I was walking down the street,
it was about an hour after Eid prayers,
when a guy riding past on a motorcycle tried to touch me.
Luckily, I had moved a little closer to the sidewalk by then,
so his fingers merely brushed my leg, a little above the knee.
I was in complete shock.
I did and said nothing.
I’m usually able to stand up to harassers,
even if it’s just by cursing them out loud.
Later that day, as I stood in front of the mirror,
removing the pins from my headscarf,
I was overwhelmed with hatred for my body.
For the first time in my life, I wished I were a boy.