Palestwinians.

Trapped.

"You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body but you will NEVER imprison my mind." - Anonymous

Dedicated to @striving_muslimah because she truly is an inspiration with her amazing knowledge and writing skills. I pray that Allah SWT bestows on you the highest level of Jannah, ameen. ❤ 

Chapter 13 - Trapped

“Ow, ow, ow, ow…ow.”

“Yasmine! Your ankle is obviously sprained, stop moving it!” Salma scolded me. 

“But I need to make wudu’,” I stated, pouting. We were both standing in the bathroom, me attempting to lift my right foot up into the sink but failing miserably since it hurt too much. Zach forced Salma to come with me and she didn’t hesitate in following me around; they were both worried I’d pass out again.  

“You don’t have to lift it into the sink, just lift it a little, wet your hand and wipe over it,” she argued, matter-of-factly. 

“Right, that would probably be easier,” I said sheepishly. 

“Habla.” She shook her head at me and then proceeded to fix her hijab in the mirror. 

I finished making wudu’, using some paper towels Salma gave me to wipe off the remaining water. After wiping my face I looked at myself in the mirror, doing a double-take at my own reflection. I looked horrible - no worse than horrible. I had an adhesive bandaid across the side of my head where I had collided with the wall. Blood was apparent, soaking through the bandaid from the deep gush and I realised I never recalled putting one on. They must have covered it when I was asleep. 

My eyes were still droopy and I had slight bags beneath them. My clothes were disheveled with bits of rubble and paint splattered over my sweater. I assessed myself, looking from my brown eyes to the freckles across my nose and cheeks that seemed to be more prominent under the sunlight that was streaming in. 

How could it be all sunshine outside, when it felt like a tornado had just ripped us to shreds, I thought.

I sighed and straightened up from my bent position over the sink and instantly a piercing pain shot through my lower back. I hissed in pain and gritted my teeth, positioning my left hand on my back to massage it.  

“What’s wrong?” Salma immediately asked, catching my pained look.  

“Nothing,” I breathed out, “just an ache in my back that’s all.”  

“You hurt your back too?! Let me see!” 

“Salma, it’s nothing, it should go in a few days,” I said, taking deep breaths, willing the pain to disappear.

“Your facial expression and words contradict each other, it’s certainly not ‘nothing’,” she said, mimicking me.  

“Now. Show me,” she said, in a deadly tone. She could be quite scary when she wanted to, especially when she went into mother-mode.  

I obliged, having no energy to convince her otherwise and proceeded to lift up my sweater and singlet so she could look at my back. 

“Whereabouts is the pain?” she asked. 

“Lower back. Just above my tailbone,” I replied. She lifted the top of my pants down a little and I immediately swatted her hand away.

“Hey!”  

“Oh relax, would you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I need to see if there’s any real damage.” Co-incidentally, Salma was studying nursing and has always been amazing at tending and caring for people. Maybe it was due to the fact that she had six younger siblings that she constantly looked after but I truly believed it was an innate characteristic of hers. She’s always been the person to lend a helping hand where needed even if she already had so much on her plate.