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MidReal Story
The Hair Growth Challenge
Scenario:Brylee can grow her hair really fast but always kept it short. Christian convinces her to grow it as long as possible. She keeps track of the length in her diary throughout her life.
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Brylee
She is a girl who has a unique ability to grow her hair at an incredible rate. She is curious, selfconscious, and adventurous. Brylee keeps a diary to record her hair growth, encouraged by Christian's support. Over the years, she struggles with body image but finds solace in her long hair. Her relationship with Christian evolves from friendship to something more as they grow up together.
Christian
He is Brylee's childhood friend who lives next door. He is supportive, patient, and kindhearted. Christian encourages Brylee to grow her hair out, creating a bet to see how long it can get. Throughout their lives, he remains a constant figure in Brylee's life, offering emotional support and understanding. His feelings for Brylee become apparent as they grow closer, eventually leading to a romantic relationship.
Megan
She is Brylee's best friend since kindergarten. She is outspoken, loyal, and sometimes blunt. Megan maintains a close bond with Brylee despite their differences; she teases Brylee about her long hair while enjoying her short style. Her presence in Brylee's life provides comfort and camaraderie, and she stands by Brylee through various ups and downs, remaining a consistent support system.
When I was younger, I could grow my hair out really fast.
Like, abnormally fast.
I didn’t know that, of course.
I just thought I was a fast grower, like some people are.
I had kept it short for as long as I could remember.
Not because I didn’t like long hair.
. .
. I loved long hair.
It was just that every time I tried to grow mine out, it would get down to my shoulders and look awful.
I thought maybe it was because I had the wrong hair cut, or that I didn’t use the right products.
So I kept experimenting with different things, but nothing seemed to work for me.
One summer when I was thirteen, Christian convinced me to try to grow my hair out as long as I could get it.
He had lived next door to me my entire life and was one of my best friends.
I had known him since we were babies and had even shared a few of my first kisses with him when we were in preschool and through elementary school.
We had remained close through everything, and I considered him one of my closest friends along with Megan, who I had also known since kindergarten.
Megan was my best friend and the only other person who truly understood me besides Christian.
After school, Christian came to my house.
He was carrying something in his hand that I couldn’t quite make out.
He had a mischievous grin on his face, and I could tell he was up to something.
"Hey," he said, as he walked into my room.
"Hey," I replied, watching him curiously.
"I have an idea," he said, holding up what looked like a measuring tape.
"What’s that?"
I asked him, raising an eyebrow.
"I know you’ve been trying to grow your hair out for a while now," he said.
"And I know you’ve tried different things in the past, but they haven’t worked."
"Yeah," I said, nodding.
"Well," he said, "I think I have a solution."
"Oh yeah?"
I asked skeptically.
He nodded.
"First, we need to measure your hair. From the roots all the way down to the ends."
"Why?"
I asked him.
"So we can track how much it grows," he said, pulling out the diary he had bought me last Christmas.
"But…"
I started to say. "Come on," he said, giving me his best puppy dog eyes.
"It’ll be fun! You can even put pictures in the diary if you want."
I hesitated for a moment, remembering all of the times I had tried to grow my hair out and failed.
But Christian was so excited about this idea that it was hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm.
"Okay," I finally said, standing up and walking over to him.
"Great!" he exclaimed, pulling me over to sit on my bedroom floor with him.
We sat cross-legged facing each other, and Christian held up the measuring tape.
"Now," he said, "I’m going to measure from your scalp all the way down to the ends of your hair. Ready?"
I nodded and Christian placed one end of the measuring tape at my scalp and extended it down to the ends of my hair.
He looked at the number and smiled.
"6 inches," he said, writing it down in the diary along with today’s date and a little sketch of what my hair looked like right now. "That’s not bad," I said, looking at the number in surprise.
"Yeah," Christian agreed.
"Now let’s see how long it is next week."
"You want to do this every week?"
I asked him incredulously.
"Yeah," he replied matter-of-factly.
"So we can track how much it grows."
Christian pulled out his phone and set an alarm for every Sunday afternoon at three.
I sat there flipping through the pages of the diary.
It was leather-bound and had a pretty floral pattern on the front.
