The Transformation Game

The living room buzzed with the laughter and chatter of women. Plates of samosas and cups of chai made their rounds as the family gathering grew lively. Sana, dressed in an elegant emerald-green shalwar kameez, moved gracefully through the room, her waist-length black hair cascading like a waterfall. Her radiant smile was enough to light up the entire house.

The doorbell rang again, and Sana excused herself to greet the new arrivals. It was Aunt Farha and her daughter, Areeba. Areeba, shy and reserved, stood slightly behind her mother, clutching her handbag. Her simple attire and timid demeanor contrasted starkly with Sana’s confidence.

“Assalamualaikum, Auntie! Waalaikum Assalam, Areeba! It’s so good to see you!” Sana greeted them warmly. Her eyes sparkled with genuine kindness as she ushered them in.

“Waalaikum Assalam, beta,” Farha replied with a practiced smile, her eyes quickly scanning Sana from head to toe. The admiration was fleeting, replaced by something harder to place.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Farha excused herself, leaving Areeba with the younger girls and joining the group of women in the drawing room, where Sana’s mother was sitting.

The women’s conversation flowed easily at first, touching on family updates, recipes, and neighborhood gossip. Inevitably, the spotlight shifted to Sana, as it often did.

“Sana’s such a gem,” one of the women remarked. “She’s not just beautiful but so intelligent too! Top of her class every year!”

“Yes, MashaAllah,” Sana’s mother added proudly. “She’s always been so focused. Even her teachers say they’ve never had a student like her.”

Farha’s smile stiffened, but her tone remained light. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Areeba’s teachers, unfortunately, are constantly complaining about her lack of focus. But what can I do? Not everyone can be as brilliant as Sana, I suppose.”

The compliment carried a subtle edge, but Sana’s mother dismissed it with a chuckle. “Oh, don’t say that, Farha! Areeba’s a smart girl. She just needs a little push, that’s all.”

Farha’s jaw tightened, but she managed to keep her expression neutral. “Hmm, perhaps. But sometimes, brilliance comes from… shortcuts, doesn’t it?”

The room fell silent for a moment. Sana’s mother raised an eyebrow. “Shortcuts?”

Farha shrugged, her voice calm but laced with insinuation. “Oh, you know. Some students rely on… unconventional methods. Cheating, for example. I mean, I’m not saying Sana does, of course, but… well, who really knows?”

The air grew heavy. Sana’s mother straightened, her smile fading. “Farha, what are you trying to say? Sana has never needed to stoop to such things. She works hard for her achievements.”

Farha tilted her head, her tone mockingly apologetic. “Oh, I’m sure she does. It’s just… some of her results seem so extraordinary. It makes one wonder, that’s all.”

The other women exchanged uneasy glances as the tension escalated. Sana’s mother’s voice sharpened. “My daughter’s success is due to her dedication and Allah’s blessings. It’s unfair to cast baseless doubts just because others aren’t performing as well.”

Farha’s smile turned brittle. “Of course, of course. I didn’t mean to offend. Just… thinking aloud. Please don’t take it personally.”

But the damage was done. The lively chatter of the room had turned into an awkward silence, and the air seemed to buzz with unspoken words.

The tension between the two women was palpable, and Farha, sensing her advantage, leaned in slightly, her voice smooth as silk. “You see, baji, it’s simple really. A little test of knowledge, a little fun, and we’ll put an end to this drama once and for all.”

Sana’s mother’s confusion was evident as she blinked. “What are you talking about now?”

Farha’s lips curled into a knowing smile, her eyes glinting with dark intent. “The bet. It’s not just a matter of accusations. You want proof, don’t you? I’ll give it to you.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “I’ll ask Sana ten general knowledge questions. Nothing too difficult. Simple questions, in fact. The kind of questions she should answer without breaking a sweat if she’s as brilliant as you say.”

Sana’s mother still looked puzzled, but her instincts were kicking in. “And what happens if she doesn’t answer correctly?”

Farha’s voice dropped lower, the subtle venom coating her words. “Each wrong answer means a consequence. A piece of her beauty lost with each failure. First, just a little trim—maybe a few inches of that beautiful, long hair of hers. It’ll be subtle at first, but enough for her to feel it. And if she gets them all wrong?” Farha’s smile deepened, a cold glint in her eyes. “Well, then she’ll lose it all. Bald. Eyebrows gone. A true transformation.”

