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———

My name is Paulina Quinn Suarez and I'm a Muslim.

It's kind of obvious with the way my veil is tied down to my head with a pretty hair clip to keep it in place in order to cover my hair. Because this is what a proper Muslimah does. She covers her hair with a veil so that when a potential boyfriend sees her, he won't be able to stop himself from wondering the following questions:

Is she blonde?

Is her hair soft to the touch?

And my personal favorite; will I ever get to see those freaking locks of sunshine?

Haha...no, brochacho, you most definitely won't.

Unless, maybe, the aforementioned Muslimah is feeling really daring and is also being pressured by her cheese head of a boyfriend to flaunt her hair. And then this sad excuse of a boyfriend will see that the Muslimah's hair is brown and not blonde, and he's apparently "always been into blondes, sorry."

Long story short? It'll lead to an inevitable break up that will mess up an innocent girl's view on romantic relationships and maybe make the Muslimah cry for weeks or maybe even months because of a broken heart.

By talking from an extremely neutral perspective, I can try to relate to a million girls who have gone through this.

...Okay, so maybe it isn't a completely neutral point of view.

...Whatever.

———

Halle Café is located right across the street from my home. Just a strip of road wide enough for cars to whizz by and two pavements are literally separating us. My neighbor is a well-known café and it belongs to the Hall family.

Kenneth Hall's family.

My ex's family.

I sigh as I look out the window. I can see everyone and everything going on in the bakery despite the slightly tinted windows; customers sitting down—some drinking coffee, others eating muffins and croissants. Mr. Hall laughing as he chats with a few customers his age. Mrs. Hall giving some little girl a cookie. Kenneth Hall smiling at a pretty customer our age as he hands her a styrofoam cup full of caffeinated liquid...

If The Purge should actually happen, I'll spend my time literally looking for Kenneth to murder him.

And if he's already dead, then I'll just spend my time looking for the boner that killed him. So that I can thank him/her. Then kill him/her for getting to Kenneth Hall first.

It's not like I still like him. No, dumping me for not being blonde under my veil may have hurt at the time but it definitely doesn't anymore. I've moved on from douche bags and I'm not going to look back. Nope. No way. Nada. Totally over it.

My current problem is this: although I'd love to avoid Kenneth Hall till thy kingdom come, I can't. And I have three reasons why.

Reason number one; he's still my neighbor. He and his parents live in an apartment directly above the cafe. It's not easy avoiding a guy who regularly takes out the trash at the exact same time you decide to go for an early morning jog. It's especially not easy to avoid a guy when he decides to invite himself to join you on said jogs because he's too boneheaded to take a hint that his company isn't appreciated in the slightest. Sigh.

The second reason is this: his parents love me and they're very vocal about it too. They invite me for dinner almost every week, and they go out of their way to give me a free snack anytime I enter their cafe (which, I have to admit, I do a lot) with the sole intention of making me crawl back to Kenneth.

Yeah. No.

But how am I meant to stay away from free cinnamon rolls? They've ruined any other cafe in town for me, that's for sure. Also, I can proudly say I love his parents too; they're sweet people and they know how to make a delicious chocolate chip cookie, and if seeing Kenneth's stupid face is the sacrifice I have to make for my stomach, wallet and the relationship between me and his parents, then okay.

But back to the main reason why I can't avoid Kenneth Hall for a good portion of this summer:

Ramadan.

Ramadan is a time when Muslims around the world focus on prayers, fasting, giving stuff out for charitable reasons, and religious devotion. Well, according to Google.

My definition: where I try not to use vulgar words, stop drooling over Dylan O'Brien by neglecting Teen Wolf to read my Quran and also have to not eat food for about twelve hours or so.

Ugh.

Now, don't get me wrong. Ramadan isn't a bad month. It's actually quite the opposite. This Ramadan is going to be my second as a Muslim and hey, I'm still going along with it despite the fact that I come from a family of atheists.

Or just people that don't practice any religion but tend to shout "Oh my God!" and "Jesus!" anytime they stub their toes against the kitchen table.

...I keep diverting from explaining the current problem at hand. Ugh. Moving on.

