Author's note: This time, I'm sticking to writing this story. I'll update weekly :) I just want to clear some things- An Abaya is a garment worn by Muslim women to guard her modesty. A hijab/headscarf is a piece of fabric that is meant to cover the woman's hair. I hope you like it!
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Tap. Tap. Tap. My fingers move across the keyboard easily. I turn my head quickly and survey my surrounding, making no one can see what I'm doing. I direct my attention back to my screen, aware of any sudden noises. It's my thirteenth time being in this dangerous community. My eyes scan the post titles "I've been an exmuslim since I was thirteen." "Today I took my hijab off and I felt free." I click on a post with a title that never would have been in my vocabulary. Atheism. Before I read, I ponder on the word. Am I REALLY one? I suddenly hear the door slam and shouting signaling that my father has arrived home. I log out of the forum and clear my history, while he shouted for me. I quickly throw my abaya and headscarf on, and rush out of my room while pretending to clean a window. His footsteps disturb the house's silence and stop just on the top step. I don't dare to look into his eyes, in fear that he could see right through me and know what I've been up to. "Go downstairs and help your mother, you useless bitch." He greets me in such a harsh tone. He walks into my room and I don't dare to draw a breath, hoping that I've hidden everything that could get me in any sort of trouble, or worse.
I meet my mother in the kitchen, and study her body. She is wearing her usual dark blue abaya and matching head scarf. She hands me a pan full of dough and motions me to the floor, where she explains to me what she wants to me to do, rolling a piece of dough as an example. I watch her demonstration carefully, taking in as much detail as I can, to avoid a beating for doing something wrong. As I roll the dough, I catch a glimpse of the clock. 3:30 P.M. I should be going home from school at this hour. I should be expanding my knowledge. I finally finish rolling the last piece of dough after what seemed like hours. I add some oil to the goop, waiting for my mother's approval. She dismisses me with the wave of her hand, since I have finished my numerous chores, I retreat back to my sanctuary which is another word for room.
In my room, I am my true self. Nobody has seen this part of me, and they never will for as long as this keeps on going. I'm already out of my ugly clothing and running a brush through my dark, thick hair. I don't even feel much pain anymore due to the occasion thrashes I get from my father and mother. And then, I finally bring out the clothes I've spent many nights working on in secrecy with a needle and thread. I slip on a denim skirt harvested from my father's old pair of jeans from his closet. Of course, he would not notice that his jeans were gone since he seems to keep buying new clothes every month. I put on a crop top which was once a abaya. I didn't like the design too much so I sewed on designs from my old childhood clothing onto the material. These clothing could be the norm in the west, but in my household it's considered a sign of rebellion, atheism, or prostitution. I start nodding off around the time the moon shows up.