Sana’s mother recoiled in horror. “You’re insane. You want me to agree to something so degrading?”

Farha was relentless, her tone now silky sweet. “Baji, you know I would never do anything like this unless I was sure of it. And I can assure you, this isn’t just a game—this is a way to end the gossip, to clear the air. If Sana passes the test, I’ll gladly apologize. If she fails…” Farha let her words hang in the air, like a poison spreading slowly.

Sana’s mother’s heart raced. The thought of her daughter’s dignity being stripped away was unbearable. But Farha’s subtle manipulation was hard to ignore. She was playing on her emotions, twisting her own maternal pride into knots.

“If she answers all ten questions correctly,” Farha continued, her voice sweet with false kindness, “I’ll make sure Areeba gets what she deserves. Areeba, after all, has been struggling, hasn’t she? And surely, if she’s the one who fails, she should bear the consequences, not Sana.”

Sana’s mother, torn between outrage and pride, found herself wavering. “But… Areeba… she’s my daughter’s cousin. You want her to suffer just because of your jealousy?”

Farha shook her head, as if the idea was absurd. “No, no. This is not about jealousy, baji. This is about fairness. If Sana really is the brilliant, perfect daughter you say she is, she has nothing to fear, right? A little test, that’s all.”

Her smile was so sweet, so disarming, it almost made Sana’s mother doubt herself. “And if you refuse, well…” Farha added casually, “…it’ll always hang in the air. The question of whether Sana’s beauty and brilliance were earned, or simply the result of… well, shortcuts. Is that a price you’re willing to pay?”

Sana’s mother felt a sickening twist in her gut. Farha had pushed her to the edge, now dangling the bait in front of her. The image of her daughter, humiliated, stripped of her beauty in front of the entire family, loomed over her like a dark cloud.

But then, the cold finality of Farha’s offer hit her. “You’ll stand by this, no matter the outcome?” Sana’s mother asked, her voice trembling.

Farha leaned back, her smile never fading. “Of course, baji. It’s a simple bet. A little game of knowledge. If Sana answers correctly, we all move on, and the matter is closed. If not…” She let her words linger in the air. “…well, we’ll have the truth revealed for everyone to see.”

There was no escaping this web, Sana’s mother realized. Farha had her cornered, and the stakes were too high to ignore. The argument had escalated too far for her to back out now.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, Sana’s mother gave in, her voice tight with frustration. “Fine. You want this game? Then let’s play it.”

Farha’s eyes sparkled with triumph. “Wonderful. We’ll see just how brilliant your daughter really is.”

Farha’s gaze locked with Sana’s, the pressure mounting in the air. “So, what do you think, Sana? This is your first and last chance to live your dream. All you’ve wanted, right here, right now. The freedom, the release from the burden of your hair… a smooth, clean slate. You’ll be the one in control, and no one will ever judge you. Not when it’s your decision.”

Sana stood frozen, her heart racing. A whirlwind of thoughts collided in her mind. On one hand, this was her dream. She had longed for this moment for years, imagining herself with a smooth, bald head, no more weight from the long hair that had always been a part of her identity. But on the other hand, she feared what it might mean to give up her beauty, to lose everything she had worked so hard to build—her looks, her reputation, and her mother’s pride.

Farha could see the indecision in her niece’s eyes and knew it was still not enough. So, she pressed further, her voice taking on a darker, more manipulative tone. “But, Sana… if you don’t take this chance, then you’ll never get another. I could share this video with your family, you know. I could show everyone your secret. They’ll see how much you’ve been hiding. They’ll call you crazy for even thinking of shaving your head.”

Sana’s heart stopped. The thought of the video being shared, of everyone seeing what she had kept hidden—her secret desire laid bare—was unbearable. The humiliation would be worse than any public judgment she had ever faced.

Farha continued, twisting the knife deeper. “And if that happens, you’ll never get the chance again. This is your moment, Sana. If you refuse, not only will you lose your dignity, but your dream will slip through your fingers forever. No one will ever see you the same again.”

