“Ailani, you have to stop,” she said, her tone flat. “There’s a reason why they banned books and got rid of religious institutions.”
“It doesn’t make sense though. If they’re so bad, then why are we still wearing the hijab? Why is there still a Friday service through our screens?
Ailani, wake up! You’re going to be late!” My mother’s shouts rang through my sleep-addled brain.
“Screen – you know I hate Mondays. Set an alarm for ten minutes.”
Jamal found out at 7 a.m. on a Friday that his wife Mira was nowhere to be found.
Mira was the occasional morning runner. According to her, that was the only time she had to herself most days. But he had spotted her workout clothes neatly arranged at their designated spot…
Lipstick and nine dead bodies. That’s how her morning began and how her life, as she knew it, ended.
Dear Smoke Detector,
“…and then she refused to pick up her dirty tissues. Honestly, I wanted to swing my mop at her.” Halima Bi gave a frustrated sigh down the phone as Zara heard her ninety-fifth cleaning story, spanning over a decade.
Yesterday I witnessed the sky moments before and after a sudden burst of rain. The giant clouds darkened and danced in unison.
The deafening roar of jet engines pierced Anwar’s ears like needles as he searched the tarmac for Hangar B-15. After a half-mile scanning, he spotted the bolded letters stenciled onto a yellow sign.
Thoughtful reads. Writing prompts. New pieces.
It just might become your favorite email in your inbox, insha'Allah.
