crowded thoughts

bray and isaac

bray and isaac

She crosses her arms over her chest as her head hangs low, her messy bangs hiding her eyes from the boy in front of her. With a deep and shaky breath, she begins to speak. "Ever since I was maybe ten years old, I was told to stop wearing my hijab because it was a threat and a disgrace to society. I listened because I didn't know any better. I went throughout school hearing my peers talk about how all Muslims are terrorists, and that I should be glad that I'm not one of them. I would just nod my head and play along, knowing deep down that agreeing with them was not only hurting me, but it was hurting everyone part of the Muslim community. Allah, he forgives, and in those times I hoped and prayed he would forgive me for siding with them and not myself. I was scared— I still am scared, but I've grown now. Instead of being that ten year old agreeing with the idea of all Muslims being terrorists, I'm that twenty year old taking up for the ones being accused of something they are not." She breathes in a sigh before fully looking past her bangs, and at the boy in front of her.
He stares her up and down, his lips slightly parted as he waits for her to continue. She glances down at her lap and then back up. "So, when you asked me the other day if I was still Muslim, I didn't know what to say. I was scared you would run off because I know you stopped believing. I didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to tell the truth because, in a way, I felt ashamed for still being part of a hated community. I've had time to think, though, and yeah, I'm Muslim. I always have been, and I always will be, and I'm sorry," she shrugs her shoulders and looks down, rubbing her hands together. There's a pause in the room for a second.
"People have different beliefs. There is not one person in this world that you have to agree with on everything. We're all different humans with different thought processes. I respect you for everything that you stand for, even though I don't genuinely believe or agree with everything you say. That doesn't mean I'm going to run away, it just means we're going to have some disagreements every once in a while. That's not a bad thing, though," he tells her, sending her a gentle smile. "I like learning, and I know that being with someone like you will make me a better person."

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Bray and Isaac - two similar adults who have many different views on the world, yet they have enough respect to find love in one another.

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    This is what happens. Things like this happen to her all of the time. She's not the type of person people love, and she knew this. She knew this would happen. In a way, Bray had this all figured out already. She's imperfect; she's not one to conform or look like she conforms. Maybe this is why Allah says what he says about love...or maybe, this is what she thinks about love: that it's irrelevant unless it's true.
     Holding her head wrap in her hands, she drops it to the ground. Shaking her head, she falls to her bed and hugs her knees to her chest. She hates this feeling of vulnerability. Isaac— why is he the first thing that goes to her mind? He should be the last. She feels so sad, in a way that can't be explained. Her prayer alarm begins to go off but she ignores it, paying no attention to the vibrations and the loud sound of it ringing through her room.
      You are who you are.
      You believe in what you believe.
       You love who you love.
       No one can help what you feel or how you feel it. She knows this. She's always known this. Her mindset has been to keep open thoughts and perspectives, yet, when coming down to it, she just can't see his perspective of life. It doesn't make sense to her; how he wants her to go against everything she believes in for a simple kiss.
     He doesn't deserve that.
     She doesn't deserve that.
     She deserves respect for who she is, what believes in, and what— who she loves. In a way, this only makes sense in her head, but he should listen. He wants her, but it only seems he wants her for her body and not her mind. She wants someone her actually wants her. It's what she's always believed in, no matter what Allah thinks. It's not even about him, but about her. She has standards, ones that surpass Allah's judgement.
     Her prayer alarm goes off again. Letting out an enraged yell, she throws her phones across the room.
     She loves Allah, she truly does, but she needs to think about herself for once. She can't have her beliefs get mixed in with her negativity. It's not something that should go together, since Islam is so precious to her heart. This hate, this guilt, this sadness, it all shouldn't be mixed in with her prayers. She doesn't know what to do.
    Boys...they are one thing. They are an infection that will never go away. This is why she shouldn't have talked to him, to Isaac. She knew he would have her wrapped around his pinky. She knew he would ruin her beliefs and cause her to have this hate that shouldn't be relevant in her life. He messed with her, cause her to do things she never would have before. She's becoming someone distant.
     This distance she has...it's destroying her, making her someone entirely different. It's the hate, and the constant thought of love that's ruining her. This is what happens when love sneaks it's way into your life. She knew this from the beginning and let it happen anyway.

•|•

   She shakes her head at him, not knowing what to truly say or do. Her heart feels jumpy and almost fragile, like it'll break if she lets this go on for too long. But he needs to hear this. It's not something they can get over now. He's gone too far and so has she. "I can't even think around you," she admits, "you make me feel different, like this isn't the life I'm supposed to be living." He stares at her in silence for a moment before sticking his hands into his pockets.
     "I feel the same way. You make me feel different," he gently tells her, his voice soft and almost numb sounding to her ears. She cocks her jaw out.
    "No, Isaac. This isn't a good different. It's a type of different that shouldn't exist. This," she waves her hand in between them, "This is not a good thing." He takes a step towards. "You have no respect for me or what I believe or what I love—"
     "Love?" He questions, his head tilting to the side.
    "Love."
     "What do you love, Bray?" He asks, raising a dark eyebrow. She shakes her head.
     "I love what I believe in, and you can't keep taking it away from me," she confronts him, causing his mouth to slightly part.
    "What am I taking away from you?" He curiously asks, biting his bottom lip. "I'm not trying to disrespect you or go against your beliefs."
     "You do, though," her voice barely says. He takes another step closer to her.
     "I love you," he says, her heart falling to her feet. Another step. "I'm sorry if that goes against Allah, but I can't help it." She stares at him for moment before squeezing her eyes shut.
     "Real love doesn't go against Allah," she tells him, taking a step forward. "What you feel for me is not real love. That's what goes against Allah and my beliefs."
     "What are you talking about?" He questions, completely confused. "It is real."
      "No," she shakes her head, "I'm not someone that you can just throw those three words around and expect to have sex with." He shakes his head and gently grabs her hands, to which she pulls away. "Don't touch me." He holds his hands up.
     "Okay, I won't touch you," he tells her, "but you have to understand. I really love you. It's not fake love or love that doesn't mean anything. I love you." She stares at him, her brown eyes reflecting in his own dark ones. She sees her self in the reflection, her yellow hijab tightly wrapped around her head and she frowns. She steps back, hating the way she looks and feels.
    "You know, I used to think that was true. I thought it was true last week, even. But the more I think about it, the more I actually try and understand why you love me, and it just doesn't make sense. I'm not someone you can love easily. I have a messed up way of showing affection. Your love has to almost be like a friendship; a love that has to wait. Islam teaches couples the importance of life and real love without the touching, the kissing, and the sex first. But you, you Isaac, you're the type of person that needs the touching, the kissing, and the sex to have fulfillment. It's what you crave and what you desire. You can't help it, I know you can't. That's why I know it's not real love. You can't love someone for real until you actually know who they are, and you have no idea who I am. It's not real love."
     Isaac's face drops. He almost looks sad, and, in a way, she feels bad. She feels bad for everything she said, but it's gone once his shoulders lift. "You have a way with words," he speaks, his voice not as soft as before. "I try, and I try to understand you, all of you. I even studied a bit of Islam, but you don't care. If real love is all you say it is, I guess love itself isn't real. I guess I don't know who you are, but you have no idea who I am, either, if you actually believe I only desire your touch, your kiss, or sex from you. I just want you for you."
     "That—"
     "I'm done trying. If you don't see how hard I've worked to get your attention, to finally be liked by you, then I just don't know what to do. I respect you, and I want to learn more about you and what you believe in, but I can't do that if you won't let me."

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