Sana’s panic skyrocketed. The idea of everyone knowing her deepest secret, her private longing… it was too much to bear. Farha had planted the seed of fear so deeply that it took hold in Sana’s mind.

She clenched her fists, the thought of losing both her dignity and the opportunity to fulfill her dream pushing her toward an impossible choice. The fear of being exposed overwhelmed her. She couldn’t let that happen.

Finally, with a defeated sigh, Sana nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, almost too quietly. “I’ll do it. I’ll… play along.”

Farha’s eyes gleamed with a wicked satisfaction. “Good girl,” she purred, her voice soothing and sweet, as though she were giving Sana a gift rather than setting a trap. “Don’t worry, Sana. This will be a small thing. Nothing too difficult. I’ll just ask a few questions—simple ones. All you need to do is answer them wrong, and with each wrong answer, we’ll take a little more off that beautiful hair of yours.”

Sana felt a wave of nausea wash over her as Farha continued. She could still back out, couldn’t she? But no—Farha was right. The video, the fear of public humiliation—it all hung over her like a dark cloud. She had made her decision, even though she wasn’t sure what it truly meant.

Farha smiled again, her voice almost sickeningly sweet. “And when you answer the tenth question wrong, your hair will be gone. Completely. You’ll be bald, and no one will question you anymore. You’ll be free to be who you really are, no more hiding.”

Sana’s stomach churned, but she nodded, her mind already unraveling with the possibilities of what could happen.

Farha leaned closer, her voice now almost a whisper. “Don’t worry, Sana. It’ll be easy. Just answer the questions wrong, and we’ll make sure everything goes smoothly. Everyone will think it’s just part of the game. But if you’re brave enough, you’ll finally feel what you’ve always wanted.”

Sana swallowed hard, the weight of her decision sinking in. She had agreed. She had given in to the pressure, the fear, the temptation. But as Farha turned and began to walk toward the others, her voice still ringing in Sana’s ears, a part of her wondered if she had made a terrible mistake.

Farha’s voice echoed back to her: “Just relax, Sana. This is your moment. You’ll never get a chance like this again.”

Sana, her heart pounding with anxiety, took a deep breath as Farha opened the door, her smile wide and warm. There was no turning back now. Farha’s voice was laced with honeyed sweetness as she beckoned, “Come, dear, the others are waiting. Let’s get started.”

Sana nodded silently, her feet moving almost on their own. She led the way into the other room, her stomach tied in knots. Farha followed behind her, her steps calm and deliberate, as though nothing at all was out of place. The other girls watched with curious expressions, not yet understanding the full weight of what was happening.

As they entered the room, Farha guided Sana to the chair at the center, a place that seemed to shine with an eerie spotlight. She expertly draped the sheet over Sana’s shoulders, tying it snugly around her neck. The fabric felt cool against Sana’s skin, but it did little to soothe her racing heart.

With a wicked whisper that only Sana could hear, Farha leaned close to her ear. “Remember our agreement, Sana. This is your only chance. Don’t regret it.” The words were a chilling reminder of the decision she had made.

Sana swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the floor, unable to meet the eyes of anyone else in the room. She had chosen this. She had agreed. But now, in the face of everyone’s eyes upon her, doubt and fear began to creep in.

Farha took a step back, surveying the room. She was about to set the stage for the humiliation and transformation that awaited Sana, and she relished every moment. “Ladies,” she began, her voice calm but carrying a quiet authority, “we’re about to begin a little game. Our lovely Sana has agreed to a quiz, and as you can see, the stakes are high.” She let the tension hang in the air. “If Sana answers any of these questions incorrectly, we’ll trim a bit of her hair. But, to be fair, I’ll make sure that at least one of these questions will be something that someone else here can answer. That way, you’ll know she’s really getting the answers wrong.”

Sana’s mind raced as Farha spoke, but her attention was drawn to the brush in Farha’s hand. She felt the soft bristles stroke through her hair as Farha prepared to start. The brush moved through the silky strands, almost tenderly at first, but the feeling was foreign, unsettling.

Farha’s voice broke through her thoughts as she announced, “Here’s the first question. And remember, if you get this wrong, we’ll start with a little trim.” She looked at the others in the room with a grin, adding, “We don’t want any of you thinking this is unfair, now do we?”