The pages were completely empty, except for a small note that Christian had written on the inside cover.
To my dearest friend,
I hope this diary brings you as much joy as you have brought me.
With love,
Christian
I ran my fingers over the blank lines, feeling the smoothness of the paper beneath my fingertips.
Christian showed me how to section my hair so that I could measure it accurately.
He took a comb and gently parted my hair into quadrants, starting at the crown of my head and working his way down to the nape of my neck. "You want to make sure you’re measuring from the same spot every time," he explained, as he carefully combed out each section.
"This will give us a more accurate reading."
I watched in the mirror as he measured each section, taking careful note of where he placed the tape measure and how he extended it down to the ends of my hair.
When he was finished, he handed me the tape measure and had me practice measuring each section myself.
At first, my fingers fumbled with the tape measure and I couldn’t seem to get it right.
But after a few tries, I got the hang of it and was able to measure each section with ease. When we were finished, Christian opened up my diary and wrote down all of our measurements.
He included detailed instructions on how to measure each section of hair, as well as a diagram showing where to place the tape measure.
Finally, he signed his name at the bottom of the page as the official witness to my hair growth experiment.
"I’m going to keep track of all your measurements in here," he explained, tapping his finger on the page.
"That way we can see how much your hair has grown over time."
As I closed the diary, I realized that this was more than just a hair experiment; it was a testament to our friendship.
While measuring my hair for our weekly session, Christian reaches into his backpack with an exaggerated flourish.
He pulls out a small glass bottle filled with a green liquid.
The label reads "Miracle Hair Growth Serum" in his messy handwriting.
I recognize the bottle as one of his mom's empty perfume containers.
Christian waves the bottle around dramatically, proclaiming, "Behold! This magical elixir contains rare unicorn tears and fairy dust. It’s guaranteed to make your hair grow faster than ever before!"
I can’t help but giggle at his ridiculous performance.
He pretends to sprinkle a few drops onto my head, making "tingling" noises with his mouth.
We both burst into uncontrollable laughter, and the measuring tape slips from his hands, falling to the floor.
Wiping tears of laughter from my eyes, I watch as Christian crawls around, collecting the tape that has unspooled across my bedroom floor.
He settles back behind me, his breathing still uneven from laughing.
The "magic serum" bottle sits abandoned on my dresser.
Christian sections my hair again, his fingers gentle against my scalp.
I hold still while he stretches the tape from root to tip, his face close enough that I feel his steady breaths.
The metal tape feels cool against my neck as he calls out "six and a quarter inches."
Then he reaches for the diary to record the slight increase.
After writing down my progress, Christian picks up the homemade serum bottle again.
This time, he holds it with a more serious expression.
"That story was just for fun," he says, his voice low and sincere.
"But I did actually mix some stuff together that might help."
He holds the bottle up to the light, and the green liquid inside glows softly.
"I added some aloe vera, coconut oil, and a few other natural ingredients that are supposed to be good for your hair."
I take the bottle from him and examine it closely.
The liquid is a murky green color, almost like swamp water.
I can still smell my mom’s perfume lingering on the glass.
"Does it smell weird?"
Christian asks, noticing me sniffing it.
"I know it’s not the best scent, but I didn’t want to add any artificial fragrances. I figured you’d rather have something that’s all natural."
I nod in agreement and unscrew the cap of the bottle.
I rub the cool serum between my fingers, testing its slick consistency before touching it to my scalp.
Christian leans forward, watching intently as I part my hair into sections, just like he taught me.
The oil feels soothing as I work it into my roots, starting at the crown of my head.
My fingertips move in small circles, the way Mom used to do when washing my hair when I was little.
The mixture leaves a slight tingling sensation, and I catch whiffs of coconut mixed with the lingering perfume.
Christian reaches over to demonstrate how to massage the serum into my scalp properly.
I apply the "magic serum" to my hair every day, following Christian’s instructions to the letter.
Each morning, I part my hair into sections, just like he taught me.
Then I massage the cool liquid into my scalp, working it in with gentle circular motions.
The tingling sensation is always there, and the scent of coconut fills my room.
Sometimes I catch a hint of my mom’s perfume wafting through the air.
