Ten Steps To Us

Attiya Khan

Description

What if you meet the boy of your dreams but loving him is forbidden?Aisha Rashid has always felt invisible, so no one is more surprised than her when Darren, the hot new boy in school, takes an interest. But Aisha is a devout Muslim and Darren is firmly off limits. Will she follow her heart even if it means losing her own identity? If only there was a way to keep the boy and her faith. Maybe there is... all it takes is ten steps...

Informations

• Publié par: Hashtag BLAK
• Date de parution: 09 septembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781913835118
• Langue: English

Extrait

Published in Great Britain by Hashtag BLAK an imprint of Hashtag Press 2021
Text Attiya Khan 2021
Cover Model Zarah Matin 2021
Cover Design Anne Glenn 2021
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-9138351-0-1 eBook ISBN 978-1-9138351-1-8
Typeset in Garamond Classic 11.75/14.5 by Blaze Typesetting Printed in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc

HASHTAG BLAK
Hashtag Press Ltd
Kent, England, United Kingdom
www.hashtagblak.co.uk
Twitter: @hashtag_blak
Hashtag BLAK is an imprint of Hashtag Press Ltd Website: www.hashtagpress.co.uk
This book is dedicated to my family, who taught me the meaning of unconditional love.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are so many people who helped me and inspired me to write this book. People say that writing is lonely but with the right people it really can be a very social experience. So, first and foremost, I would like to thank the Moore Street Masterminds: Fran, Lisa, Ayesha, Freja, Michelle, and our fabulous teacher and author Sophia Bennett. Without our weekly meetings at Michelle s house and coffee mornings at Foyles and our ongoing zoom meetings through the pandemic I never would have completed this novel.
I would also like to thank Brenda and Carmen for reading and giving constructive feedback on my chapters and all the fun times in the British Library and the City Lit caf .
To my dear friends Claire and Kathy for taking the time to read my book and give me harsh but fair feedback, despite their crazy busy lives. I would also like to thank Khadija and Nadia who educated me about the hijab.
A huge thank you to Abiola Bello and Helen Lewis for taking a chance on my book and making my childhood dream of having a book published come true. You have been amazing and fabulous to work with.
I must thank my lovely sisters Sabiha, Semeen and Shireen, and my gorgeous Mum Shakila. We may have heated discussions, but no one can ever say our house is boring! I also want to thank my lovely nephews and nieces who keep me young and try to keep me up to date with all the latest teen slang.
I must also acknowledge the memory of my beloved father; I still think about you every day and know you would be so proud of me.
I have to thank my beautiful kids Aneesa, Rafi and Saif, you guys keep me on my toes and help me remember what it was like to be a teen. Finally, I must thank my amazing husband Rehan. No girl could ever ask for a husband this supportive and tolerant, I could not have completed this book without you.
CHAPTER ONE
I fold the black scarf into a large triangle and the material feels smooth under my fingers.
Shafqat Aunty s suggestion of using viscose is good because the scarf doesn t slip as much. Staring at the mirror I drape my protective shield-my hijab-over my head, the right side hanging down on to my shoulder. I place the shorter end under my chin. Taking the long side, I wrap it behind my head, then pull it over to the left, fixing it into place with my silver sequinned pin, and see a solitary strand of hair poking out. I tuck it back under the scarf and smile at my reflection.
Aisha, why you have to wear this thing all the time? Mum asks, walking into my room. Why you are making life harder for yourself?
I know she s only worried about me, but her voice is so shrill the words practically ring in my ears. I remember all the fights Mum and I have had. She didn t want me to wear the hijab because she felt people would treat me differently and it could affect my chances of getting into university or getting a job. I might be picked on for the rest of my life, but I knew it was the right thing for me to do.
I m fine Mum, don t worry about it. Everyone s okay with it.
What she doesn t know won t hurt her, right? Mum gives me a disapproving look and I escape the house in a hurry.
It rained the whole Easter holidays, but now that we re going back to school it s sunny and warm. Typical. The leaves on the trees flutter in the wind and I smell freshly cut grass. Just thinking of the summer term makes me think of exams- year twelve exams! Things are getting serious. If I want to get out of Kent and move to London for university I really need to knuckle down. There s so much more diversity in London. At least there I won t feel out of place like I do here in school.
