It started with my younger sister, Nadia.
In our family, Nadia was the one with the hair.
Crown-and-glory thick.
Edges so sharp they looked painted on.
Natural hair so full our aunties used to say God broke the mold with her.
Every family reunion, every cookout — Nadia's hair was the one people talked about.
She took better care of it than anyone I've ever treated professionally.
Satin pillowcase every night.
No direct heat.
Gentle braids with plenty of space between sections.
Rosemary oil and scalp massages before bed.
She did everything the experts — including me — said to do.
She was 39 when she first called me about the thinning.
I wasn't worried.
"It's probably tension from the braids," I told her. "Take a break for a few months."
She took three months off braids entirely.
But her edges didn't show any sign of new growth.
"Try biotin, zinc, and collagen," I said. "Give it six months."
She took them religiously.
Then she called again.
This time it wasn't just the edges.
Her scalp started to show through her crown.
I flew home to see her myself.
She showed me the hair loss and what she said broke me.
🔴 She'd stopped wearing her natural hair out.
🔴 Stopped coming to family events without a wig.
🔴 Started angling herself in every photo.
🔴 Started avoiding her own reflection.
My sister who once had the best hair was now struggling.
"Is my hair gonna grow back?" she asked me quietly.
And I — a trichologist with a medical degree and nearly a decade of clinical practice — could not answer her.
That night, something inside me snapped.
I wasn't going to watch my sister lose her natural hair and her confidence.
I wasn't going to let the hair industry profit off her without actually helping her.
I made a promise to Nadia that night.
I would find a treatment for her that could grow her hair back.
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