Sana Ali
Note this is just the opening and teaser of the story!!
The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall, arched windows of Al-Madina Girls’ School, striping the classroom floor with golden bars. The air hummed with the low monotone of Miss Nargis’s lecture about Islamic history, her voice steady, unbroken, like a droning fan. Most of the girls dutifully copied notes, pens scratching against lined pages, but in the far back corner two friends whispered and giggled, half-hidden by the last row.
Hina sat cross-legged, her navy uniform neat, her white hijab wrapped perfectly around her head and pinned beneath her chin. Next to her, Sana leaned close, eyes bright with mischief, hand covering her mouth as she whispered another joke.
“Did you see how Rabia tried to answer? She said the Abbasids came after the Ottomans,” Sana murmured, barely containing her laughter.
Hina pressed her lips together, shaking silently, her shoulders quivering as she tried to stifle the sound. “Stop, stop… she’ll catch us,” she whispered back, darting a glance toward Miss Nargis, who was pacing slowly between the rows of desks, hands clasped behind her back.
As they tried to settle down, Hina’s pen suddenly rolled to the edge of her desk and dropped to the floor with a faint clink. Without thinking, she bent forward, stretching her arm under the desk to retrieve it.
That’s when Sana noticed something strange.
Her eyes, almost absentmindedly, followed Hina’s movements. The way her friend leaned revealed the back of her hijab pressing against her neck. But something felt… different. Instead of the usual rounded bulk of Hina’s long ponytail tucked under the fabric, Sana saw only a smooth outline, flat and unnatural.
Curiosity prickled at her. No… it can’t be…
As Hina stretched further under the desk, Sana’s fingers twitched. Almost involuntarily, she lifted the edge of the white fabric at the back, just a fraction—enough to peek.
Her breath caught.
Where once had hung Hina’s thick, dark ponytail that reached below her shoulders, there was nothing. Instead, cut sharply at the jawline, her hair framed her neck in a long bob, the nape startlingly bare and freshly shorn. The clean skin glistened faintly in the slant of light, smooth and exposed in a way Sana had never seen before.
A sudden jolt of shock surged through her chest. She gasped—too loud, too sharp. A startled squeal escaped her throat before she could stop it.
“Aaah!”
The sound sliced through the quiet classroom.
Every head turned at once. Pens stopped. Pages froze mid-turn. Miss Nargis’s footsteps halted, her gaze snapping toward the back row, eyes narrowing.
“What is going on there?” she demanded, her voice sharp with annoyance. The authority in her tone cut like a knife. “Sana! Stand up. Explain yourself.”
Sana’s heart raced. She opened her mouth, panic rising in her chest. But before she could speak, Hina swiftly sat up from under the desk, her expression calm, almost composed. She clutched her pen in her hand and gave a nervous little smile.
“Miss… I dropped my pen,” she said quickly, her voice steady despite the blush creeping into her cheeks. “I bent down to find it, but my hand brushed against Sana by mistake. She must have thought it was—” Hina paused dramatically, eyes glancing toward Sana with a hint of playful rebuke— “a mouse.”
A ripple of laughter swept across the classroom. Girls giggled into their palms, some outright chuckling. The tension broke like glass.
Miss Nargis’s expression softened just slightly, though irritation lingered in her eyes. She raised a hand, silencing the laughter. “Enough. Both of you, sit properly and pay attention. One more disruption and you’ll stay after class.”
“Yes, Miss,” Hina and Sana answered in unison, lowering themselves back onto their chairs.
The lesson resumed, the classroom slowly returning to its rhythm. Yet Sana sat frozen, her notebook open before her but blank, her pen idle in her hand. Her mind whirled, replaying the brief, shocking glimpse under Hina’s hijab.
The smooth nape. The missing ponytail. The long bob that shouldn’t exist.
She turned her head slightly, watching Hina from the corner of her eye. Her friend’s face was calm, focused on her notes as if nothing had happened. But to Sana, everything suddenly felt different.
The minutes dragged like hours. Sana tried to focus on Miss Nargis’s voice, but the words floated past her like muffled echoes. Her pen rested in her hand, unmoving, as she stole glance after glance toward Hina.
Each time, she caught something new: the way the edge of the hijab no longer bulged with the familiar weight of thick hair, how the curve of Hina’s neck seemed sharper now, freer, how her shoulders relaxed as though relieved of a secret burden.
And then there was that smile.
Hina wasn’t laughing outright, but her lips curved into the faintest smirk, a knowing expression that flickered every time she caught Sana watching her. It was playful, almost taunting, as though she relished the fact that she held the secret—and that Sana couldn’t ask.
The tension gnawed at Sana. Her chest tightened with questions that begged to escape. Why? When? Who cut it? Each question rose like bubbles in boiling water, pressing against her throat. But the memory of Miss Nargis’s stern warning pinned her tongue down.
When the bell finally rang, the release was almost dizzying. Chairs scraped, books snapped shut, and Miss Nargis swept out with her usual brisk steps.