I m waiting for the bus when I see two boys from the neighbouring school wearing scruffy grey uniforms, one fat with a shaved head, and one thin.
Fancy a smoke? the boy with the shaved head says, offering me one.
I m nauseated by the stench of cigarette smoke as he leans towards me.
I don t smoke.
Is that cos you re a Moooslim? Your mummy and daddy and your Allah wouldn t like it. Shaved head has a deep, nasty voice.
I don t want to, okay? I turn away.
Go on, you ll like it once you try it.
That s when I hear the skinny one whisper, Pull her scarf off.
I ve been bullied before, but no one s ever threatened to remove my scarf. My heart pounds and I shuffle backwards but there s nowhere left to go; I m trapped against the back of the bus shelter. Other people at the bus stop turn their heads away. I instinctively put my hands to my hijab and pull the edges of the fabric towards me.
Try it. Shaved head practically pushes the cigarette into my mouth. He stinks of B.O. I twist away and silently start praying to myself in Arabic.
Qul ho wal a ho ahad-allah hoos samad lam ya lid wa lam u lud, was lam ya qul la hoo kofo one ahad.
I can t remember exactly what it means word for word, but I know it s a prayer to protect you from bad things.
As the boys tower over me, I start shaking, my legs like jelly as though I m sinking into the ground, like it s turned to quicksand. Suddenly, a hand appears over shaved head s shoulders, grasps his wrist, and yanks it away from my face.
She said no, okay? a male voice says forcefully.
At first, the sunlight in my eyes made my saviour seem like a huge, invincible shadow-creature, but now I see that he s a tall, dark-haired boy with floppy hair. He pulls shaved head by his arm, forcing him to step away from me.
Alright, mate, I got it, I ll leave her alone!
Dark-haired boy lets go of his arm.
What the hell? Hang out with terrorists if you want, the skinny boy shouts as he backs away.
Get out of here! dark-haired boy shouts, and the two boys scuttle away to the other side of the bus stop.
Thank you. I stare down at my shoes. I don t want him to see the few tears that have escaped from my eyes.
I m Darren by the way. I just moved here from London. What s your name?
I look up and Darren smiles at me. For a second, my breath catches in my throat as I stare transfixed into his hazel eyes. They re so dreamlike I could almost dive into them. My heart rate quickens. He s tall and dressed smartly in black trousers with a white shirt and grey blazer. Not quite school uniform but formal.
I m Aisha.
Thank you for helping me; thank you for not thinking like them, is what I want to say, but I can t seem to get the words out.
Do you know Forest High? I m gonna be in the sixth form there.
Aah, no wonder he s dressed smartly; it s school policy that sixth formers dress how they would for the world of work.
No way, I go there! I m in sixth form too. I grin at him.
Is it any good? What are the teachers like?
I frown. Well, it depends on what you re studying.
History, chemistry, and physics.
Handsome and clever.
That s some tough subjects. What do you want to do?
I want to be a human rights lawyer.
Wow, caring too.
How comes you left London?
Darren s smile vanishes. He swallows and stares at the floor with a frown. I m. . . it s complicated.
I wonder what s wrong? I want to ask but I don t want him to think I m pushy. Luckily, the bus arrives before it becomes even more awkward.
Darren sits next to me once we ve clambered aboard. I ve sat next to boys before during class projects and stuff, but I ve never felt so nervous. It s like I m so aware of everything-the shine on my nose, the tiny hole in my tights, the way I can t stop my hands from fidgeting. Why have I never thought about how to talk to boys before? To be honest, the only boys I ve really talked to are my annoying younger brothers and he certainly isn t like them. He must think I m so nervous and weird.
Is it always like that? Darren asks. I mean with the bullying and stuff.
Yeah, sometimes, but no one s ever threatened to rip my scarf off before.
That s so bad. Have you told anyone about this?
I feel my skin prickle. I hate the way he s looking at me with pity.
It s not that simple, you know, I eventually say.
I bet it s really difficult.
Maybe I should stand up for myself more? Toughen up? But they re the ones with the problem, not me. Why do I have to change?
Darren s face flushes. No, of course you re right. You don t have to change who you are. A lot of my friends from my old school wore the hijab. The girls were pretty feisty and no one dared mess with them, but everyone s different. I m just glad I was there to help you. Those guys were total losers.
Thank you, I say.
He s so lovely. I wonder why he s being so nice to me. He smiles and I notice a little scar by his left eye. I focus on the scar and try not to think about how handsome he is with those ridiculously beautiful eyes that seem to pierce right through to my soul.
I look away. I m not meant to notice things like that.