Hijabi Style: The Surprisingly Average Life Of A Teenage Muslim Girl

What Hurts The Most

Nothing good ever comes from lies. Secrets are the worst kinds of lies, and yet, they kept popping up into my life somehow. My mother had been religiously targeted, my father had engaged me to a complete stranger prior to my meeting him, and now, my sister was skipping school.

I pray that Deena is okay even though I am sure she voluntary left school on her own. She would've been fine right now if she'd stayed.

The taxi cab drops Kennedy and I off in a rough part of town, mostly abandoned and decrepit with soot. Abba and Ummi would skin Deena alive if they knew she'd ever come to a place like this. The streets are empty and the area appears dark, even though it's only been an hour since high noon.

Kennedy and I start to walk down the street, trying to locate the building number Deena had told Kennedy. The taxi's wheels screech as it races out of there. We finally come to building number 7, an entirely blackened edifice.

There is someone crumpled into a ball near the door. The person's hair is covering their face. Ken glances at me and we begin to walk around the figure. I stop suddenly as something catches my eye. A gold pendant shines in the light coming from a nearby broken window. I look down at my own gold pendant to confirm my suspicions.

"Deena!" I scramble back to the person on the floor. Ken stops, confused.

"Yasmeen!" she cries as she looks up at me. Her face is streaked with tears and her lips are bruised. Her hijab is gone and she is fiercely holding onto the pendant around her neck.

"What happened? What are you doing in this place?"

"It was an accident... I...I..." she struggles as she begins to hyperventilate.

"Calm down, habibti," I soothe, taking her into my arms. "Take a breath. I'm here, ya bint." Kennedy kneels beside us, unsure of what to do, but also looking very angry. But now isn't the time to ask how he's feeling. I turn back to Deena.

"Yaz, I'm so ashamed," she whispers through her tears. "This is all my fault."

"What happened?" Kennedy asks.

"I didn't follow the deen. I failed Allah's test. For a stupid guy."

"What guy is this?"

"My... boyfriend."

"Deena!" I gasp. "You have a boyfriend? Without telling Abba? Or me?"

"I figured it would be easier not to."

"Ya Allah," I sigh to myself. "Is it at least a halal relationship?"

"Yes!" Deena shrieks defensively. "What kind of girl do you think I am?!"

"Alhamdullilah for that." Kennedy counters under his breath.

"Deena." She turns to face me again as I call her name. "Did he do this to you?"

She nods in anguish. "But it was my fault. I shouldn't have let him take me somewhere alone. I shouldn't have..."

"Don't you ever say it's your fault! He should never have hurt you. Tell us what happened today." I demandingly interject, getting more concerned by the second.

"Actually, start from the beginning." Ken orders.

"My boyfriend's name is- was- Aman. We go to school together. He doesn't live in town, but he walks me home most days from school."

"That explains a lot." I interrupt, reflecting back on Deena's coming back early the day I'd yelled at Ummi about Kennedy.

"Today we skipped class, which is something we've been doing regularly lately." Deena tears up again and I rub her back. "Usually, we go to the park. But today, he brought me here. I loved it immediately."

I glance at our surroundings in disproval. Of course my sister would love this. The place is creepy and dark, two of Deena's favorite qualities in anything.

Deena continues. "He brought me to the top floor- the fifth floor- where it was extremely dark. "I could barely see anything. He started press himself against my backside and held onto my wrists when I tried to get away."

"He touched you?! That asshole!" I exclaim.

"He kept trying to talk me into letting him touch me. At first, it was playful. But then, it got physical; he started to grind into me, hard, with his body digging into mine. And he wouldn't let go, so I slapped him."

"Good girl," Kennedy mutters. I fume silently, fervent at what I'm hearing.

"He slapped me back," she says, pointing to her bruised lip. "He said that I'm no better than any other girl. He pulled off my hijab and threw it into a corner. I started to run away but he yanked me back by my shirt, tripping me. Then he got on top of me and tried to touch me again."

"How did you get away?" I question, trying to distract her, so as not to let Deena see my anger- or worse, my guilt.

"I kneed him in the- well, you know- and ran as fast as I could. I hid in another room on this floor until I saw him drive away. Then I looked for a payphone to call you. I don't know where my phone is."

"Oh, Deena..." I trail off, disappointed that I'd failed to protect my little sister. "I'm so sorry." Kennedy takes my hand as a form of comfort, but it doesn't help because the next thing my sister says breaks my heart.

"Yasmeen, why didn't you pick up?" Deena asks, tears welling in her eyes, her pain evident.

I think back to my now seemingly unimportant conversation with Hamzah and ask myself the same thing.