Sajdaa Taha

The air was cold as I walked home. People were laughing on the streets as the sun began to set. Faces had wide smiles, couples stole kisses with each other behind trees.

Children were running. It was as if their imaginative worlds were real. The beautiful hues of orange and red merged together in the sky. A gentle breeze blew against my hijab. I sighed.

The world was still perfect even though I lost my world. He was dead. I kept thinking about his lifeless body from the Janazah (funeral). Only family members could see the deceased before burial. Thoughts of my uncle suppressed my mind, rendering me helpless of clear thought.

He had looked so peaceful. It was as if he were just in deep slumber. His face lacked color, which was the only thing that told me that he wasn't alive anymore. I remember his wife, my aunt, sobbing over her deceased beloved. I know they didn't have the perfect marriage, but she still cared for him.

What would happen to his children? His wife was so young. She wouldn't stay a widow. Not too many Bengali men would accept two kids from a different man. It was the culture. The mother left her kids with their father's family. Then the mother would get married. I know she said she wouldn't, but what if she did?

I turned the corner of the street to find the masjid.

Allahu Akbar Allahu Akbar.

Crap! They're about to start. I sprinted the rest of the way to catch the Maghrib (sunset) prayer.

* * * *

"Hey! Sajdaa!" I heard a feminine voice call.

I turned around to see my friend, Alisha. "Hey," I grinned.

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit you. I got caught up with my part time job," she quickly, rushed out. "Oh my gosh, Sajdaa. I'm so sorry for what happened. I'm still in shock myself."

I awkwardly, scratched the back of my neck. "It's no big deal."

Alisha's eyes softened, "Tell me how you honestly feel. Please."

The desperation in her eyes made me feel bad. Clearly, Alisha was beating herself over not comforting me the last couple of days. "You want an honest answer?" I sighed.

She nodded.

"I feel like utter crap. It feels like my heart was ripped into pieces. I don't even know how to function anymore. It kills me watching my family suffer like this," I said as I choked back my sobs. "I had never seen my father cry till the day my uncle died."

"Oh, sweetheart," she said as she wrapped her arms around me. I laid my head on her shoulder as I let out all my fear and frustration from the last few days. "It'll be okay, In Shaa Allah (if God wills it). Allah will help you, Sajdaa."

"I k-know Allah didn't do this to hurt m-me," I said, shakily. "But my heart still pains me. I wake up in the middle of the night trying to make sense of everything. It's just so hard," I cried.

"I know, I know. Shh, it's okay," she comforted me softly as she stroked my hijab.

As my head rested on her shoulder I saw a lumped figure across the street. Is that a body? I quickly pulled away from Alisha and rubbed my eyes.

Alisha gave me a confused look. "What's wrong?"

I pointed across the street, "Don't you see that figure over there?"

Alisha's eyes followed the movement of my fingers. "That can't be," she gasped.

I shook my head. "It can't be a body."

"Sajdaa, I think it is a body."

I dragged her arm, "Let's first check out the scene. Turn your camera on and record things just in case there's a killer on the loose."

"Isn't recording people without them knowing illegal?" she asked.

I face palmed. "Would you rather get killed with no one knowing who did it or actually having evidence?"

She stayed silent.

"That's what I thought. Now, let's go."

As we crossed the street, the faint smell of blood hit my nostrils along with a rotten scent. No doubt, it was probably the smell of a recently deceased person.

Alisha held my arm tightly. I could feel her hands shaking as she recorded the scene in front of us.

A young Muslim girl laid on the wet grass. She looked about ten years old. Her bright pink colored hijab stained crimson red. Her eyes were completely shut. Blood oozed out of her open mouth. There were nasty scars all over her face. Her clothes were half ripped. One eye had a giant black bruise on it. It was like she got punched in the face. Bruises all over her arms. Clearly, she'd been tortured.

"Sajdaa, we shouldn't be here," whispered Alisha.

"If we ignore our own sister in Islam, what kind of people are we?" I asked, completely ignoring her statement.

"They're going to think we did it!"

"Let them. Allah knows we're innocent. Allah will help us," I said, softly. I turned to Alisha, "Call the police."

She nodded, eagerly. I knew she didn't want to be near a dead body. I looked around. The air was cold and breezy as a tiny paper ruffled in the wind, but was held down by a rock.

I picked up the piece of paper and read its contents.

I'm not done with you, yet.

I felt my body freeze. It was the same person. It had to be. This killer knew I was here. I continued reading.

This was only the beginning. You will be my final masterpiece.

I felt chills run up my spine. Someone was watching me. I looked around the area. No one was there. Alisha's faint voice was calling my name, but my mind was thundering with fear. It can't be the same person, can it?

"Sajdaa?" asked a deep male voice. It was Malik, for sure. "What's wrong with you?"

I ignored him as I reread the contents. This cannot be happening. This little girl died because of me. I couldn't comprehend it. I could hear Alisha's quiet sobs as the paramedics tried to calm her down. More sirens wailed, and I knew more police officers came, yet I was still frozen to my spot.

"Snap out of it!" shouted Malik as he shook my shoulders.

I blinked and gazed at him. His hazel eyes reprimanded me, worried. I icily glared at him. He looked taken aback when I shoved the piece of paper to his chest.

"I told you! I told you the killer was after me! You guys thought I was joking. Why didn't you believe me?" I shrieked in anguish. This little girl died because of me. The killer wanted to kill me, not her.

Malik's eyes skimmed through the contents of the paper. He looked back at me with a sympathetic expression. This only angered me more.

"You asshole! I told you! Why didn't anyone listen to me?! She's dead now!" I screamed as I hit his chest, repeatedly.

He held my hands, a stern look on his face. "Calm. Down."

My chest heaved up and down, the events of tonight crashed into my skull. I slowly pulled my hands away from his grip. I sank to the ground, "Why me?" I muttered to myself.

Malik knelt down in front of me. He saw my distraught expression and he sighed. "You had a long night. Let's take you and your friend home, alright?" he asked, as he ran his fingers through his perfectly ruffled hair. Malik was stressed.

I stayed silent. I was still mad at the incompetent police officers. They could have heightened security in the neighborhood or get some computer wiz to track down the number. They could have at least tried! I know Malik did, but he was the only officer.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

He looked surprised, "What for?"

"I shouldn't have yelled at you. You tried to help me."

His lips slowly curled into a small smile. "Hey," he said gently. I kept my gaze at the ground. "Look at me," he pressed.

I did.

"Tomorrow, we'll figure this whole thing out, Sajdaa. Okay?"

"Okay."

I shouldn't have even touched Malik, let alone hit him. However, my emotions got the better of me. Malik was willing to put away his bad perception of Muslims in order to help me. I didn't know if I imagined it, but somewhere in the dark of the night, I thought I heard laughter.

An evil laugh.

Assalamualaikum everyone!

I have like a bunch of tests tomorrow, and here I am writing instead of studying. That's what chemistry class is for.

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