She turned back to Sana, who sat tense and rigid in the chair, waiting for the inevitable.

“The first question is simple,” Farha continued. “In which year did Pakistan gain its independence?”

Sana’s mind blanked for a split second. Of course, she knew the answer—it was a simple fact that every school child was taught. But in the heat of the moment, with all eyes on her, it felt like an impossible task.

Farha waited, her eyes narrowing slightly in anticipation.

Sana hesitated. “Uh… 1945?”

A gasp swept through the room. Several people exchanged confused looks. Farha smiled faintly, but it was laced with a dark satisfaction.

“No, Sana,” Farha said softly, but with a cold edge, “the correct answer is 1947. But don’t worry,” she added with a mockingly sympathetic tone, “you might get the next one right.”

As she spoke, Farha reached for a pair of sharp scissors that had been placed on the nearby table. Without another word, she lifted a lock of Sana’s long, dark hair and snipped through it in one swift motion. The hair fell to the floor, soft and weightless.

Sana felt her heart drop, the weight of the moment crushing her chest. She glanced at the pile of hair on the floor, each inch a reminder of the choice she had made.

Farha continued to cut, making sure everyone could see the lengths of hair falling to the floor, each snip louder than the last. The sound of scissors cutting through hair seemed to echo in the room, and Sana could feel the stares of the others as they took in the sight.

“There,” Farha said with a satisfied smirk, holding up the lock she had just cut. “A little off the top, and we’ll keep going. Let’s see how well Sana does with the next question, shall we?”

Sana’s mind was racing. She had gotten the first question wrong. What if this kept going? What if she lost it all—her hair, her beauty, everything she had worked so hard to preserve? But she had made her choice. She had agreed.

Farha’s gaze was sharp as she turned to Sana, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Let’s move on, shall we?” she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Question two.”

Sana, her heart pounding, could feel the weight of every eye in the room on her. She was already regretting agreeing to this, but the fear of being exposed, the humiliation of her secret coming to light, held her in place.

Farha’s voice broke the silence again. “In which city would you find the famous Badshahi Mosque?”

Sana felt a small pang of panic. Of course, she knew the answer—Lahore. But in the heat of the moment, her mind betrayed her. The pressure was too much.

“Karachi?” Sana blurted out, her voice shaky.

The room fell silent for a moment. Then, a ripple of gasps and whispers spread through the group. Farha’s smirk widened.

“Wrong again, Sana,” she said, her tone almost too sweet. “The correct answer is Lahore. Looks like we’re off to a rocky start.”

With that, Farha grabbed another handful of hair, this time from the side of Sana’s head. She cut it swiftly, letting the locks fall to the floor in a soft cascade.

Everyone watched intently, some girls’ eyes wide, others simply silent, unsure of what was happening but transfixed by the transformation unfolding.

Farha continued, “Don’t worry, Sana, you’ve still got more chances. Let’s move on to question three.”

The next question came swiftly, almost like a challenge.

“What is the national animal of Pakistan?”

Sana closed her eyes briefly, trying to calm her racing heart. She should know this. It was simple. The Markhor, the national animal of Pakistan. But the pressure was too much, her thoughts swirling.

“Uh… the lion?” she answered, feeling a rush of panic.

Farha’s expression remained unchanged, though a glint of satisfaction danced in her eyes. “No, my dear, that’s incorrect. The correct answer is the Markhor.”

Farha grabbed another section of hair, this time from the back of Sana’s head. She cut it with the scissors, the sound of them snipping through the locks louder than before.

Sana’s hair was starting to feel lighter now, but the weight in her chest was heavier than ever. She glanced at the pile of hair on the floor, and dread washed over her.

“Question four,” Farha continued, unfazed by the growing pile of hair. “What is the capital city of Pakistan?”

Sana barely had time to think before she blurted out, “Karachi?”

Another gasp echoed through the room. The tension was palpable as Farha’s smile turned colder.

“No, Sana,” Farha replied, almost too kindly. “The correct answer is Islamabad.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, Farha took a lock of hair from the top of Sana’s head and snipped it off. The scissors cut cleanly through, and another few inches of Sana’s hair fell away.