A week later, during our weekly measuring session, Christian’s eyes widen as he calls out the new length.
"Seven and a half inches!"
We both stare at the tape measure, then at each other in disbelief.
Christian quickly records the new length in the diary, his handwriting a little shaky with excitement.
We exchange a look of triumph, knowing that something extraordinary has just begun.
I sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor while Christian measures my hair.
It’s now past my shoulders, and the weekly ritual has become a sacred tradition.
Every Sunday at 4 PM, he arrives with the measuring tape and diary.
Today marks our twentieth session.
The numbers tell our story: 6 inches, 7.5, 9, 12, 15...
Christian’s neat handwriting fills page after page with measurements, dates, and observations.
He notices a loose strand and tucks it behind my ear before continuing.
The "magic serum" bottle sits empty on my dresser, but my hair keeps growing regardless.
Christian looks at me, a knowing smile on his face, and says, "I guess some magic doesn't need a bottle after all."
I lean against the edge of my bed while Christian sections my hair.
His hands move with practiced ease, a routine he’s mastered over the months of our weekly sessions.
The measuring tape slides down my back, and he methodically checks each quadrant multiple times.
My hair now pools on the floor behind me, requiring him to stretch the tape measure to its full length.
Christian’s sharp intake of breath makes me turn.
He holds up the tape, showing me the number: twenty-eight inches.
We both stare at the number, remembering that first six-inch measurement.
Christian’s hand trembles slightly as he opens the diary to record this milestone.
"Some things grow beyond what we ever imagined," he whispers, closing the diary with a satisfied nod.
I sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor while Christian measures my hair.
It’s now well past my waist, and the weekly ritual continues with precision.
Christian’s sharp intake of breath makes me turn around.
He’s comparing last week’s diary entry to this week’s measurement, his eyes wide.
"This can’t be right," he mutters, measuring again.
The tape shows forty-two inches—a fourteen-inch growth in just seven days.
Christian records the number in the diary, his hands trembling slightly as he draws multiple asterisks next to it.
When he touches my hair, several strands come loose and float to the ground.
My scalp tingles in a way I’ve never felt before.
Christian looks at me, his voice steady but filled with awe, "We've crossed into the unknown."
I sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor while Christian measures my hair.
It now pools around me, a thick cascade of waves that extend beyond my reach.
The measuring tape stretches sixty inches, and Christian has to connect a second one to reach the ends.
My scalp tingles intensely, a sensation unlike anything I’ve felt before.
Strands of hair sprout and lengthen before our eyes, like nature’s magic unfolding.
Christian records the measurement in the diary, his pen scratching against paper with urgency.
I feel the hair growing, each strand pushing through my scalp with a slight sting.
Christian’s voice is steady as he reads from the diary, "Sixty-three inches... Sixty-four... Sixty-five..."
The tape measure extends further, and Christian’s voice grows softer, as if he can’t believe what he’s witnessing.
My hair continues to grow, creeping across the floor like flowing water.
It covers my shoes, then my legs, then the carpet beneath us.
When Christian shifts position, he finds himself sitting on my ever-growing hair.
I sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor while Christian measures my hair.
It now covers the entire room, a thick carpet of gold that extends from my scalp to the farthest corners.
The floorboards groan under its weight, and I notice a slight dip forming beneath us.
Christian pauses mid-measurement, his eyes widening as a loud crack echoes through the room.
My hair continues to grow, forcing its way into every crevice.
The wooden boards bend further, creating visible gaps between them.
Christian quickly grabs the diary and measuring tape, backing toward my door.
"Do you feel that?" he asks, his voice tinged with urgency.
I nod, the sensation of my hair pulling at the floorboards unsettling.
"We need to get out before it brings the whole house down," he insists, reaching for my hand.
I grasp Christian’s outstretched hand, and another crack echoes through the floorboards.
My hair trails behind us like a massive golden train, catching on doorframes and furniture as we hurry toward the hallway.
The weight of it pulls at my scalp, making each step a struggle.
Christian leads the way, yanking me forward when my hair snags on my dresser.
Behind us, the sound of splintering wood grows louder.
We stumble into the hallway just as my bedroom floor caves in.
The force of my still-growing hair rips through the wooden planks.