After Uncle Has’ funeral service, Zainab and I waited outside the masjid as everyone else went in to pray.
“A picture is worth a thousand words, but a thousand words is a soul captured.”
I leaned back and took a long drag on my joint.
“Do you think his soul is trapped in his books?” Zainab asked as she spread out on the lawn outside the masjid.
“Which book? He wrote at least 10.”
“I don’t know maybe a little bit of him is in each.”
I passed Zainab the joint and joined her on the lawn making sure my skirt didn’t rise and flash any unsuspecting passers. Zainab queried me.
“Does that mean Prophet Muhammad is trapped in the Quran?”
“No silly he didn’t write it, he got some other sucker to do it.”
“We are definitely going to Jahannam, for talking about the Prophet like this”
“Zainab! Look what’s in your hand right now.” I point down at the burning joint between her fingers and shake my head. “You little harami girl.”
We both start laughing, I grab the joint from her hand and take a long drag.
“You know what? I think he would have been chill with it,” Zainab responds.
I let the smoke creep into my lungs. “Probably what he did up in that cave for so long”
I quickly put out the joint and adjust my scarf.
“It’s your sister.”
I turned to see Layla running towards us from the masjid.
We both get up and walk towards her, spritzing ourselves with the perfume Zainab hid in her bag for using on these sorts of occasions.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“The prayer is over, so we are all going to aunties for food,” Layla replies.
“Oh good, I’m super hungry,” I snidely remark as Zainab winks at me.
“What’s that funny smell?” Layla asks before sniffing my arm.
“It’s period blood! Mwahahaha!” I begin to tickle her.
“Eww stop it! You guys are gross. I’m going to find mum.”
Layla runs back to the Masjid carpark.
Zainab reaches for my hand as we slowly stroll behind and smiles at me.
“I’m so glad we’ve synced.”
“Awww. That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Words by Nelya Valamanesh
Image by Nadir Obeid
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