Despite the fact that we're neighbors, I could go out of my way to not see him. I get enough money for my weekly allowance to forget Halle Café's free cookies and buy myself some so that pretty much solves the problem to tackle my insistent craving for sugar.

But I'm still in need of a solution because it's Ramadan and I come from a family that lives on takeout and popcorn. I have to find solace in the fact that my dear neighbors can cook homemade food and are even willing to let me come over as early as 3 AM in order to eat Suhoor and as late as eight in the night for Iftar.

I really love my neighbors. Their son, on the other hand; not so much.

"Paulina," a husky feminine drawls, breaking through my thoughts. I know who owns the voice—it's Vanessa, my step sister. I break my staring contest with the window to look at her with a slight smile on my face.

Vanessa and I have been stepsisters for approximately five, amazing years. To people, we're twins from different mothers and sometimes, I actually believe it. One wouldn't even know; it's been said that we look alike—save for her much tanner skin tone, my very prominent cheekbones, and my skinnier figure as opposed to her curvier one.

Apart from this; people continue to say we really do look alike. And the fact that we're the same age doesn't really work in our favor.

It must be our eyes. Brown and all.

"Yeah?" I ask. She's dressed in her whole punk rocker chick way and her guitar is strapped around her shoulder.

"I'm off to band practice. Come with?" she pats her guitar case with a coy smile on her lips. The offer is tempting but I really shouldn't go. I'm still thinking of solutions to surviving this Ramadan without the help of the Hall family.  Ramadan begins tomorrow and so far, I have none.

And it's probably better that I don't interrupt her band practice. Knowing myself, as soon as I hear some of the lyrics, I'd forget myself and try to imitate Sia or something.

"You go ahead. I'll see you later," I reply. I turn my attention back to the window and I hear her scoff behind me.

"When will you get over that guy? He really isn't worth it," Vanessa says. Contrary to what she is saying, I was busy watching an old guy trying to cross the road before she decided to jump to conclusions.

I was totally not watching Kenneth who was trying to help this particular old man though. Really. I'm serious. I swear.

"I wasn't looking at him!" I snap, effectively defending my dignity. I leave the window and brush past her. "I'll be upstairs praying. You go ahead and kill people's eardrums."

"Make sure to ask Allah to deliver your heart from Kenneth Hall!" she hollers after me and I turn around to stick my middle finger up at her.

She laughs. "You're one fucked up Muslim."

I smile at the words.

"I try."

———

Having bakers as neighbors is a very good thing; especially if they love you and your family, despite the fact that there's a bit of bad blood between the children.

(Read: between Kenneth Hall and me).

(And maybe Vanessa, because technically, she had to comfort me during very broken-hearted times and she was far from happy about that).

The doorbell rings and I quickly bound down the stairs to answer it since I'm alone at home. I place the scarf around my head and throw one end over my shoulder in a nonchalant manner.

I stand in front of the door. I look down at my stay at home outfit.

Skinny jeans fitting snugly; check.

Black loose shirt; check.

Casual looking cherry lip balm; double-check.

I quickly say a silent prayer in my head and wrench the door open.

"Assalam alay—"

Holy chicken.

Hottie alert.

Does my veil look sexy?

The boy before me looks like some specie of Zayn Malik with overgrown dark hair, without a beard and a somewhat timid smile. His dark eyes quickly sweep across my face like he's wary of staring and his flawless skin basically glows under the atmospheric scene of the setting sun behind him.

He's handsome but he isn't exactly my type. I'm into boys with more defined looks; cutting edge blue eyes, midnight black hair that is neither long nor short but just right, a very light tan painting flawless fair skin, a smile that could melt a heart for ages...

No, I'm not describing Kenneth. There are many guys in this life that have Kenneth Hall's features.

I haven't met them yet but I know they exist, okay? Okay.

"Hey," I stare at the boy's apron. It has the Halle Café logo so I know the boy must be a new worker there. He's also holding bags of what I suspect must be food.

His wary smile softens into something more genuine. "Hey Diadem."

...HUH?

