Crying as I carfully lift my tattered Hijab a little from my face, I wipe away my tears. I have been defiled. My hair has been touched by a male that is not my husband or family. The salty water threatens to pour from my eyes again, but I resist, standing before my Furious mother.
"Daughter!" She raged. "Were you touched?"
"Yes mother." I mumbled.
"Why?"
"A classmate hid my head covering and the boys touched my hair." I answer.
Her features softened, and I looked into her eyes. She is not so mad, it is not my fault.
"Did you pray?"
"Yes mother." I nodded.
"Take a shower, and return for dinner. Your uncle and his family are coming with their friends. Along with your betrothed." She told me. I nodded.
Leaving her presence for my room, I follow orders. Closing the door to the bathroom, I love it before removing my clothing. I let down my long, silky black wavy hair, dragging the hairbrush through the waist-length strands.
Stepping into the warm water, I scrubbed down my body and cleansed myself.
Finishing up, i dried myself, and changed into a nice dress, and plaited my wet hair. Wrapping an Olive green hijab around my hair, i pinned it up and checked my reflection. Perfect.
I will look suitible for Ahmeer and his family. I am lucky. I love my betrothed, and by the times we have talked (I the presence of an adult, of course) I believe he likes me too.
Folding my day clothes, I leave the bathroom, and head to the kitchen. Helping my mother with the food, brewing the coffee, cooking, selecting the spices -no pork, Islamic rules- and the smells... I love it.
My father greets our guests, and I blush as I hear the voice of my husband-to-be.
YOU ARE READING
Storm Star
Science FictionNine teens, chosen for some mysterious purpose, the survivors of "the wipe-out" as that day was called. A post-apocalyptic world is all that left. And the aliens who came.
