You are walking home from work, following your usual path. This path, as you know, takes you past one of the local mosques. You have walked past this mosque many times before and never thought much about it. That is until today.
Today your feet seem to become so heavy as you walk past the mosque. So heavy that you cannot lift them anymore. Instead, you become stuck just outside the entrance to the mosque’s grounds. And it’s at this point, when you are stuck outside the mosque, that you notice the fragrance.
It was a fragrance emanating from the mosque: a beautiful, complex aroma that massaged your senses and tickled your desires. You cannot resist it as your feet lose their heaviness and turn towards the grounds. Your feet seem autonomous as you walk across the grounds and through the mosque’s door.
You find the mosque empty other than a single figure. The figure is a beautiful hijabi, albeit one unlike the ones you usually see, as instead of the face of an Arab or Pakistani, you find something much more like you’d see in the far east. The hijabi smiles at you with recognition and then calls out to you.
But she doesn’t call your name. The name she calls is Aliya. It should not mean anything to you, but you feel belonging and kinship in that name. Like it’s an old friend. You try to say something to the hijabi but opening your mouth produces no sound. Instead, the fragrance pours into your lungs. Choking you with its splendor.
She says she hasn’t seen you for so long that she almost forgot your name… But she also asks how she could forget such a beautiful name as Aliya. Your name is Aliya, right? She then reminds you how jealous she has always been of your long silky black hair and your gorgeous, tanned skin. Next, the hijabi comments on your petite body, perhaps a little short but well-proportioned with nice boobs and a beautiful ass. A little hard to see under your loose dress, but she has seen you naked before. Lastly, she mentioned your pretty face—a shining example of Malay beauty. Your beauty was extraordinary in Indonesia but was made even more so among the sea of bules you now found yourself in. She added it was important that your beauty was framed by your hijab, a symbol of your devotion and love for your God among the non-believers.
You feel the air touching your toes through your sandals and thighs through your long dress. You feel the fabric of the hijab against your head. The hijabi now tells you how sad she was to leave you in Indonesia. Coming to this country first was the hardest thing to do, but she would make it up to you now that you had finally arrived. She says she will make it up to you by helping you with your English. Of course, you trust your good friend Winda from childhood to help you when needed.
You don’t notice the shift as Winda begins speaking Indonesian. And as you start thinking in Indonesian. She tells you the mosque will appreciate your devotion to your Islamic religion. She tells you they need helpers, and she knows you will be happy to volunteer. Everything she says is true. You are such a good little Hijabi. She finally says she hopes you will enjoy your new life in this new country. And the question is…
Will you, Aliya?
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