Khadijah’s Story
A week after the incident that almost made me faint, my parents eventually settled their argument like nothing had ever happened.
But even after peace returned between them, nothing changed for me.
My mom still treated me the same way.
And truthfully… I was no longer surprised. I was no longer even hurt in the same way.
What made me feel a little peace was that she allowed me to pray now.
But deep inside me, I still hoped she would one day pray too.
I never missed madrasah again.
Something inside me had changed.
I was beginning to love Islam deeply.
My ustaz never let a day pass without teaching me something new. Every lesson felt like light entering a dark place.
And slowly… I started holding onto my five daily prayers seriously.
At the Madrasah
The hall was calm, filled with soft recitation of the Qur’an. Every student was seated according to their level, voices rising and falling gently like waves.
I was called.
My heart tightened a little as I stood up and followed the student.
Khadijah: As-salamu alaykum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh sir.
Hustaz: Wa alaykum salam warahmatullahi wabarakatuh, Khadijah. Welcome.
Khadijah: Thank you sir. Ustaz, I want to ask something about female dressing. In this madrasah, everyone wears long khimar, but mine is short.
Hustaz: Masha Allah… I thought you might not ask this, but since you did, I will explain.
Allah commanded women to cover their entire body except the face and hands. And if a woman chooses to cover more than that, she is rewarded even more.
Allah even revealed a whole surah, Surah An-Nisa, which explains the rights and responsibilities of women.
But today, many people are distracted by fashion. They know what is right, but they ignore it.
Some dress in tight clothes, exposing themselves, hoping to attract a man who will introduce them to his mother as a wife.
But that is not how dignity works.
Let me ask you something.
Khadijah: Okay sir.
Hustaz: If you see two sweets on the floor, one sealed and one open, which one will you pick?
Khadijah: The sealed one.
Hustaz: Good. Now, why do ants rush the open sweet?
Khadijah: Because it is exposed… they can access it easily.
Hustaz: Exactly.
Those ants represent men who chase women who expose themselves without boundaries. What is free is often not valued.
But the sealed one… represents a woman who protects herself. She is not cheapened. She is preserved.
And only the one who respects her enough to pay her worth will reach her.
Even hijab itself is misunderstood today. Some use it wrongly, some use it to deceive, but that does not remove its beauty.
Hijab is not oppression. It is protection.
And what matters most… is intention.
Khadijah: Thank you so much sir. I have learned a lot.
Hustaz: May Allah bless you. You can go now.
Khadijah: Jazakallahu khairan sir.
After that day, something changed inside me.
I started loving madrasah more than school.
I tried my best not to miss prayers anymore.
But at home… things were still the same.
At Night
I was in the kitchen frying meat and fish while my siblings sat inside.
Suddenly, the adhan for Maghrib filled the air.
My siblings immediately stood up to perform ablution.
I felt happy seeing them.
I quickly finished frying, turned off the gas, and rushed to make wudu too.
But I was slightly late.
I started praying immediately.
I didn’t even hear my mom enter.
Until her voice shattered everything.
Mom: What is all this? See how you scattered the kitchen just because you were frying! The meat is not even well done! Khadijah!
Khadijah: Ma!
I quickly rushed out of prayer.
Mom: What is all this nonsense? What were you doing in the room?
Khadijah: I went to pray.
Mom: Is that why you fried my meat like this? How long does Maghrib take you? Answer me!
Before I could explain—
A slap landed on my face.
Khadijah: Ahhh!
Mom: Will you shut that dirty mouth? You think you are holy? Pretending.
Khadijah: Mom! How am I corrupt? How? Am I a prostitute?
Mom: And if I say yes?
My chest dropped.
Khadijah: Why do you hate me this much? Am I not your daughter? Did you adopt me? Why are you treating me like this?
I broke down in tears.
Mom raised her hand again—
But my sister, Amirah, spoke up.
Amirah: Mommy stop!
Everything froze.
Amirah: Why do you always treat Aunty Khadijah like this? Why? She is your first child! Why are we not treated the same?
She is 14. When she turns 16, are you going to start beating her too?
You are supposed to guide us, not break us.
We are scared of you, Mom.
Silence fell.
Mom: So now you all have ganged up against me?
Before she could strike again, our father entered and held her hand.
Dad: Go to your room.
The children obeyed.
But I was already crying before I even left.
Parents’ Argument
Dad: Do you want me to kneel before you before you stop mistreating these children? What kind of mother are you?
Mom: Welcome home. I don’t want any argument tonight.
Dad: I am not arguing. I am asking you… why are you so harsh on your first child?
She is a teenager. She needs love, not fear.
She cannot even talk to you about her feelings.
Mom: If I don’t discipline them, they will spoil. I suffered in my aunt’s house. I went through hell.
Dad: So you want to repeat what you suffered on your own children?
That is not parenting. That is pain passed down.
Mom… your children need you.
Especially Khadijah.
She needs you the most.
Fatimah’s Story
I was walking home around 3:05 p.m. when I heard my name from behind.
Fatimah: (turning) Huh?
It was Abdulrasheed.
He rushed to meet me.
Abdulrasheed: Wait for me now.
Fatimah: What? Because of you my parents punished me for three days.
Abdulrasheed: I said I am sorry now. I won’t disturb you again. Please.
He held my hand.
Fatimah: Leave me.
Abdulrasheed: I love you, baby. Come here.
He pulled me into a hug.
At that exact moment…
My mother turned the corner.
Everything froze.
Before I could react—
A slap landed on my neck.
Fatimah: Ahhh!
She dragged me away from him and hit him too.
Abdulrasheed ran.
But my mother did not stop.
Mom: Fatimah! I will kill you today!
She removed her slippers and started beating me as people gathered around.
I couldn’t even explain.
She dragged me home in anger.
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