8. Caught between the pious and the perverts

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There are days when I wake up and want to choose war

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...
There are days when I wake up and want to choose war. I want to scream at the top of my lungs how I hate this school, how ridiculous the people here are and how ugly I find Umaira.

But there are days where I wish for nothing more than to be able to tell you my side of the story.

In my heart, in the stupid, naive part of it, I know I'd give up anything for a chance to do the latter.

...

Malika Bashir lay in bed, staring at the empty ceiling of her room. It had been weeks since the pictures of her were posted. In some delusional part of her heart she had expected - no, hoped - the situation would simmer down with time, on its own. However, the logical part of her mind knew that was never the case with incidents like this. With each passing day, it only escalated. Imran's post started a domino effect. Once one tile was flicked, it unleashed a chain of events that took her life from a silly teenage drama to something that was straight out of a documentary.

Random Tom, Dick and Harry in their school came forward with stories of nights they spent with her. They posted stories and photos of her, describing her body and their time together. Guys even whose existence she wasn't aware of before.

Malika had angered more people in her school than she had friends. Now, they were all coming for her.
Those posts had plenty of likes and shares. Her inboxes were filled with equal amounts of messages from unknown boys offering her to spend the night with them.

How is it that when a rumor begins and we all know in our hearts that there is a slight chance it's not true; yet, it doesn't stop us from incessantly talking about it? Malika wondered, eyes glued to the ceiling.

Her alarm clock went off, though she had been up long before it, the shrill bell disrupting the serenity of the room and the chaos in her head.

Malika stretched out her arm to tap it off with reluctance, dread weighing down her chest at the thought of having to leave her bed. She threw the quilt off her body when she could no longer delay it. The single window pane in her room flooded her bed with soft sunlight, the yellow glow making her fair skin look golden. She sat up and got out of her bed, drawing the window curtains shut. Then Malika went to the bathroom attached to her room.

Her gaze traced her almond shaped eyes, thin nose and perfectly full lips. The girl looking back at her in the mirror was ugly. Her eyes were red and puffy from lack of sleep. Her lips were chapped and peeling. Her skin was blotchy and textured from dealing with stress and fatigue.

All her life Malika was told she was pretty, at the moment she couldn't be further from that word.

She bent down, not wanting to see her own reflection anymore, and splashed cold water on her face hoping to wake it up. Then Malika made her way to the dining room, knowing one way or the other, she had to face the day.

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