"Muslims should not belittle or look down on people, Ayatullah. It is not our way.". She leaned against the door, still panting from her sprint and shook her head vigorously. A few more strands of golden brown hair escaped her hair band and spilled out from the confines of her hoodie. She stared up at him in defiance, fury and desperation, not caring that she was yelling at her Sociology teacher. "They do it to us!". She expected exasperation, disapproval, anger even, but she most definitely wasn't prepared for the softening of his eyes or the hand that reached up to gently to swipe a stray leaf from the tip of her hood. His fingers accidently brushed against her forehead in the process, sending a swarm of butterflies exploding in her stomach. "They are not our teachers.".
6 parts