Sana’s scalp tingled as the weight of her hair continued to shrink, but it was nothing compared to the weight in her heart. Each wrong answer made the reality of her situation sink in deeper.

“Five,” Farha said, her tone now laced with amusement. “Let’s see if you can at least get this one right. Who was the first Prime Minister of Pakistan?”

Sana’s mind raced as she struggled to recall the answer. She should know this. It was history. But in the chaos of the moment, everything felt distant and blurry.

“Benazir Bhutto?” she asked hesitantly.

Farha didn’t miss a beat. “No, no. The correct answer is Liaquat Ali Khan.”

She grabbed another section of hair, this time from the sides of Sana’s head. As the scissors cut through, Sana felt the weight of the final inch or two of her hair fall away. The room was silent except for the sound of snipping scissors.

“Five questions down,” Farha said, her voice almost gleeful now. “And look at you, Sana. Barely any hair left.”

Sana’s stomach churned. The realization that her beautiful hair was almost gone, that this was really happening, hit her like a wave. The pile of hair at her feet seemed to grow larger with every passing moment.

Farha turned to Sana’s mother with a triumphant smirk, her voice loud enough to command the room’s attention. “See? This is exactly what I was talking about. You’ve boasted so much about Sana’s intelligence, but look at her now. She can’t even answer basic questions. Maybe it’s time to admit that all those top grades were just a result of… cheating.”

The words hit like a hammer, causing Sana’s mother to stiffen. Gasps rippled through the room, and the whispers began.

One woman leaned closer to another. “Did you hear that? Cheating?”

Another added, “I always thought they exaggerated about Sana’s brilliance. Seems like the mother and daughter are both frauds.”

The murmurs grew louder, each word like a dagger to Sana’s mother’s pride. Her face burned with embarrassment, and her hands fidgeted nervously in her lap. She wanted to defend her daughter, but with Sana’s continued failures, the evidence seemed to stack against her.

Farha, relishing the moment, picked up the scissors and walked behind Sana. “I think it’s time to fix this mess,” she said coolly, lifting a section of Sana’s hair. With a deliberate motion, she placed the scissors just below Sana’s shoulders and began cutting in a straight line.

The sharp snipping sound filled the room, each cut punctuated by the murmurs of the onlookers. As the long, glossy locks fell to the floor, the shame in the room thickened. Farha’s words were like poison, sinking deeper into Sana’s mother’s heart.

“You know,” Farha continued, addressing the room, “if Sana’s mother wasn’t complicit in all this, I’m sure she would’ve noticed sooner. But I guess when you’re so busy bragging about your daughter, it’s easy to ignore the truth.”

Sana’s mother looked down, her face pale and her pride in shambles. The whispers stung, and she could feel the eyes of the women judging her.

Meanwhile, Farha bent closer to Sana, her voice low and dripping with false encouragement. “You’re doing so well, Sana. Just keep going. You’re so close to living your dream. Imagine the freedom, the liberation. Don’t stop now.”

Sana’s hands gripped the edge of the chair, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The shame of what was happening, the humiliation of her mother, and the tantalizing thought of her long-hidden dream—it was all too much.

Farha straightened up, brushing the newly shortened hair into an even line. “There we go,” she announced, loud enough for the room to hear. “Nice and neat. Now, let’s make this even easier for Sana. Maybe the questions were too hard for her before.”

She walked back to the front of the room, her tone turning mockingly sweet. “Alright, question six. Sana, what is the name of our national poet?”

It was an answer every schoolchild knew: Allama Iqbal. But Sana, her nerves frayed and her mind clouded, hesitated. “Um… Faiz Ahmed Faiz?”

A collective groan spread through the room, and before Farha could speak, a small voice piped up. A little girl, no more than ten years old, stood in the corner with a confident smile. “It’s Allama Iqbal!” she said proudly.

Farha clapped her hands in exaggerated delight. “Even the kid knows it! See, Sana? This is what I mean.” Her tone was sharp and cutting.

With that, Farha stepped behind Sana again, lifting the scissors. This time, she placed them just below the nape of her neck. “Let’s make it a little shorter, shall we?” she said with feigned cheerfulness.

She began cutting in a straight line, the blades slicing through the remaining hair with ease. More strands fell to the floor, exposing Sana’s neck fully for the first time. The room was silent, save for the occasional murmur of disbelief.

