A peculiar custom had been followed for centuries in a small village nestled between misty hills—one that no outsider understood. Before her wedding, every bride was required to grow her hair for as long as possible. If she failed, she would have to borrow hair from the temple—a place no one dared to enter after sunset.
Saira, a young woman from the city, had never believed in superstitions. When she fell in love with a man from the village, she dismissed the eerie warnings about the “Marriage Hair” tradition. Her hair barely reached her shoulders, and she refused to wear wigs or extensions like the other brides. But as the wedding day approached, she noticed strange things happening.
At night, she heard whispers from the mirror. Her reflection seemed to move on its own, the hair in the glass growing unnaturally long. Some mornings, she woke up with strands of someone else’s hair tangled in her own.
Desperate to escape the nightmares, Saira visited the temple, despite the warnings. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of rotting flowers. Strands of black hair covered the floor like creeping vines. In the dim candlelight, she saw them—the discarded braids of past brides, still writhing as if alive.
A shiver ran down her spine as a voice whispered, “Marry with borrowed hair, and you belong to us.”
Terrified, Saira ran. But on her wedding day, she woke to find her hair impossibly long, trailing behind her like a black river. Her reflection in the mirror smiled—a smile that wasn’t hers.
That night, when her husband lifted her veil, he gasped. Saira’s eyes were hollow, her face no longer her own. The borrowed hair had claimed her.
The next morning, the villagers found the bride’s gown empty. Only her long, cursed hair remained, slithering toward the temple, searching for its next brid
