Muslimah Next Door { Editing }

{ 1 } Moving

{ Saabira }

"I'm so sorry. I overslept and-" My apology is interrupted by a very irritated voice.

"It's been three hours,"

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, looking down at the sidewalk.

"Yeah. When are you coming?" Yusuf says, tiredly.

"I'm almost there."

He replies with the same sleepy tone, "Okay." He abruptly ends the call.

So, you're probably wondering. What's going on? Well, my life sucks. But Alhamdulillah, I'm still alive. My parents died when I was 16 years old, three years ago. My brother went to jail shortly after and has been there ever since. I lived with my maternal aunt for a while, but she kicked me out. She loathed me for some odd reason. Never has she ever enjoyed -or ever really tolerated- my company.

Now I'm officially homeless, which means I have to move in with my uncle Yusuf. The man I was on the phone with. He doesn't hate me, thank god. He's perfectly happy with the fact that I'm going to live in his house. I know he sympathizes with me because I'm an orphan. Most people do, apart from my aunt.

All this moving around is giving me a headache. This was the second time I have to move out of a relative's house. I'm usually the odd one out. Everybody's living with their perfect, normal family and then I come along.

"Saabira!" A familiar voice shouts, which startles me out of my thoughts. Someone engulfed me in a huge hug.

"Ifrah! You scared that life out of me!" I start laughing and pull her into a proper hug.

"I missed you so much! And now you're living with us?! This is amazing!"

"Well, If you squeeze me to death, I won't be staying here much longer," I gasp for air which only made Ifrah laugh.

"Where's your dad? And Ahmed and Yasin?" I ask her, noticing no one was on the porch except for us.

"My dad's sleeping because he thought you'd be here later. Plus, he was working overtime again," Ifrah looks down, clearly concerned for her father. "But he'll be awake soon inshallah," Ifrah looks at my silver jeep. "Can I help you unpack?"

I nod quickly, my arms felt like noodles, all weak and numb.

Ifrah is sixteen years old, she's the youngest in her family. Her mother lives in Yemen with her cousins. She hasn't come back to America for a long time actually, but as long as they receive phone calls from their mother, they're okay with it.

Ahmed is seventeen and Yasin is nineteen, the same age as I am. We're both starting our first year in college at Seattle State University. Of course, I won't be able to live in a college dorm. No one was willing to sign off a flyer for me. If the flyer was signed, it would give me permission to share a room with someone else.

"Geez, what's in this thing?" Ifrah whines, holding my luggage with both of her skinny hands. I giggle holding my other bags. "Clothes." I grin as we begin to walk to her magnificent house. I don't know what I was thinking living with our aunt when clearly uncle Yusuf has a much more beautiful residence.

"Saabira! Assalaamualaikum!" Yasin surprises me, and gives me a hug. I return one back. "WaAlaikumassalaam...Yasin," I respond.

He looks down at me with a cocky smile. I look at him with a confused expression.

"Either you got very short, or I got extremely tall," Yasin chuckles. I whack his arm. "Ow!" I smile, hearing him yelp. Yasin laughs even harder.

"Ifrah, when did she get so aggressive?" Yasin groans, holding my luggage.