Rarah Hijab Official

Tears pricked her eyes. Maybe they were right. Maybe she wasn’t ready.

She unfolded the rectangular scarf. It was lighter than she expected, softer than a kitten’s ear. She draped it over her head, trying to remember the steps Leila had shown her. One side longer than the other. Pin it under the chin. Wrap the long end around your neck. Tuck it. A single, smooth shell of fabric. rarah hijab

Later, Rarah and Amal sat on the fountain’s edge, their blue scarves (Amal’s a deep indigo, Rarah’s the one with fish) catching the afternoon light. They didn’t talk about boys, or school, or the math test they had both failed. Tears pricked her eyes

The second try was worse. The scarf slipped, revealing a chunk of her unruly black curls. She looked like a poorly wrapped gift. She unfolded the rectangular scarf

But her best friend, Amal, had started wearing hers last month, and Amal looked like a moonlit queen. The soft, dusty-rose fabric framed her face, and when she walked, she seemed to carry a secret garden with her.

The first try was a disaster. A lump bulged at the back of her neck. The pin pricked her finger, and a tiny bead of blood bloomed like a ruby. She hissed in frustration.