You fidgeted in line, desperate for caffeine. The shop was much too quiet; no hint of the usual singer-songwriter music and very little chatter for a clear morning. You'd been last in line for some time. That was about to change. The door opened and in entered a tall man dressed in the familiar white *thawb*. The first thing you noticed before his long black beard and hooked nose was the distinct white musk perfume he was wearing. He stood behind you, taller than any man you could see in the shop. [[Marhaba.]] [[Assalamuallaikum.]] His face changed. His brows raised, creasing his forehead. "*You*...are Muslim," he said slowly, eyes narrowing. The man gestured with his large, silver-ringed hand at your body. He drew it, from top to bottom, then back to the top of your head, ending at your hair, the main culprit of his criticism. "Where, may I ask, is your *hijab*?" [[I don't feel safe wearing one here in America.|Lecture]] [[I wasn't brought up that way.|Lecture]]He smirked at your greeting, then nodded at you curtly. "Marhaba," he responded. "How long have you been speaking Arabic?" You cringed. You didn't speak Arabic, and it was best not to lie. You admitted meekly that you couldn't speak it. "Your accent is not perfect," he said with a smile. "But you are good to try and improve." He absent-mindedly checked his watch. [[I learned it from the Arab sisters at the mosque.|Muslim?]] [[I heard it when I went to Mecca for Umrah last year.|Muslim?]]He looked you up and down. You thought you imagined a sneer attempting to curl on his lips, but he wasn't letting it fully develop. After a moment of pensiveness, he straightened. "*Wa'alaik*," he said, firmly. You felt a swirling in your belly. He did not finish the response. He stared you down. [[How are you, brother? My name is Zuleikha. I just moved here.|Muslim?]] [[I am so pleased to meet a rare Muslim in this small town.|Muslim?]]He leaned in, making sure not to get too close. "Young lady, I understand," the man started quietly, in a voice more melodious than before. "But there are many sisters of *al-Islam* who are bravely wearing their *hijabs* in and out of the *masjid* and they are also dressed more modestly. Isn't it better to be sheltered from the gaze of others? Think about your *imaan*, you must know in your heart what is right. Think about Allah only and what He has asked of you because He knows what is best, *Alhamdulillah*! It is for your protection and your well-being against *Shaitan* and it is your true path to *Jannah*. Please consider, for your own good! I know it is hard, being so young and having influence of Hollywood everywhere. I will make *dua* for you. Whatever happens in this country, whatever happens to you when you wear it, He will protect you *Insha'Allah*. Allah knows what they do, and Allah knows what *you* do..." As he took a breath, you knew he was about to continue, so you: [[thought of a witty response to shut him up.|Your turn1]] [[thought of a respectful response to make him understand.|Your turn2]]Ugh, how condescending! Why should you have had to put up with this? Your choice is your own, and it was none of his business! You weren't wearing one and there is nothing he could do to change that, certainly not with some lecture. Who was this man to barge into your business? He was not speaking to you as the equal you were supposed to be, as per the Qur'an - no matter how many "Islamic" words he managed to throw in! Before you could open your mouth, and before he might have continued, you heard the girl at the register call out for you. "He-ey! It's your turn! What would you like?" She looked impatient, with pursed lips. You must have been keeping her waiting. [[Sorry. I'd like an iced coffee, skim milk and one sugar please.|End]]You'd thought about it - a *hijab* is a part of what makes a person presenting as female a part of a greater Muslim community. You'd also thought of it as a symbol of devotion to God above whatever else in this short-lasting life. It's not that you didn't understand, it's that you weren't ready, and you weren't sure it was necessary in your interpretation of the faith. Before you could open your mouth, and before he might have continued, you heard the girl at the register call out for you. "He-ey! It's your turn! What would you like?" She looked impatient, with pursed lips. You must have been keeping her waiting. [[Sorry. I'd like an iced coffee, skim milk and one sugar please.|End]]Your iced coffee was instantly poured for you, and you walked past the man in the thawb. You tried to give your *salaam* but he did not turn your way to acknowledge you. As you walked down the street, you couldn't help but think that you practically invited him to give you that bristling moralistic speech. If only you hadn't tried to talk to him in the first place! But what was it that made you want to? Was it the white musk that got to you, the perfume that you can smell even now, somehow? It must have been. It reminded you of your days in Mecca, shopping in the small streets after the exhilarating hours in the *Masjid-Al-Haram*. You worshipped with what felt like the entire *Ummah*...where you never felt alone, or lonely. All you wanted was to feel that again, with even one other Muslim. Somehow, the only happy part of you walking away from that whole conversation was your nose. =><= End