I came home and gave a sigh of relief to find my parents not home yet, I didn't want them asking questions about where I'd been. I quickly took a shower and changed my clothes then went downstairs just in time to see my mom opening the front door.
"Salaam Alaikum," I greeted my mom.
"Alaikum salaam," She smiled, her beautiful sapphire eyes twinkling. "Help me set the table, your dad is going to be home any time now."
We were all quiet at dinner time.
"Mama, Baba, I need to tell you something,"
"What is it Ameerah?" My dad asked, my mom set down her fork.
I took a deep breath, "I didn't mean to, but last night I overheard you guys talking."
My mom rubbed my shoulder comfortingly, "You want to know the full story don't you?"
I nodded. She looked at my dad.
"Ok," My dad sighed. "Before you were born, Maymoona had a son, her only son. When he was six months old you were born.."
"Ameerah, don't take any of this to heart, it's just, some people like to take their anger or grief out on something real rather than the mystery of the unknown," My mom said quickly.
"What are you saying?" I asked confused.
"The same day that you were born, Maymoona's son died." My dad explained. "She says you're bad luck because of that."
I looked down at my plate, digesting all this information.
"Ameerah," My dad said softly, "She only says that because there is no one else to blame it on. You are not bad luck at all, you are the best thing that's ever happened to us."
"But then.. Why did she take me away from you?" I asked remembering that bit of their conversation.
"She wanted you as far away as possible from our family because of her so called belief,"
"My poor aunt," I thought, all these years I've been calling her evil and 'Miss Gossip' when actually she's been trying to relieve herself from the grief of loosing her first and only son, and replacing a child is the only thing in the world that can never be made possible.
"You ok?" my mom asked soothingly.
I nodded.
"You're not angry we didn't tell you about this are you?" My dad asked.
"No," I managed to say, "I'm sorry I eavesdropped on you last night,"
"Oh Ameerah," My mom hugged me.
"You really are a blessing," My dad smiled.
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YOU ARE READING
I Can Wear My Hijab
Teen FictionGrowing up in the west is anything but easy for the teenage Muslim Ameerah Hasaan where she is constantly questioned and bullied because of her hijab (headscarf) by her peers and neighborhood acquaintances. And if that is not enough, Ameerah is conf...
