Sixteen-year-old Hala sat stubbornly on her bed. She looked over at her hijab lying over the back of the chair and sighed. That small piece of cloth these days seemed to be affecting her life more than anyone could imagine. It had been some time since she and her mother had spoken — not because she did not want to speak, but because she did not know what to say.

Hala's mother was in the next room thinking about her daughter. She was worried about her. Hala's new friends at school were obviously having an effect on her and were pushing her to be like them and to go to places that Hala wasn't used to going to. These girls didn't wear hijab and thought that flirting and all that was fun and normal.

She hoped her daughter would have enough strength of character and identity to do what was right. She saw the confusion and loneliness in Hala's eyes, but she didn't know how to break down all the barriers between her and her daughter. She did not really understand where those barriers came from. If she just walked into her room and began to talk, she was sure there would be an argument and hurt feelings. She really had to get through to Hala and get her to share their thoughts and feelings again, but how? She decided to send Hala an SMS on her mobile phone.

When Hala's mobile buzzed to let her know she had a message waiting for her, her heart jumped. Maybe it was one of her friends from school. Maybe they would accept her after all — hijab included. When she saw the message was from her mother, she felt very disappointed.

Her mother had the knack of reminding her about the reality of herself and her life — something she dearly wanted to forget right now or at best ignore.

"I love you, sweetie," said the message.

A huge bubble of emotions exploded in Hala, a feeling resembling safety. "She hasn't given up on me yet" echoed from the back of her mind — somewhere back down there behind the fears, harshness, blustery tempers, and moodiness. Her mum still loved her — amazing. From the center of her fears came the pointed arrow of her despair, her weakness and inability to confront her friends. She replied with these words: "I don't want to wear hijab anymore." She didn't say, "I want new friends" or "I want to be stronger." No! She said, "I don't want to wear hijab anymore." She pressed the "send message" button and sighed with relief. It was out — it had been communicated. She felt better already.

And so the messages passed between the two phones from two adjacent rooms for some time. The cyber conversation went something like this:

"I don't wanna wear hijab anymore."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not doing it for Allah. I'm just doing it to please you. I'm not getting any blessings for it."

"Do you want me to agree that you disobey Allah? What do you think I should say to Allah when He asks me about you?"

"I'll wear it again when it's coming sincerely from my heart."

"But you can still wear it and work on your heart."

"I can't do it that way."

"If you did that you would be playing in Satan's hands. He will have won over you. You'd be the loser."

"I'll wear it again, but not now."

"What if you asked me for permission to steal — do you think I should agree?"

"This is not stealing from anyone."

"You'd be stealing from yourself."

"I'm not stealing from anyone."

"I can't disobey Allah to please you even though I really want you to be happy. Everything we do leads us down a certain path."

"I want to walk that path because I want to, not because someone expects me to. I'm mature."

"If you were mature, you would not be reacting to what your friends want you to be like. You would be deciding for yourself and standing up for yourself."

After this conversation, mother and daughter didn't speak about the issue anymore. They just smiled and chatted. Obviously both had made an intention to please the other and to make amends. The next time Hala went out to the shop, she put on her hijab and smiled and said, "I'll be back in a few minutes, in sha' Allah."

Keep communicating! Keep the lines of communication open!