Void - Finding Islam (EDITING)

Chapter Three

Chapter Three 

Later that day, when I leave Tasneem's house after Asr prayer, I drive to Cullen's — the place where I work.

The atmosphere in the cafe is too loud. Loud with people chattering, laughing, loud with spoons clattering against bowls and dishes. Loud enough to make me lose myself in my own thoughts. 

I move around the counter to the back, the staff room, to get my uniform. 

Here in Cullen's, we don't really have a definite uniform — unless you call a white apron and several badges sticking to it a uniform, then yes. There isn't much staff here either, which is a bit odd, considering the cafe's obvious flourish. In fact, it was quite a wonder I got hired. I started working here only a few months ago, mostly to save money for college. 

I pass a few members of staff who I barely remember their names, but give them a polite smile anyway. They return the smile. Polite smiles — that's all what our non-existent relationship is about. Surprisingly, we don't have the friendly atmosphere in here, but a serious one. We come here to work, and to work only. Outside the cafe, each one has his own life, his own problems, and no one bothers to know that about the other. 

It's kind of sad, when you think of it, but that's how it is. Not everyone is friendly, and not everything is beautiful. Some things in life are just unappealing, but you get accustomed to it. 

I find myself an empty bench somewhere in the corner of the small room and take off my black flats, slipping into a pair of white socks and black converses I keep around here, then leave the room and start working, making coffee, delievering orders.

***

"I totally forgot!" 

"Well, good thing I called, huh?" 

"Yeah," I say. I turn the steering wheel left, changing my destination. "I'll be there in a minute, inshaallah." 

"Inshaallah. Stay safe." Tas says, then she hangs up. 

Taking advantage of a red light, I lay back and type a quick text to my mother. 

"I'll be home late tonight. Islamic day."

I slip my phone back inside the pocket of my sweatshirt and press on the gas pedal. 

Every week, there is this kind of gathering in the local Masjid where a group of me, Tasneem and a bunch of other muslim girls I know from school meet and use the afternoon to just remember Allah away from the mess of our lives. 

We read Quran, pray, talk deep about Islam. Just being a bit closer to God, even if we only do it for a day in a week. 

As I arrive at the Masjid, the sun is already setting. I'm already late and they're probably leaving in a few hours. Every single time. I can never balance work with this. 

Sighing, I unlace my shoes and step into the carpeted marble floor of the Masjid. This point, where I step into the Masjid, feels like a metaphorical line to me, between two worlds — the outside world and another world. A world where I can forget all about life and home and just relax. I like the Masjid. I really do. 

The girls greet me as I enter the women's section of the building. Most of them have taken off their headscarves. In here, no males are allowed to come. The girls are always quite comfortable like this, I can tell. I don't know most of them, but they all greet me nonetheless, offering smiles, genuine hugs or cups of tea. 

The inside of the Masjid is quite, even though it's swarming with people. Girls talk with hushed voices, in respect for the place we are in. The walls are painted in white — plain, pure white, and there are cardboards against the back wall holding Isalmic books and the Holy Quran. The atmosphere is soothing, peaceful, the kind of place you'd want to just stay in for the longest time, drifting in its tranquility. 

We sit in a circle, each one of us holding a copy of the Holy Quran in her hands. We start reciting by turn. Tasneem sits beside me so she can subtly correct any mistakes I make as I read. But even though, some of the girls sitting near me seem glad to help me, touching me arm lightly to gain my attention and then correcting my mistakes for me. They do it light-heartedly, without contempt or hidden intentions, almost as if they're really delighted to help me. And I can't help but fall inlove with this; with them. 

When we are done, we scatter around the Masjid, each one finding a space and praying individually, saying duaa or reading a few more verses of Quran. 

I'm sitting near the water cooler when a girl in a blue headscarf, looking about my age, approaches me with a warm smile. 

She hesitates for a moment and I quickly move aside, so she has space to sit next to me. Her smile brightens and she sits down, cross-legged, facing me. 

"Assalamu'alaikum, sister." She greets me with a soft voice. 

"Wa'alaikum Assalam Wa Rahmatu Allah," I greet her back. 

"Here, this is for you." She hands me a bag of Maltesers, opening up another one for herself.

I look up at her. I'm confused, but I smile. "Um, Thank you." I put the Maltesers in my pocket and mentally tell my self to remind me to give it to Omar later. He likes this stuff.

"Your hair is so beautiful, mashaallah." She says, smiling fondly.

I look up at her, furrowing my eyebrows.

"My hair is short and dark!" I say through a grin. 

"It's still beautiful." 

For a moment, my eyes flicker to her hijab and a pang of guilt prickles at my chest. What is she going to say next? Tell me how it's wrong and haram to show off my hair like that? Tell me that I'm going to hell because I'm not wearing hijab? 

I wait, but all she ever says is, 

"I don't have any hair at all." 

And my smile vanished instantanuously. Like when you pull a plug and all electricity goes off. Just like that. Vanished.

The effect was immediate. 

"I used to have long brown hair once, but not anymore. It fell off with the chemotherapy." 

I look down at the Quran in my hands. I've been fidling with the loose strings in my shirt subconsciously. I look back up at her, not sure how to react.

She seems wistful for a second, then her face breaks into a grin. 

"Good thing the headscarf hides the bald head underneath, huh?" 

She says it as a joke, but I don't think it's funny. But she's smiling, so I smile back. 

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Author's Note: 

So, for those of you who are actually still reading this story, might as well take a look at the media on the side and choose a cover for me because obviously I suck at choosing.