CHAPTER 1

KHADIJA POV

Sighing deeply, my cool breath escaped my chapped lips, with my nose as red as cherry. The fact of the matter is I am living in an Islamaphobic society where an act of faith is the same as murder. My futile attempts at explaining why I dress modestly, as usual, were useless. Trying to explain myself is simply impossible with narrow-minded, pompous white supremacists in power. The hardest part of it all dawned on me is that I will never feel peace. The irony of it all was my faith literally translated to peace. I picked up my tag for university, sighing deeply, my locker had slurs spray-painted over it. My best friend sniggered, chortling when I mentioned how this morning went for me. Alisha is a fiery spitfire with fiery red hair and freckles all around her face. She could talk for the world and laugh at it simultaneously. I am more serene, my eyes are brown, dull, and lifeless. I have pink flushed cheeks and my hair is also brown and curly unfortunately a gene passed on from my awful father.

The hardest part of being called Khadija is the heavy meaning associated with it. The name itself is trustworthy and has a direct link to the independent woman who was very dear to Islam. The bell rang through my ears as I realized I had Maths again. The irritation escaped my mouth like a growl and Alisha once again snickered, thus poking fun at my misfortune. The concept of English was something I thoroughly enjoyed as explaining your thought processes and ideas about the world was something I genuinely enjoyed. Everyone around me called me a dreamer. However, one day I will show just how powerful this dreamer can be.

The constant ticking of the clock poured through my mind, flooding my brain with irritating noises. I closed my eyes and was suddenly facing someone. Mr Bukhatir snarled "Am I boring you?" Sighing deeply, I mumbled a sorry and continued with my work. After the gruelling hour passed I dragged myself to English, too irritated to even enjoy myself. Miss Smith smiled and proceeded to say we were doing poetry today. For me, words flowed through my veins and are a key part of expressing myself because with words, comes wisdom.

I took my appointed seat and was faced with irritating grinch- like green eyes. The mystery grinch towered over me standing tall at 6ft with a condescending smile plastered on his face. That smile just reminded me of trouble. I mentally noted that I would be staying away from Mr Grinch. Admittedly, he had nice features but his ego definitely spoiled everything.

The grinch-eyed monster smirked at me saying, "Hello I'm Khalil, looks like we are partners.!" Rolling my eyes, with an exasperated sigh I raised my hand in an attempt to change my partner. Miss Smith just smiled, knowing that I was going to complain. Without even saying a word, she stated NO! Khalil still was smiling asking if he was really that repulsive.

I turned to him just saying, I'm Khadija, this is the end of the conversation, leave me alone.

Time passed by and I snuck a look at Khalil's face, the boy seemed to be concentrating on his writing. Strangely enough, it was written in calligraphy. My brain seemed to be in a frenzy as I suddenly felt an awful migraine clouding my thoughts. The grinch looked over at me with concerned eyes and asked if I was okay. Without saying anything I quickly scurried out of the room. Leaning my back against the cold metal wall, I sighed deeply. The memories suddenly flooded my mind. Screams, blood, anguish, and tears were all that clouded my mind. I felt everything go black.

Waking up to a white room, I took in my surroundings a bright white light with white tiles and a first aid box laid messily on the table. Khalil towered in front of me and looked over in surprise. "You are awake! , Are you okay?" I sighed carefully attempting to keep my tears at bay. But the traitorous tears flew down my face, feeling like fire against my flushed cheeks. The boy stood awkwardly not knowing what to do in this situation, though I couldn't really blame him. It's not an everyday occurrence to be faced with such adversity. Khalil offered his hand, with an entire box of tissues that he was clutching as if his life had depended on it. I gratefully accepted the tissue and gave a hoarse whisper, thank you, Khalil.

He had taken me to an empty classroom and proceeded to ask questions on what happened and if I was okay. His deadly calm voice sent shivers down my spine. This was the question that I had to avoid answering, at all costs. "Out of sight, out of mind" Mama always said. I harshly said "nothing". Khalil's eyes softened and said gently, "You know, I'm only trying to help." I attempted to run away again but this time Khail stood indignantly in front of me. My intellect wouldn't save me this time. I decided to shed a little light on what happened to me.

Inhaling the lemon-scented classroom, my eyes travelled to his chiselled face that looked expectantly at me, I proceeded to tell him what my father was like and how he hated me so much. When I was finished telling a slightly fabricated version of events, Khalil's eyes looked angry, clouded with such intensity. His fists were clenched, almost turning white in anger.

The most difficult experience I've ever had to face was something I couldn't fathom. The increasingly sickening feeling made my stomach churn in disdain. The technique I was taught was to: inhale and exhale. I had to take in my surroundings and calm myself in an attempt to grasp the realities I'm facing. Shuddering breaths, shivers, old bruises, and forgotten promises were my world. My whole world was chaos, sadness, pain, blood, and anguish. Gathering the courage to look at Khalil's piercing green eyes, I glanced over at him briefly seeing his reaction to the information I told him. To my surprise, Khalil's eyes were glossed over and his once bright green eyes were clouded with sadness. He held my hand gently and brought it to his lips and looked at me dead in the eye as if he was making an oath. He vowed to protect me and make sure nothing could ever happen.

Apart of me wanted to believe him, I really genuinely tried but when you have been hurt so many times, inside your soul there is nothing but a dead, lifeless skeleton. I was a product of a once happy time that like a flower, died and was transformed to nothing more than a wilting rose. Sighing deeply, I replied to Khalil in a meek voice, "I'm so sorry but I just can't believe you." Khalil, I'm sorry I am just trying to protect my heart. It's been to the hospital so many times, it cannot trust another person. Khalil looked up at me in surprise, almost as if he couldn't fathom me denying him being the saviour. The saviour complex never suited someone like me. This warrior was going to save herself and have others admire her for it.