Good different.

My heart thumped loudly inside my chest, and my palms dripped with liquid anxiety. Adrenaline rushed through every vein in my body as struggled desperately to make it out alive. I was caugth in a fierce whirlwind, I was lost in the deep sea. I pushed past stampedes of children, head down, scarf like a curtain covering my face. I was different. Different from the black-lipstick girls. Different from the teacher's pets. Different from the rest of the school, and it was all because of a coloured chiffon cloth pinned to my skull. Normally I felt horrible coming to school, but something deep down told me that today wouldn't be so bad. It would be different, good different, unlike me.

I flung open the door to my homeroom, mentally arguing with myself on whether or not I made it too obvious that I was rushing to get to the back of the class. I plopped down on a seat and hid behind my bag. I was surprised to see a shy girl sit next to me, I didn't think I had seen her anywhere before. I made a mental note of her; a gradient hair colour- blonde to brown- a pair of flowy black pants, A white office shirt, pleated at the sleeves, bulky white Noke shoes and two matching pink flower clips tying back her curtain bangs to either side of her head. Her hair drooped down to around the middle of the chair leg. It was long, soft and beautiful. Mine was, too, you just couldn't see it. I got so lost in my thoughts I didn't notice her get up and come over to where I was sitting. She pushed my bag off my desk and introduced herself, "Hi, I'm Hope, I'm new here. What's your name?" I could tell she was a bit nervous so I tried not to make her feel bad. "I'm Ayesha, what's your name?" I asked. She chuckled to herself, leaving me utterly confused. "Hope. That's my name, silly!" she laughed. "Oh-" I said bluntly, rubbing my wrist in embarrassment. She rocked from her heels to her toes awkwardly a few times. "So... friends?" she squeaked, making me smile. "Really? With the towel-head? I wouldn't recommend it, it's gonna ruin your high-school reputation," I replied sarcastically. She made a face that reminded me of a surprised deer. "Oh! I don't think you're a towel-head! I think your scarf makes you look beautiful..." she rambled, but I was pretty sure she had more to add. "And?" I asked.

"What?" she snapped.

"You haven't finished your sentence, so go on," I laughed.

"... and blush-pink looks pretty on you."

I smiled wide. "Friends."

Hope became my first friend in a long time. She was brave, brave enough stand up against a couple of Islamophobics. She was pretty, had a wonderful sense of fashion and had a surprising love for books. I could've sworn it was an addiction. She was very smart, though. It was going smoothly until, a couple of weeks later, she started acting strange. She shifted in her seat at lunch and didn't talk much at all. Whenever I asked her if everything was okay, she would simply laugh and say; "Of course it is!" It was getting kind of repetitive. I decided we needed to talk. "Hope, be honest," I demanded one day at lunch, "What's going on? You can't keep stuff from me forever." Hope sighed, "Yeah, you're right."

What she said next struck me like a bolt of lightning. The words echoed endlessly inside my head. 'Runaway foster child.' Questions filled my head, too many questions to handle. "Ok. Question time. Why did you run away? Why are you a foster child? Is it because your parents... passed or because he/she/they couldn't look after you? How do you know your name?" I rambled on. Hope sighed heavily. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I waited in anticipation for her to answer my burning questions. "They were abusive..." she started, I could hear a sob swelling up in her voice. "The police found out after they vomited their livers out that I was a part of a drunk abusive family. Both my mum and dad were like that. At the age of 9 I dealt with my parents' deaths and was sent to a foster home. From what I was told, this would be a new, better beginning for me. I was happy because I thought my new family would be different, at least a little bit." she narrated, now sobbing uncontrollably. "They weren't. They were the same. They only took care of me for the extra money. With that money they drank and beat me. I was a money-making ATM. Now I'm here." she finished. My problems seemed so inferior in front of hers, yet she was so much braver and happier than me. I got up, walked to the other side of the bench and hugged her tightly.

The next day we went to the police station and reported their crimes. We had the evidence. Hope would be rescued from her past. Everything would be fine. One question still lingered in the air, though. Where would Hope go now? The answer; I now had a more than a friend, I had a sister. According to religious customs, Hope changed her name to Hafsah. We were inseparable. Sure, it was different, but it was good different. Just like us.