Chapter 1
The rain didn’t ask if I was Muslim before it soaked me.
It didn’t care that my hijab was clinging to my neck like guilt, or that my abaya was heavy with water and shame. It just fell. Hard. Like Allah was crying because I’d run into a church.
St. Michael’s Catholic Church, Osu. The gold letters mocked me as I slammed the heavy door shut behind me. My chest heaved. The thugs’ shouts were still outside, muffled by wood and rain.
“Hey! You can’t—”
I spun around. A boy. My age. White choir robe, brown skin, cross around his neck. His eyes went from my face, to my hijab, to the door I was leaning against like it could save me.
“Please,” I whispered. The word tasted like haram. “They’re after me. Don’t let them in.”
He didn’t move. Just stared. For a second I thought he’d throw me out. A Muslim girl, dripping on holy ground. My father, the Imam, would rather I die in that rain than be found here.
Then the boy locked the door. Click.
The sound was louder than the thunder.
“I’m Daniel,” he said, shrugging off his choir robe. Underneath was a wet t-shirt. He held the robe out to me. “You’re freezing.”
I stepped back. “I can’t. You’re… you’re not mahram.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m not what?”
A bang on the door made us both jump. “We saw her run in there!” a voice yelled. “Open up, choir boy!”
Daniel’s face went pale. He looked at me. Really looked. Then at the stained glass window of Mary.
“Pray to your God,” he whispered, pressing the robe into my shaking hands. “I’ll pray to mine. Maybe one of Them will save us.”
A glass window shattered. The thugs were climbing in.
Daniel grabbed my hand. His skin was warm. Wrong. Haram.
But the other option was death.
"Run with me," he said.
And for the first time in my life, I ran TOWARDS a boy instead of away from Allah.