Sana wasted no time. She spun toward Hina, eyes wide, her words tumbling out in a rush before she could even breathe.
“What happened? When did you cut it? Why didn’t you tell me? Who made you do it? Was it your mother? Did it hurt? Did you cry? Or—oh my God—did you like it? Why so short? Your hair was so long, Hina, I can’t believe it, it was—”
Her voice poured like an unstoppable stream, every thought rushing into the next.
Hina didn’t interrupt. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded loosely, eyes glimmering with amusement. She let Sana empty herself, every frantic question, every half-finished thought. The corners of her lips deepened into that calm, knowing smile, patient yet almost superior, as if savoring the power of making her friend so restless.
Finally, when Sana’s voice broke into silence, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, Hina tilted her head slightly.
“I got it cut this morning,” she said simply, her tone calm, measured. “And it feels… amazing.”
Her voice lingered on the last word, as though she were savoring it. Her eyes flickered toward Sana, watching every detail—the way Sana’s braid lay across her shoulder, thick and heavy, nearly reaching her knees. The way Sana’s fingers nervously twisted the very tip of it, over and over, as though suddenly aware of its weight.
“When I walk,” Hina continued softly, “my neck feels so light. The breeze touches my skin directly. No heaviness, no pulling. Just freedom.” She smiled faintly, her eyes narrowing with quiet delight. “It’s like I can finally breathe properly.”
Sana swallowed hard, her mind painting images she couldn’t shake. The smooth nape she’d glimpsed. The short bob swaying instead of a swinging ponytail. The strange liberation Hina described—so vivid, so tempting.
Without realizing it, Sana wrapped her entire braid in her hand, tugging it across her lap, fingers twisting the end tighter and tighter. Her nails scraped against the plait as she imagined what it must feel like—her neck bare, air grazing her skin, the weight of years of hair gone in a single cut.
Hina’s eyes followed every movement. Her calm smile remained, but in her gaze was something sharper, a glint that spoke of amusement and control. She said nothing more, simply watching as Sana fell deeper into her thoughts.
Sana barely noticed when silence stretched between them. Her mind was elsewhere, spinning, comparing her heavy, knee-length braid to Hina’s light, sharp bob. She could almost feel it, and the thought sent a shiver down her spine.
Then, suddenly, the classroom erupted with the sound of voices.
“Assalamu Alaikum, Madam!” the students chorused in unison.
Sana blinked, startled back to reality. Her braid slipped from her hand as she jerked upright, fumbling to add her voice to the greeting.
“Wa Alaikum Assalam,” the new teacher replied firmly as she set her books on the desk. Without preamble, she added, “Take out your textbooks and open page forty-three.”
A rush of rustling pages filled the room. Sana, flustered, grabbed hers quickly, the sudden wave of normalcy crashing over her.
Leaning just slightly toward Hina, she whispered urgently under her breath, her voice still tinged with awe and impatience.
“We will talk about it later.”
Hina’s lips curved once more, but she said nothing. The knowing smile remained.
The clang of the final bell echoed down the tiled corridors. A flurry of chatter and hurried footsteps filled the air as girls packed their books, adjusted their hijabs, and streamed toward the main gate.
Sana and Hina walked side by side, their bags slung over their shoulders, weaving through the crowd. Sana couldn’t hold herself back; the questions slipped out again and again.
“Did it take long? Were you scared when the scissors touched?”
“Did your mother say anything? What about your father?”
“Does it itch at the back of your neck? Or is it really just… smooth?”
Hina, calm as ever, answered each one with steady patience, her tone never rising, her smile never fading.
“No, it didn’t take long.”
“No, I wasn’t scared. I wanted it.”
“Yes, they noticed, but I don’t care.”
“And no—it doesn’t itch. It’s softer than you can imagine.”
Each reply left Sana hungrier, her imagination swelling until it almost ached.
At the school gate, the crowd thinned as girls split into their usual directions home. Sana hesitated before turning away, biting her lip, then burst out with one last desperate question.
“But, Hina… does it really feel as good as you say?”
Hina met her eyes. The sunlight caught on the faint curve of her smile. She only nodded once, firmly, the certainty in her gaze speaking louder than words.
“Goodbye, Sana.”
They parted, walking in opposite directions. But as Sana’s steps carried her down the lane, her mind refused to return with her body.
All the way home, she replayed Hina’s calm descriptions—the air brushing her neck, the freedom of no weight, the way her smile had lingered. It was like her mind drifted in a separate world, drawn irresistibly toward the idea.
That night, sitting cross-legged on her bed, Sana brushed her impossibly long braid. The heavy plait coiled across her lap, its thickness pressing into her thighs. She tried to fold it, pin it, twist it upward, anything to imagine it at Hina’s length. But no matter how she tied or tucked, her hair resisted, spilling down in endless length.
Frustration clawed at her. With a huff, she flopped back onto her pillows, braid fanned out beside her like a serpent. Her fingers clenched the strands tightly as her mind spun in circles. How would I look? How would it feel?