“There,” Farha said, stepping back to admire her work. “Now we can see that lovely neck of yours. Let’s move on to the next question, shall we?”

Sana’s heart sank further, the pile of hair on the floor a stark reminder of how much she had lost—and how much further this could go.

Farha’s expression darkened as she leaned closer to Sana, her fingers pinching Sana’s ear sharply. The sudden jolt of pain made Sana wince, but she remained silent, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Let’s make this even more fun, shall we?” Farha said, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “For these last four questions, I’ll bring in some kids. I’ll ask them math questions—nothing too hard, of course. If you can answer correctly before them, I won’t cut more. But if you can’t…” She let the sentence hang, her smile widening as she watched Sana’s face pale.

When Sana didn’t respond, Farha twisted her ear again, this time harder. The pain made Sana clench her fists against the arms of the chair.

“Do you understand, Sana?” Farha asked, her tone sharpening.

Sana remained silent, her mind racing.

Farha’s grip tightened, and she twisted again, making Sana flinch visibly this time. “I said, do you understand?”

“Yes!” Sana blurted out, her voice trembling with pain and humiliation.

“Good girl,” Farha said mockingly, finally letting go of her ear. “Let’s get started, then.”

Farha turned to the room, scanning the children sitting quietly in the corner. She pointed to four little girls, their ages ranging from six to ten. “Come here, darlings,” she said in a singsong voice. “We’re going to play a little game.”

The girls approached hesitantly, their eyes darting between Farha and Sana. They didn’t fully understand what was happening, but the excitement in the air made them eager to participate.

Farha stood in front of them, addressing the room with a gleeful smile. “Now, Sana will have to compete with these bright young minds. Let’s see if she can beat them!”

She turned back to Sana, her smile fading into a cold smirk. “Are you ready, dear?”

Sana didn’t answer, her hands trembling in her lap.

Farha wasted no time. “First question: What is 7 plus 5?”

Sana hesitated, her mind clouded by the overwhelming humiliation and fear.

“12!” one of the little girls shouted confidently.

Farha clapped her hands together. “Correct! And it seems Sana couldn’t even answer that simple question.”

With that, she picked up the scissors and snipped a chunk of hair from the side of Sana’s head, further reducing its length. The pile of hair on the floor continued to grow, and the whispers in the room grew louder.

The second question came quickly. “What is 15 minus 8?”

“Seven!” another girl answered before Sana could even open her mouth.

“Wonderful!” Farha exclaimed, turning to Sana with a mock frown. “Looks like you’re not very quick, are you?”

She grabbed another section of hair and cut it short, leaving Sana’s head uneven and choppy.

By the time the ninth question was asked, Sana’s once-beautiful hair had been reduced to a rough bowl cut. She could feel the cool air on her exposed neck and scalp, a stark contrast to the warmth of her humiliation.

Farha stood before Sana, scissors in hand, and smirked. “Final question, everyone! Let’s see if Sana can redeem herself.”

She turned to the kids. “What is 9 times 3?”

“27!” the eldest girl shouted excitedly.

The room erupted in laughter and applause as Farha nodded. “Correct again! And poor Sana… not even a chance.”

Farha stepped behind Sana, her tone turning colder. “Well, this is it, dear. The moment you’ve been waiting for.”

Sana’s heart pounded as Farha picked up the clippers, switching them on with a loud buzz. The sound filled the room, silencing the whispers.

As Farha shaved away the last remnants of Sana’s hair, she turned her attention to Sana’s mother. “This is your fault,” she spat, her voice full of venom. “You made everyone believe your daughter was perfect, but look at her now. Pathetic. Just like you.”

Sana’s mother’s eyes welled with tears, her face crumpling as Farha’s words cut deeper than any scissors could.

Farha didn’t stop there. With each insult directed at the mother, she slapped Sana across the face, the humiliation in the room thickening with every strike.

“You thought you were better than me,” Farha said, her voice rising. “But now everyone can see the truth. You’re nothing. Both of you!”

Sana’s mother broke down, sobbing openly as the room watched in stunned silence. Farha, satisfied with her victory, finally stepped back, leaving Sana bald, humiliated, and exposed.

