CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN - IF MY LIFE WERE A STORY, WAS I THE ANTAGONIST?

AALIYAH

TWO DECADES AGO 

My mother stood in front of the mirror, as I sat in her laps, her hand caressing the tips of my fluffy hair. 

She stretched through, drawing a line between the hair before she started to plait. The hijab had hung around the chair we sat, and it was often an irony. 

"Why do you make my hair just to cover it up with the hijab?" I asked, in then, a high pitched second grader voice. 

"The importance of the hijab is more than just to cover your hair, it's a religion" She explained, probably thinking i could get it. 

Before the door barged open-

"Why does it take you girls so much time to dress?" Father yelled, as we stood, almost immediately, my mother staring at the time. 

"I'm not going late to mosque"