Her eyelids grew heavy as the thoughts pulsed in rhythm. Still clutching her hair, she drifted into sleep, her dreams a blur of scissors, falling strands, and the cool touch of air on her bare neck.
Morning broke with a knock on her door.
“Sana! Wake up, you’ll be late!” her mother called.
Sana jolted awake, groggy and unsteady. She scrambled out of bed, splashed water on her face, and pulled on her uniform in a rush. But no matter how much she hurried, one thing gnawed at her—the braid.
Her brush snagged in the endless length, each stroke eating away precious minutes. The hair felt heavier than ever, dragging her down. Her fingers trembled with irritation as she twisted it into the long braid, each fold stretching on and on until she groaned under her breath.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, glaring at the thick plait that snaked almost to her knees.
And then the words slipped from her lips without thinking.
“I should just cut it.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she froze. Her heart leapt. Her eyes widened. That’s it. That’s the answer.
A smile spread slowly across her face. I could get the same haircut.
The thought sent a thrill rushing through her chest. She tied the final knot in her braid with sudden speed, wrapped her hijab tightly, and grabbed her bag. Half wearing her shoes, she darted out the door, nearly stumbling in her rush.
Her pace quickened with every step, heart racing with the idea she had unlocked. But as she neared the school gate, a hand suddenly landed on her shoulder.
“Running late, are we? Going to fly to class?” a teasing voice laughed.
Sana spun around, breathless. It was Hina.
Before Sana could speak, she blurted, “I want to tell you something—”
But Hina raised a finger to her lips. “Me first.”
With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she tugged Sana to a quieter corner near the gate, shielded from view by the high wall. Then, with a quick motion, she lifted the back of her hijab just enough to expose her neck.
Sana’s breath caught in her throat.
The nape was bare. Completely bare. Freshly shaved, the skin gleamed faintly in the morning light, smooth and pale, like untouched silk.
Hina tilted her head, voice bubbling with laughter. “Touch it.”
Sana’s fingers trembled as she lifted her hand. Slowly, almost reverently, she brushed her fingertips against the soft, naked skin. It was smoother than she had imagined, warm beneath her touch, sending a shiver crawling up her arm.
Her heart hammered wildly.
Hina spun around, her smile breaking into open excitement. Her eyes lit with triumph.
“Now you really know how it feels.”
Sana’s fingertips still tingled from the softness of Hina’s shaved nape as they hurried across the courtyard.
“What was it you wanted to tell me?” Hina asked, her smile teasing, her tone lilting.
Sana opened her mouth, heart leaping into her throat—
Drrrrrrinnnggg!
The bell shrieked through the air, scattering voices and footsteps as students rushed toward their classrooms.
Hina’s eyes widened. “Come on! We’ve got a test, remember?”
Before Sana could protest, Hina grabbed her wrist and pulled her along. The two of them darted down the corridor, breathless with laughter, slipping into their seats just as the teacher strode in.
“Settle down. Clear your desks. The test begins now,” the teacher announced sharply.
Pens scratched, papers rustled, and the room fell into tense silence.
For Sana, the hours that followed blurred into a whirlwind. Each time she thought she’d find a chance to speak, something came between them—a teacher calling on Hina, classmates crowding in to chat, another subject, another bell. Every attempt dissolved before it could form.
But the thought gnawed at her, growing sharper with every missed opportunity. I have to tell her. I can’t hold it anymore.
Finally, the final bell rang, releasing the school into chaos once again. Students streamed toward the gates, laughter echoing in the warm air. Sana and Hina walked side by side, shoulders brushing, their steps slow.
Almost as if on cue, they both turned to each other, voices overlapping.
“So what was it you wanted to tell me?”
The words collided, and both of them burst into giggles, the laughter spilling freely.
But when it subsided, Sana’s face remained still. Her smile faded, leaving her lips pressed into a thin, serious line. Her heart hammered, but she forced the words out.
“I… I want to get the same haircut as you.”
Hina blinked, then let out a soft laugh, as though thinking Sana was joking. “Oh, come on…”
But Sana didn’t laugh. She stood her ground, her dark eyes unwavering, her voice low but firm. “I’m serious.”
The levity drained from Hina’s face as she studied her friend. She searched Sana’s expression for some trace of mischief, but found none. Only determination.
“You’re not joking?”
“No,” Sana said firmly. Her hand drifted to her long braid, stroking the heavy length as though it weighed more than ever. “I’m serious. I want to cut it… now. Take me to the same salon you went to.”
Hina’s lips parted, but no words came. For the first time since the secret was revealed, her confident smile faltered. She looked away for a moment, biting her lip before replying softly.
“I didn’t go to a salon.”
Sana frowned. “What do you mean?”
Hina drew a slow breath, her eyes flickering back to meet Sana’s. A shadow of guilt colored her voice.
“My mother cut it.”
The words hung between them, heavier than Sana expected, sinking deep into her thoughts.
