Mending the Broken

Chapter 5

AMAL

AGE: 20

Perspiration rolled down my arms as fear crippled me of speech. I’ve seen how Mama has been looking at me. Instinct tells me she’s up to no good and I have no idea what to do.

Escape seems impossible. It has been years and I still haven’t found a way to be free of her clutches. Marriage is the best option but there has to be someone willing.

With the hijab, there were still people interested but then I started wearing a jilbab and now a niqab. It’s like men run away from it.

Oh, sorry. Boys.

I’m glad, though. I’d rather stay single than marry immature morons.

Then comes the option of being independent. Unfortunately, I don’t earn. At all. Even if I did, I couldn’t provide for myself.

And something tells me this woman isn’t letting go of me that easily. I wish there was a way to describe her hatred for me.

It has only grown after my recent change. You know, niqab and all. And it is not only her but the rest of the population as well.

They look at me as though I’m some girl who’s forced by her extremist parents to wear this ‘thing’.

Extremist. Ugh, I hate that word.

Wearing a niqab is extremist just like having a Sunnah beard or wearing an Imamah is.

Oh, how wrong they are. I actually don’t even mind their comments. When they’re whispering all sorts of things in each other’s ears, I’m actually talking to myself or listening to the Qur’an.

“Amal,” the evil stepmother says and I flick my head in her direction, murmuring prayers in my heart. “I didn’t say anything when you wore all of that but this is unacceptable,”

I almost scoffed. She didn’t say anything except for humiliating me in front of everyone or telling people that this was just a phase that would soon pass. As if I’m a kid who has no idea what she’s doing.

“You’re right,” I say because I’ve argued my fair share and she just doesn’t listen. There’s no point in telling her otherwise.

“I don’t want this on your face from tomorrow onwards, understood?”

My fake smile falls. She is serious. In fact, she is super pissed.

“But Mama-”

She shoots me that laser look that is pure evil. I start the silent prayer again, hoping I can make it to my room soon.

“You ruin my image in front of people,” She says and I draw in a breath. She has more to say. “And nobody will marry you with that thing on,”

I don’t tell her that it’s actually Allah that gets people married and no one can marry without His knowledge or permission. I sit still in my chair, staring at the door longingly.

“Okay,” I tell her in reassurance.

In my head, I think of all the ways I can leave this place and never look back. I swear this woman will ruin my life and I know she has tried many things on me that didn’t work.

That strengthens my faith. The fact that Allah is always looking after me, taking care of me when no one else bothers to and offering me support when I need it most.

“Can I ask you something?” I interrupt her, not having heard whatever she was babbling about.

“What?”

“Aania wants me to stay over for the week,” The lie flows out easily. I have to keep reciting muwazzatain in my heart because I can see that she’s cooking something up in her head. “It’s her brother’s wedding. Can I go?”

“Will you take this off if I let you?”

I nod without thinking.

“Okay,” she agrees. “You can go then.”

I mumble a thank you and all but run out of the room and up the stairs. I’m covered for the week but what then?