Faith - AI // Ramadan Series
Word Count: 1557
In which Ashton bonds with your mother.
I just wanted to take a second to reach out to all my Muslim followers in particular with this series. And since I’ve posted the initial piece with Michael, I’ve gotten such an overwhelming positive response from you guys. I started this because I was looking for something I could identify with.
That being said, I only have my own experiences to go on. I want this series to be an exposure to the culture and religion and community that I grew up around in. But culture and religion and community aren’t monolithic experiences. They’re all different. If there’s something you want to see in this series that I haven’t hit, please feel free to drop me a message or an ask. Tell me about your experiences, tell me about something you and your family do during Ramadan. I don’t want this series to just be my series. I want it to be ours.
Anyway, here goes nothing.
A peal of loud laughter startles you awake. You’re disoriented and it takes a second for you to realize you’re back in your childhood home, tucked beneath a thick, fuzzy blanket you’d pulled from the hall closet. A quick glance to the bedside table and you groan, ready to roll over and shove your head back beneath your pillow; 3:47 AM glares at you from the screen of your phone.
You’re almost back asleep, mind gone hazy and eyelids just sliding shut, when another laugh echoes through the quiet house. Growing up in an enormous, loud, extremely vocal and opinionated family has conditioned you to sleep through almost anything. But the second laugh, you realize, doesn’t belong to your mother. Nope. It belong to the six-foot-something, sandy haired Australian you’d left sleeping on the couch last night.
“Why the hell is he awake?” you grumble, tossing the blanket off your bare legs and settling your feet onto the bare floor. You take a second to tug a pair of leggings up your legs and slip into the hoodie you’d abandoned on the floor last night, leaving the hood up from where it catches on your haphazard bun.
The sight of Ashton, fully awake, sitting at the bar with his arms crossed in front surprises you. What doesn’t, though, is your mother. She’s always been an early riser, always up at the break of dawn for Fajr before she’s out the door, and Ramadan is no exception. She’s up and dressed, her hijab pinned neatly around her face and already kneading dough against the countertops. No doubt she’s awake to make food for suhoor but you still pause at the landing to the stairs, confused.
She’s smiling across the counter at your boyfriend before gesturing at the dough beneath her hands. Ashton looks surprised for a moment, hazel eyes gone wide before he pretends to look around in confusion, like he can’t believe she’s talking to him.
You’re close enough that you can hear their conversation when “I don’t want to ruin it!” slips past Ashton’s lips.
“Come here, I’ll show you.” She reaches over, tugs on the hem of his sleeve and pulls him around the counter. Ashton slides up beside her, towering over your tiny mother like the true Australian giant that he is.