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Some nights I lie on the cold floor with my hijab still on, and my legs slide open wider than I mean for them to, as if my own body is giving away the secret I try to keep. I imagine hands holding me there, keeping me open, and I think about how helpless and wanted that would make me feel without a single word being said. My anklet presses into my skin whenever I move even a little, and the warmth under my abaya keeps growing until it feels like I am carrying a secret no one is allowed to see. I think about that moment before anything touches me, the soft breath that would stay close enough to make my body answer without permission, and I stay still because the urge feels stronger when I don’t move at all. The room around me disappears, and it feels like the only thing left is my own body waiting in a way I can’t say out loud. I wonder if anyone will ever see me like this, open and waiting for the kind of touch I can only imagine at night, and I write it here because I can’t carry it inside me any longer. If you want to see the face behind these nights, and the friends who share my secret world, I left a piece of myself for you.
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