He laughs at my facial expression, "Sorry. I heard that you Muslim girls wear your veils like they are crowns so...diadem," his voice is smooth but masculine. It's not deep like Kenneth's.

I smile at him though. Most boys my age are ignorant about stuff like this. They don't normally care about my religion, considering the various controversial concepts surrounding it.

Muslims are this, Islam is that.

Ugh.

"Well, in that case, your nickname is Pillow," I take some of the bags from him and walk towards the kitchen. He scurries after me and I hear the door shut behind him.

"Pillow? What do I look like, a Teletubby?" he drops some of the bags on the table, "Because if I do, I am so Dipsy."

I turn to face the boy. He's smiling cheekily as he stares at me and I can't help but wonder if we've met before. It's not meant to be this comfortable chatting up a stranger. He's being too...familiar. Or too free, but I'm going with the former.

"No. You're Tinky Winky," I cross my arms. The boy looks offended but I know he's messing with me based on my gut feeling.

"You might as well call me a steroid pillow," he shrugs. "Because that purple Teletubby didn't grow the natural way."

I laugh before I can stop myself. He's an idiot. "What's your name?"

"Damon," he starts to bring out different plastic containers from one of the bags. "I'm guessing you're Paulina, right?"

I nod slowly. Of course, he has to know me. He is here, after all, to give me food, and Mrs. Hall has the tendency to say my name like it's some sort of obligatory prayer.

"Cool," he grins, exposing white, even teeth. "I'm the one who has been assigned to you."

I raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

He stares at my raised eyebrow. "How the heck do people do that?!"

I keep my laugh in check although it's hard to when staring at his genuinely frustrated expression. He's cute. I'm into the ones that call themselves bad boys but hey, this boy is very attractive in his own goofy way.

"Assigned to me for what?" I ask. He's trying to raise an eyebrow but all I'm seeing is the telltale sign of frown marks and two raised eyebrows. Poor guy.

"Ramadan. Apparently, you want homemade food. And since I'm new and stuff, Mr. and Mrs. Hall decided to give me a test. Rumor says you have an inner food critic in you."

I laugh at his wary look. "Yeah...you could say that."

He smiles and relaxes a bit. "Anyhow, they decided that I should be the one to make your meals for the next thirty days. So yes, I'm your personal Ramadan cook."

He does a little bow and his hair flops around with the movement. I self consciously touch my hair via my veil because, really, hair like his must be photoshopped.

"So, that's my Suhoor?" I point to a particular container that I normally use whenever I'm taking leftovers back home from the Café.

"Huh?" he blinks and I roll my eyes.

"The food I'm meant to eat before I start fasting."

"No, that's your dinner. Your Suhoor is in the purple container. And I actually made dinner for your whole family if that's okay," he grins and then shrugs at my appalled look.

"...You really take your cooking seriously."

"Yep. It's on the house, free of charge. I hope you like it. And I hope you give me brownie points," he wiggles his eyebrows and the sight makes me laugh.

"We'll see," I lead him out of the kitchen and towards the front door. "I guess I'll see you around."

"I'll make sure of it," he gives me a meaningful look and walks out the door as soon as I open it for him. "Bye Diadem!"

"Later, Steroid Pillow!"

He turns to glare at me. I laugh.

He starts walking back to glare at me even more. I laugh harder.

He slips and falls, landing butt first on the concrete. He laughs along with me as I practically wheeze my lungs out.

We're going to be very good friends, I can tell.

And to think I thought of him in a more than platonic way at first sight.

Finally, I stop laughing and he stands up with a wave, and turns around to keep walking, tapping at his butt to get the dust off his pants.

I watch the movement because damn...

...Just forget what I said.

——————

A/N: annnnnnnd cut! We made it to the end, yay!

Suhoor: the meal consumed early in the morning by Muslims before fasting, in daylight hours during the Islamic month of Ramadan.

Iftar: the meal eaten by Muslims after sunset during Ramadan.

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you guys loved this chapter. Haha.  Please remember to vote, comment, and share if you feel like it. I'd really appreciate the support. Thank you love x

—Halima A.M./Ham.