Chapter 5: A flowering Iris

Iris found her digging up weeds, roughly grabbing the stems and tearing them from the ground. Clearing her throat, she alerted Laila of her presence, causing the latter to straighten and fix her hijab.

"That was… really brave of you."

Facing her, Laila hmphed.

"Was that sarcasm? Or have you not finished?"

Iris wrung her hands, shaking her head.

"Oh, no! I don't mean to hurt you or anything… This is just the truth of what I feel."

She always was the better mannered of the sisters, quietly following her sister and mother without actively doing much. Most of her jabs were sarcastic remarks and demeaning jokes. Crossing her arms, the other raised an eyebrow and uncertainly asked.

"Is it now..."

"Yes. Me and my sister could never do something as bold as you did - really, it's inspiring!"

A lifting hope rose in her voice, similar to what Laila had once felt as a child. Her mind wandering, she felt the glass against her collarbone and mused at her step-sister's words, thinking of her youthful enthusiasm with bitter nostalgia.

"Inspiring huh? I'm glad you think so after years of dragging me under the dirt with the rest of your family."

Iris's face fell, her ocean eyes briefly swimming with light now drowned by darker memories.

"I… Right… That… I know, it would be very difficult for you to find it within you to forgive me and that a simple compliment does not excuse my behaviour. It's just… you know what my mother is like. She used to be like that to me, merely because I'm a little darker than my sister."

Laila blinked, surprised. She'd never heard this story before but it didn't need leaps of logic to see that it was probably true.

"Interesting. So you have your own sob story and even then you kept at it."

Wincing, her shoulders deflated.

"She's much worse to you though, because I was at least related to her by blood and not as dark as you either. And so I guess, she just targeted the closest she could. You're a muslim too and she hates you guys. But I… I had never seen much of her love or attention, she is not the best at giving it after all. When I saw that she was latching onto you, a weaker and easier target, I saw it as an opportunity and I took it. For once, I felt powerful rather than powerless. For once, I was being treated as I should be. For once, even if by dragging you down, I felt lifted up."

Laila deadpanned whilst she talked.

"...You realise you're saying the heroic conclusion to your sob story was to beat me up for four years."

Iris's eyes widened and she held a hand to her mouth, as if just realising what she said.

"Oh I'm so terribly sorry, pardon me! I did not mean it that way. What I meant to get to was that seeing you so proudly express yourself how you'd like makes me think that I could achieve such a feeling without needing to partake in the awful bullying my mother enjoys."

Fiddling with her fingers, her shy ocean eyes looked up at Laila's wooden brown ones.

"And… I'd like to ask if you could possibly teach me about Islam."

Softly flowing through her hijab and swaying the braids on the other's shoulders a little, a gentle breeze flew between Iris and Laila as the sentence registered in her head. Pursing her lips, she opened her arms and placed a hand on her hips.

"And you think to ask me this after explaining that bullying me was the solution to all of your problems? What do you take me for?"

Seeing the stern stare she was scrutinising her with, Iris quickly lowered her eyes and turned to go.

"I-I see. That was imprudent of me, I realise that now. I'll go-"

She heard hearty laughter erupt from the other. Chuckling, Laila reached an arm over to hold Iris's shoulder.

"Oh jeez, you really thought I was serious? Don't worry ukhti, I'll teach you all you want to know. It excites me that you're interested."

The answer seemed to light up her face.

"Really?? Oh thank you!"

"And about the past… Part of Islam is forgiveness. As long as you regret what you've done and want to make up for it and repent with your actions, I'll always forgive my sister. Like Allah will always forgive those who repent to him."

"Oh, I'm so honoured. I didn't think you would ever even consider the thought of-"

"First thing that I'll need to teach you though, is to unlearn those words you use. Your tone sometimes sounds like you're demeaning or talking down to me. Not necessarily Islamic rather than just morally uncomfortable, that needs to go."

And so, for a while, Laila began to feel happier. She had a newfound comfort in wearing her hijab and saving up leftover money to buy more scarves. The pride she felt when she walked around with it like her mother was just as heartlifting as the funny image of her stepmother's disgusted yet silent face. As she grew older, now 16, she wore dark jilbabs and niqabs, hiding all of her face, and was able to pass it off as an advantage as she was less likely to get sick from all the dust with a veil and the dark clothes held less stains. So all Catherine could do was grumble and walk off. Iris warmed up a lot more to Laila, acting better around her when their mother wasn't looking. She even gave back her bedroom but Laila refused, saying it was too close to the baroness's quarters and that she'd prefer to stay by the fire. That didn't stop her from using the bedroom as a secret classroom where she taught Iris Arabic and Islam. Laila wasn't as fluent as she was when she was younger, her mother having the smoothest tongue and teaching her, but she found Iris to be an eager and easy to teach student.

Most would be tempted to think that Judith, by contrast, was acting even worse to her during these years but she had begun to grow a little distant to either of her sisters. Her sneers were lackluster and not even present when the Baroness wasn't. She didn't stop giving Laila orders and chores that she was already used to receiving. But she didn't stop her hidden escapades to help cook either. Laila noticed that Catherine tended to pay more attention to Judith, likely due to how her looks nearly mirrored her mother's, but the girl still vied for her to smile at her. She also noticed that she often came down to help cook sniffing, her hands shakingly wrapped around her before wordlessly putting on an apron. Laila didn't think of it until one day…