Breaking Point

7

Chapter Seven

Salma eyed us as Ian and I stood on the doorstep, dripping wet. She looked unimpressed.

"You two look like you were in a romance film's rain scene." She snorted.

I glanced at Ian who stared at my sister with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment on his face. His cheeks suddenly bloomed a deep pink and I rolled my eyes and pushed past my amused sister, purposely shaking my hair so that my sister was subjected to the spray. She shrieked and ran off while I grinned, triumphantly.

Ian was behind me as we both took off our shoes. Carefully trying not to drag my soggy jeans onto the carpet, I turned and regarded Ian. His clothes clung to him and he was in desperate need of a towel. His blonde curls were pressed onto his forehead. I went to rummage the closet in the hallway for a towel and handed it over to him.

"You can wear my clothes while yours are in the dryer." I told him and quickly gathered a sweatshirt and jeans that looked around his size.

"Thanks." He mumbled, and went into the bathroom to change.

Once we were both in dry, comfortable clothes -- although he looked tiny in my large sweatshirt -- we sat back and watched TV. Salma joined us for a bit and offered us snacks and drinks and we chatted for awhile. Ian seemed curious about my sister's hair.

"I was surprised to see you without your hijab." He told her. "You look nice with and without it, though. Can I ask why you removed it?"

"Um, well." She looked off to the side as Ian waited patiently for her answer. "I just wanted to fit in, I suppose. Wearing it makes me feel like a...target."

"Target." Ian repeated the word as if it wasn't included in the English language. "Because of all the negativity on the media, you mean?"

Salma nodded looking equal parts glad to be understood and nervous as if she wanted him to drop the subject. I did, too.

"You shouldn't let it get to you, though." He went on, despite her discomfort. "The hijab is a symbol of pride, right? It's like the American flag of your religion! If you take it off, then how will you be recognised as a Muslim?"

While Salma's face paled, an image of a muslim girl wearing the American flag as a head covering popped over my head. It skipped along, merrily.

"It's easy when you just say it like that." Salma snapped. "But living it is different. Besides, what do you know?"

"Y-you're right." Ian sank into his seat, blushing scarlet. "Sorry. I'm just...I don't know anything."

While I disliked my sister being questioned for her decision, I also understood Ian's nature -- after spending many lunchtimes with him. He was honest and open, and could not keep his feelings and thoughts to himself. And he was outrageously idealistic and positive. I sensed that he only wanted Salma to take pride in her hijab and nothing else. His words somehow made me feel guilty because as Salma's Muslim brother, even I had not encouraged her to keep wearing it.

"Wow, look." I attempted to relieve the growing tension in the room by motioning to the TV, a news channel flashing on the screen. "Pokemon Go helped someone find a missing toddler."

"Incredible." Salma sniffed sarcastically, and looked directly at Ian. "Now if only it could help find respect."

"Salma." I groaned.

"I do...respect you." Ian murmured, beet red.

"Sure." Salma huffed and stood up. "Well, I'm going. Have fun."