I reached toward her hood. She flinched so sharply that I froze.
“What happened?” I whispered.
She said nothing.
Slowly, I pulled the hood back.
For several seconds, my mind refused to understand what I was seeing.
Her hair—the hair I had braided that very morning—was gone.
What remained ended in ragged, uneven pieces above her shoulders. One side hung lower than the other. Short sections stuck out behind her ears. The ends looked as if they had been chewed through rather than carefully cut.
My legs weakened, and I dropped to my knees in front of her.
“Oh, Maya.”
The sound that escaped her was half sob, half gasp.
I lifted my hand toward her head but stopped before touching it. The shock in her face made me afraid that even a gentle movement would frighten her.
“Who did this to you?”
She stared at the carpet.
