When Laila was 12 years old, her father died. She mourned the loss heavily but still had to go out and buy groceries. As she walked outside, her brown waves bobbing against her blue cloak, heads were turned and whispers were heard, following her every step. Tears burned trails of fire down her cheeks, filling into the scar on her cheek for both times the baroness had caught her sleeping before finishing her chores. Both times she had a white hot poker in her hand. Shaky breaths shuddered through her chest and she felt her jar bump against her skin. Slipping her fingers around its comforting surface, she pressed the jar to her lips and saw the pink petal still sparkle within it. Quietly murmuring, she recited the verse that had soothed her all these years.
It kept the fire inside her lit and running. A little more confident, she walked through the market, buying all that she needed and found herself with some money left. Intending to walk straight back home with it, she paused when she saw the shop. It had walls of scarves and a multitude of colours, hues mixing in with each other in every corner, patterns from all of the world huddling in hubs and competing to be shown off the most. Laila didn't wear a hijab regularly yet but all the scarves seemed to draw her in, the familiar scent she often smelt on her mother calling her to come closer. Feeling the soft silky textures between her brown fingers, she walked through an alleyway of flowery fabrics, in awe of each and every one.
"Would you like one miss?"
The voice made her jump but she was relieved when it was just the seller. Clearing her throat, she nodded and pointed to one that caught her eye.
"A-Ah how much would that one be?"
"Hmm..."
The seller thought about it, recognising the scarf as something much more expensive than a mere child would be able to afford. However, he recognised the girl as the daughter of the man who lived on the mansion on the hill. Her father had been a kind person and helped him out many times - the poor child would have had it rough with two deaths so early in her life. Smiling, he came to a conclusion.
"Tell you what, I'll let you have it for free as long as you wear it with pride and a smile."
Laila gasped, hope brimming in her eyes.
"Really??"
He nodded, smiling.
"Your father was a very generous and pious man - I would be happy to help his daughter in such a simple way."
"Oh thank you, thank you so much!! Jazakallahu khair!!"
Iris stared in shock. She'd woken up for breakfast to see Cinderella in something… new. It was a clumsy attempt at a hijab honestly but it was a headscarf. Pink with petals blooming all over it, blue patterns flying across the fabric in pretty swirls in every direction. She continued to do her work without paying any attention to Iris's gaze. Stuttering, the girl cleared her throat.
"Uh? W-Why are you wearing that… thing?"
Cinderella huffed as she pulled out a large sack of coal and dusted off her apron. She began to stock the fireplace silently, not looking at Iris. Frustrated at being ignored, Iris repeated it louder.
"Hello? Did you hear-"
"It's a hijab. Not a 'thing'."
She was met with a fierce glare as brown as an owl's feathers. Shut up, Iris merely sat at the table and waited to be served. Judith soon joined her, instantly complaining about her last jewellery set before pausing in a shocked awe as she saw Cinderella.
Heels clicking as she entered, the Baroness Catherine herself soon joined the party and her normal dissatisfied face morphed into horror as her gaze set on her.
"What are you wearing?"
The woman seethed, hissing her words out like a scorpion. Lila didn't face her as she answered simply.
"It's a hijab. Muslim women wear it. So do Christian nuns and-"
"You will face me as you talk."
Crossing her arms, Catherine raised an eyebrow as the girl turned around and looked her dead in the eye.
"It's a hijab. Muslim women wear it. So do-"
Dismissively waving her hand, she rolled her eyes and began to angrily rant.
"Yes yes I know what it is. But why are you wearing it? Do you know what this looks like? Your father's already dead, who is even there to oppress you into wearing that! Take it off right now-"
"No."
Icily shooting daggers at the girl with her eyes, Catherine breathlessly spat out.
"What did you say?"
"No. You're wrong."
"I am your mother-"
"Hijabs are not worn by oppression, especially not by fathers. It is not meant to be forced, it is a choice for the woman to wear it or not. Many view it as a duty for them to wear it, many view it as a path to their own religious journey to take but its core, its centre, is protection."
The firm monologue left the three speechless as she continued, walking closer and placing a hand on the table.
"You asked me why I'm wearing this. It's simple. I want protection. I do not feel safe in this household, even without any men around. It's a bit of a break from the traditional reasoning but it is mine and I stand by it. As long as I do not feel safe around any of you, I will not show my hair and when I can, even my face. It shouldn't matter to you anyway - this is what you wanted isn't it? You don't like playing family with me so we don't need to. I'm distancing myself from you all so be happy. I sure am."
A triumphant smile on her face, she left through the backdoor to do some gardening. Fury raged through the Baronesses face and she stomped off to her room, steaming. The two girls left at the dinner table however, were stunned. Thoughts raced through each of their heads as they looked back at where Cinderella had left and then at each other. Biting her lip, Iris stood up, following her to the garden whilst Judith fiddled with her necklace, worried she'd be chastised by her mother if she dared to do the same.