The room was silent, save for the quiet sobs of Sana and her mother. Farha turned to the onlookers, her voice triumphant. “Now, everyone knows the truth.”

The room was suffocatingly silent as everyone stared at Sana and her mother with a mix of disgust and pity. Whispers rippled through the group, and their piercing stares felt like daggers. It was as though the mother and daughter had been caught committing an unforgivable crime, their pride stripped away.

Farha, holding the clippers in her right hand, smirked with satisfaction. She placed her left hand firmly on the crown of Sana’s head and pushed it downward, forcing her chin to press against her chest.

“Stay still,” Farha commanded coldly.

The loud buzz of the clippers roared to life, breaking the tense silence. Farha wasted no time, placing the humming device at the nape of Sana’s neck. She pressed it firmly into her skin and began dragging it upward, leaving a trail of rough stubble in its wake. The once waist-length hair, now reduced to uneven patches, fell silently to the ground, joining the pile of black strands that surrounded the chair.

Pass after pass, Farha methodically worked through the remaining hair, moving with precision and control. The clippers glided over Sana’s scalp, erasing the last remnants of her once-envied locks.

“You know,” Farha said, her tone icy but tinged with mockery, “this suits you. A perfect look for a perfect fraud.”

Sana’s body trembled, but she obeyed Farha’s earlier command to stay still, too humiliated and defeated to resist. The women watching gasped softly, a mix of morbid curiosity and schadenfreude playing across their faces.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Farha switched off the clippers. The buzz died, replaced by the muffled murmurs of the audience.

“Don’t you dare look up,” Farha hissed, her hand pressing Sana’s head down again. “You don’t deserve it.”

She placed the clippers down and picked up a straight-edge razor and a can of shaving cream. Shaking the can, she squirted a generous amount of cream into her palm and began spreading it across Sana’s scalp.

The cool sensation of the cream made Sana shiver, but Farha didn’t stop. She worked the cream into every inch of the stubble, her hands moving deliberately.

Farha’s gaze shifted to Sana’s mother, who sat nearby, her face streaked with tears as she sobbed quietly. “Don’t you want to see your perfect daughter’s transformation?” Farha said mockingly. “Or would you prefer I make you both look the same? Fraud twins! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

The cruel laugh that followed sent shivers down Sana’s mother’s spine, but she couldn’t muster a response. Her shame weighed her down like a stone.

Farha turned her attention back to Sana, leaning close to whisper in her ear. “I bet you’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you? Don’t move a muscle.”

With slow, deliberate strokes, Farha began shaving Sana’s scalp. The razor glided over her head, scraping away the last traces of hair until nothing but smooth skin remained. Each pass was precise, and Farha took her time, relishing the control she held.

The women in the room murmured, some looking away while others couldn’t tear their eyes from the scene. Sana sat rigidly, her heart pounding, her humiliation complete.

When Farha finished shaving the last section, she wiped the razor clean and admired her work. Sana’s head was now smooth and gleaming under the light, completely stripped of its once-glorious mane.

Farha wasn’t done. She grabbed Sana’s face roughly, her nails digging into her cheeks as she lifted her head. Sana winced, her tear-filled eyes meeting the room’s judgmental stares.

“Look, everyone,” Farha sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. “The perfect girl! Doesn’t she look stunning?”

The room was silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. But Farha wasn’t satisfied yet.

“One thing’s missing,” she added with a wicked grin.

She grabbed the can of shaving cream again, spraying a small amount onto her fingers. Carefully, she applied it to Sana’s eyebrows, coating them completely. Picking up the razor, she leaned in closer.

“Stay still,” she whispered coldly, “or I might slip.”

With slow precision, Farha began shaving Sana’s eyebrows, the razor scraping away the delicate hairs. Pass after pass, she removed them completely, leaving nothing but bare skin behind.

When she finished, Farha stepped back, placing the razor down. She wiped her hands clean with a towel and tilted her head, admiring her work.

“See how fresh you look now,” Farha said mockingly, chuckling as she gestured to Sana’s bald head and bare face.

The room erupted into quiet murmurs, some shaking their heads in disbelief while others smirked, satisfied with the public spectacle.

