You didn't know what else to do anymore. You'd tried everything, but your hair seemed to be going against all your efforts. Every gel, mousse, and styling cream you bought was in vain, either too heavy or lacking definition for the stupid waves in your hair, which only deigned to appear in the last two centimeters, leaving the roots completely straight and flat.

Having type 2A hair was hell. You wondered why you didn't just go back to when you used to comb your hair until it was dry, making it look straight. You wished you had a different pattern. Playful, defined curls like Mary's, that danced every time she walked. Or straight hair like Lily's, smooth as silk. But no. Merlin had punished you with this mix of both that never looked right.

Cutting it would be worse, so you threw the products on the floor, filled with rage and frustration, feeling your eyes well up with tears.

It was stupid, wasn't it? It's just hair. Well, no, it wasn't just hair.

The tears were about to fall when you heard a gentle knock on your bathroom door. Your boyfriend's loving and concerned voice asked from the other side, "Love, is everything okay? You've been locked in the bathroom for an hour and a half now."