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“In his absence, Aisha rolled up one of her sleeves and touched the thatched henna pattern Umm Jaber had drawn on her arm. Armor, Aisha had called it. She only wished she could wear it over her heart. She clutched her arm and glanced up at the weeping sky. Aisha was envious; she had forgotten how to cry long ago.” — Chelsea Abdullah
In his absence, Aisha rolled up one of her sleeves and touched the thatched henna pattern Umm Jaber had drawn on her arm. Armor, Aisha had called it. She only wished she could wear it over her heart. She clutched her arm and glanced up at the weeping sky.
Aisha was envious; she had forgotten how to cry long ago.