It was evening, and we got ready for the function. I went to Nisha’s room so that we could go together. I called out her name and knocked.“I know ...ou would come. The door is open. Come inside.”Ok, this girl has not changed a bit, I thought. I went inside, and there she was, looking all glam in a blue salwar with open hair. I was staring at her for a minute or so.“Hello there, pretty lady.”“Shut up and don’t start flirting again,” she smiled.“I want a hug so bad, please.”“No way my makeup will. . Akilah? That was the name. Not only was she grossly insulting Akilah, she was grossly insulting her own son.She was assuming and reacting to the belief that he must have made a bad choice. Her son was not an idiot; he was closer to a genius than an idiot. People were not his thing; he distrusted them and almost never made friends. Yet somehow, this girl, was one he would make friends with. He wasn’t pro-Palestine; he had exhibited anti-Palestine and anti-Muslim opinions at home. She must be. More

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