Locks of black hair blemished the floor by her feet. Her six year old hands were shaking with anticipation as she kept the pair of scissors down. She grinned at mirror, it was a success.
Meera kept her shopping bags and called out for her daughter. It had been a long day. The lights of her room were on. Meera remembered how once, a week ago, she had walked into the room to discover her six year old daughter smeared with red lipstick and messy braids. Oh, how adorable she was, trying to dress up. She loved adorning herself, and braiding her beautiful curls. Entering the room, Meera let out a whimper. She wanted to speak, but couldn't find her words. At last,after a minute that seemed like hours, she finally found her voice.
"Why have you cut your hair, dear?"
She asked, utterly confused yet aware of the soft whisper in her mind slowly turning into a siren.
"So that daddy likes me," her daughter said, hope glimmering in her warm innocent eyes.
"I am a boy now."
Good one!
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