Farha wiped her hands clean, her face smug with satisfaction as she admired her work on Sana. The once-envied girl now sat in the chair, her bald, freshly shaved head and bare brows gleaming under the room’s light. She looked completely stripped of her dignity, her trembling form a shadow of her former self.

But Farha wasn’t done. She turned to Sana’s mother, her eyes glinting with malice.

“You know,” Farha began, her voice carrying across the room, “this humiliation isn’t just Sana’s burden to bear. After all, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

Sana’s mother, still sitting frozen in shame, looked up with tear-streaked eyes. “What… what do you mean?” she stammered.

Farha chuckled darkly. “Oh, come now. You’ve spent years parading your daughter as some perfect little prodigy, feeding everyone lies about her brilliance. And now we’ve all seen the truth. You raised her to be a fraud!”

“That’s not true!” Sana’s mother cried, but her voice broke, her confidence shattered.

“Oh, but it is,” Farha said, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. She approached Sana’s mother, her hands on her hips. “And do you know what they’re all whispering right now?” She gestured around the room, where the other women were murmuring behind their hands, their judgmental stares fixed on the humiliated pair.

“They’re saying you’re just as much to blame,” Farha continued. “You’re the one who raised her. You’ve been feeding us lies for years.”

Sana’s mother shook her head, but the weight of the accusation was too much to bear.

Farha clapped her hands, commanding everyone’s attention. “Ladies,” she announced, “I think it’s only fair that the mother shares in her daughter’s transformation. After all, shouldn’t they match? Fraud twins!”

The room erupted into murmurs, some shocked, others amused, but none daring to challenge Farha’s authority.

“No,” Sana’s mother whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please, no.”

Farha’s smile widened as she leaned closer. “Oh, but I insist. This is your chance to take responsibility for your daughter’s actions. Or would you prefer I tell everyone how you encouraged her to cheat?”

The threat was too much. Sana’s mother looked around the room, her humiliation growing as she saw the judging eyes of the guests. Slowly, hesitantly, she rose from her seat, her legs trembling as Farha gestured toward the chair.

“Good girl,” Farha said mockingly.

Sana’s mother sat down, her face pale and tear-streaked. Farha wasted no time, grabbing a fresh sheet and caping her, tying it tightly around her neck.

“Now,” Farha said, picking up the clippers again and holding them up for the room to see, “let’s make this a family affair.”

The clippers roared to life once more, and Farha placed her hand firmly on the top of the mother’s head, tilting it forward. Just like with Sana, she started at the nape of her neck, the clippers buzzing loudly as they stripped away the hair. Long locks of black fell to the floor, joining her daughter’s.

Pass after pass, Farha worked methodically, reducing the once-proud mother’s hair to rough stubble. The humiliation in the room was palpable, with some of the women laughing softly while others whispered behind their hands.

When the clippers had done their work, Farha set them down and reached for the shaving cream and razor. She applied the cream liberally, spreading it across the stubble with practiced ease.

“Don’t you worry,” Farha said mockingly, “you’ll look just as fresh as your daughter.”

Sana’s mother sobbed quietly as Farha began shaving her head, the razor gliding over her scalp with smooth, deliberate strokes. The once-proud woman sat helplessly as her identity was stripped away, stroke by stroke.

When the shaving was done, Farha stepped back, admiring her work. But she wasn’t finished yet.

“Something’s still missing,” Farha said with a wicked grin. She grabbed the can of shaving cream again and applied it to the mother’s eyebrows, just as she had done with Sana.

“No!” the mother gasped, but Farha ignored her protests.

“Stay still,” Farha said coldly, holding the woman’s head firmly. “You wouldn’t want me to mess this up.”

With precision, Farha shaved off the woman’s eyebrows, leaving her completely bare-faced.

When she was done, Farha stepped back and gestured toward the mother and daughter. “Ladies,” she announced to the room, “behold the perfect pair. Fraudulent, humiliated, and identical!”

The room erupted into laughter and whispers, the humiliation complete. Farha stood tall, her victory absolute, as Sana and her mother sat in the chairs, their bald, eyebrow-less heads gleaming under the light.

Farha leaned down one last time, whispering into Sana’s ear. “Enjoy your dream, dear. I hope it was worth it.”

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