this for herself, for her future. She no longer had to be the girl everyone admired. She wanted to be the girl everyone respected—someone who had the discipline to focus, to study, and to make the sacrifices necessary for her goals.
As the days passed and her exams neared, Reshma felt a sense of calm she hadn’t experienced in months. The distraction of her appearance had vanished, and in its place was a clarity of purpose. She no longer worried about how others saw her—she knew what she was capable of, and she was going to prove it.
The boy’s stares, the constant admiration from her followers, had all faded. What remained was her determination, her intelligence, and the quiet power of someone who was ready to conquer the future.