Laila.....
I have always known how to stay unnoticed.
Back in the city, no one cared if you wore a hijab or didn't speak much. Noise blurred people together. But here, in this town of whispers and staring eyes, being different isn't something you can hide.
Still, I tried.
I kept to my seat, kept my voice low, and smiled politely when needed. I answered questions only when called. I stayed in my lane. I prayed when I had to. I was the kind of girl no one should be afraid of.
But they looked at me like I was danger wrapped in silence.
Everyone except her.
Tracy.
At first, I thought she was like the rest — the kind who smile too wide and avoid sitting too close. But then she started glancing. Pausing.
She laughs less now.
I've noticed that.
Today, her fingers trembled when she passed me the lab report. She didn't speak much, but I saw her watching me when she thought I wasn't looking.
There was something in her eyes. Not anger. Not disgust.
Something softer. Sadder.
Something I shouldn't try to name.
---
When I got home, I told Mama that school was fine.
She asked if anyone had said anything.
I shook my head, smiled, and went to my room.
Then I pulled out my prayer mat. Sat there for a long time after maghrib, just breathing.
Trying to sort through thoughts I wasn't ready to own.
---
That night, I opened my journal — the one I never let anyone read.
And I wrote:
> "There's a girl in my class with sun-colored hair. I think she believes too much in things she's been told. And I think I might be starting to believe in the way she sometimes looks at me."
Then I shut the book, hid it under my mattress, and recited a verse to calm myself.
> "God does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear."
But what if it wasn't a burden?
What if it was something more frightening — like longing?
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