The Hooded Hijabi

Azan Mohammad

"You alright, sister?", I hear a man ask me and suddenly I can't move. I try to lift my head or at least get my hijab out of my face blocking my view to the person speaking gently to me but my body fails to respond.

I feel so suffocated and that's when I realise I've been so stunned that I had even forgotten to breathe. Every time I read such a thing in books I was left perplexed; Well, that's just stupid. No one forgets to breathe! I would always roll my eyes at the page and carry on reading without giving it any further thought.

But my God, I need to breathe! Breathe, Amina! I instruct myself and take a deep breath as I lift my head up gradually. I gather up the courage to slowly stand up on my feet and fix my hijab while keeping my eyes on my untied shoe.

"Um, you okay?", he repeats his question.

His hooded, dark brown eyes narrow a little as my eyes travel all over his face taking in every little detail; how his dark eyebrows arch a little as he stands there confused and how his dark brown facial hair dress up his face with a light beard that do a great job to make him appear mature enough to be taken seriously even before he has to speak.

His brown hair glisten in the sunshine that we were blessed with after a week of rainfall. The color of his eyes lightens as the rays of sunlight gently touch them.

"Sorry, I..I just got confused. I'm sorry. Gee! This is embarrassing", I reply meekly and lower my gaze because although I had only stared at him for three seconds before replying, it seemed like eternity. "Oh, and yes, I'm fine!", I look up and add quickly.

"Are you sure? I can ask someone to help you out. I'm sure there's a female custodian in there somewhere. Should I go an...", he says but I cut him off. Looking at him in his eyes while he talks seems a rather difficult thing for me. I never had confidence issues before. One of the reasons I took law was because I love how vocal I could be and speak my mind out confidently.

Somehow right now, my hands are sweaty, my heart racing and I feel a light pressure in my chest. My insides feel wobbly as if all the organs inside have somehow been detached and are floating and colliding with each other. Fortunately, since I'm good at hiding my emotions, I put up a facade of confidence and speak as if the man in front me had no effect on me whatsoever.

"Oh no no, really. I'm all good. Thank you for your concern. I'll get going. Thanks. Sala'am!", I say. I begin to walk fast but let out a groan and cover my mouth with my hand quickly hoping he didn't hear me.

The pain in my left knee does not allow me to move any further so I just stand there bending a little with all my weight shifted on my right leg and hand still placed on my mouth.

"Looks like you need help", Azan says as he approaches me, examining my condition from quite a few steps away.

I smile at him weakly and then lower my eyes. "Wait here. I'll ask someone to help you", he says and I watch him disappear into the mosque.

Dang it! Why do you have to be such a jerk, you idiot! Who stares at someone like that? You're not Mustafa! Stare at him one more time and you're dead meat! I lecture myself in my head and a minute or so later a medium-aged woman comes to my rescue. She takes me into the mosque and sprays a pain relief spray on my knee. So at last, we met. I smile, staring at the roof me as I lay in the custodian's room.

"You what?", exclaims Rachel after I finish briefing her on last night's events, her voice louder than she intended it to be. A group of four first-years passing by in the hallway look at us. Rachel ignores them and they continue going their way.  "Alright, first off, what you did to your mother was horrible. I know you were furious but that's just no way to deal with her. She's doing everything she can for you and Ali", she says indignantly.

I nod apologetically feeling awful as I remember my tone with mother.

"Second, you my friend, are as creepy as our Mustafa", she continues. "Why did you stare at him? I mean, fine, you were glad to finally meet him but ease out, woman. Don't scare the guy away."

"I didn't scare him off", I say, feeling somewhat offended. "Besides, he won't even talk to me if we come across again. The guy's on deen, I can tell."

"Hmm, we'll see about that. Anyway, any chances of getting your car fixed?", asks Rachel.

"With a loan and all the bills piled up?", I say with a frown. "That reminds me, you said your aunt was looking for an assistant? Any chance I could get that job? I really could use a few extra pounds."

"I think she found one but then I'm not sure. Let me confirm and I'll call you tomorrow. C'mon, let's go. Time for PIL lecture, little one", she reminds me.

We head to our lockers to get our books. I open my locker and find myself facing a pile of my books and notes all dripping wet. I remove the sticky note pasted onto the locker's inside which reads:
"I'LL SEE ABOUT YOUR SCHOLARSHIP, YOU WRETCH!"

"What the h...", Rachel cries out. "Who did this?", she raises her voice addressing the audience who were now surrounding me and my locker.

Everyone begins to murmur and peek a glance at the flooded locker. I simply close it and leave for my class without a sound, followed by Rachel who eyes everyone suspiciously as she walks past them.

<End of Chapter 8>

Deen: religion