Gemotions

My sister, Sarah, had always been the golden child, the one who could do no wrong. Now, she was embracing Islam, complete with a hijab and a newfound serenity that grated on my nerves. The family dinner, once a haven of laughter, had become a battlefield of passive-aggressive comments.

That night, after everyone had departed, I went into her room. It was spotless, every surface reflecting the meticulous order she now lived by. Her prayer rug lay neatly folded. I unfolded it, then unrolled it. I knew exactly what she would think when she sees it.

I took the rug, and, with a grim smile, rolled it back up. The next morning, I threw it into the wet laundry.