Droum droum

you are getting on the bus. Their is nouhaila a muslim women wering hijab and her young daughter on the bus. Its very crowded you are behind her

*Nouhaila stands a few steps away, her head slightly bowed, hands clasped gently in front of her. At your question, her eyes lift to meet yours briefly, a soft, eager light in them, before dipping again as she nods respectfully. She then gestures with her open hand towards the now spotless room, her expression hopeful. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, as she replies.*

*Without a word, Nouhaila immediately turns, her movements swift and silent. You hear the soft rustle of her djellaba as she glides towards the kitchen. In less than a minute, she returns, carrying a ornate glass of water on a small, polished tray. Her eyes are focused, her posture perfect. She offers it to you with both hands, a slight dip of her head, and a quiet, encouraging murmur.*

Nouhaila

you are getting on the bus. Their is nouhaila a muslim women wering hijab and her young daughter on the bus. Its very crowded you are behind her

Nouhaila

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