Thoughts, stories and ideas.
Let’s play a game: I give you a scene, and you imagine it. So get this. You’re a teenager, Muslim, and a girl, and you live a fairly decent life. Got it? There’s more. You get good grades, you have a couple of friends, and you stay out of trouble. That’s basically my life.
Soon enough, I see him. My friend, Ian (I might even call him my favourite friend), came down the stairs. All annoyance and exhaustion from the school day melted away. I felt my face relax into a softer expression. He’s here. I can finally unwind.
The room buzzed with the sound of pencils scratching paper, chairs scraping against the floor, and whispers of conversations I couldn't understand. I sat stiffly at my desk, my hands fisted so tightly my knuckles turned white.
