exclaimer; THIS IS NOT OFFENSIVE TO MUSLIMS! please do not judge this by reading the first few lines! this is a very important part of the story and does not convey my beliefs, or the beliefs of anyone i know concerning muslims. If anything in here is extremely offensive to you personally, please message me and i can change it. Do not hate. 

Min guided Letha towards a cushion, smiling at her brightly. Mickey cast them a concerned look but Letha saw him and scowled. He ducked out the door with a shrug: it wasn't Letha he was worried about. Collapsing on the opposite cushion, Min took a breath.

"So," she began, watching Letha hesitantly perch on the pillow. "How long have you and Mickey been friends?"

"We're not."

Min frowned, glancing quickly to the door before meeting Letha's eyes again. "Then what are you doing here?"

Because Letha didn't have an answer to that, she looked min up and down slowly. Something about the hijab, long sleeves and earnest smile turned her stomach.

"I don't like Muslims." She said suddenly, cocking her head to the side. Min looked like she had been slapped.

"Excuse me?" She stammered, continuing before Letha could repeat her confession and lunging to her feet. "What: you think we're all terrorists or something? We're going to blow you up?"

Her other customers, who had risen to put on their jumpers, looked at her sharply.

"Please come again soon," she said to them, and they hurried to the door.

A cold breeze wafted through, and Letha ground her teeth to stop from shivering. Min dragged her eyes back to her and she raised her chin.

As the woman opened her mouth to yell at Letha again, she interrupted her.

"I don't think you're a terrorist," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "So calm down."

Her mouth snapped shut with a clack, and Letha smirked. "Much better."

"So what?" Min demanded, still frowning, "you think my religion makes me inferior to men? Or to you?"

Letha snorted, brushing hair out of her face. She leaned back on her hands and raised a brow.

"I don't give a damn who you're inferior to," she said, watching Min's expression. The woman was bemused. "You make your own worth and I couldn't care less."

Exhausted, Min sunk back onto her cushion, catching her head in her hands. "Then what? What other problem could you possibly have with Islam?" She demanded.

Her face scrunching as if there was a bad smell in the air, Letha grunted, looking away. "You're so...devout." She complained.

Very slowly, Min raised her eyes. She stared at the red head in front of her, trying to see whatever it was Mickey saw. Letha was pretty enough, or she could be if she ever smiled, and she was obviously a smart ass.

"You don't like Islam," Min said softly, "because you think we're to devout?"

She nodded tersely.

Min's smile returned, and she folded her arms across her chest. "I don't think that's true. Like all religions we have people who practise regularly and others who are lax."

"But unlike other religions," Letha choked on the word, sneering, "you constantly demonstrate your beliefs with the..." She gestured to the head scarf.

"It's not a..." Min took a breath, questing around the room for inspiration. She found none. "I grew up knowing this is what I wanted to do. It doesn't seem like a huge demonstration or anything because I've always been around women who wear the hijab. It shoes my faith, but it isn't a wearisome task."

"Wearisome task?" Letha muttered, continuing before Min could voice her glare. "So because you grew up thinking it was what was done, 'the norm', it doesn't seem different to you."

"Exactly," Min nodded, pleased.

Letha leant forward, her gaze fierce and fixed on the other woman's. "Even though you're surrounded by non-Muslims who act differently to you? People with... Hair?"

Min snorted. "I have hair..." She complained.

"Stay on topic," Letha snapped, clicking her fingers.

"Even still," She agreed sharply, frowning, "it's what I grew up believing in."

With that, Min stood, fisting her hands on her hips. "Now that the grand inquisition is over, I'm starving. Would you like some food?" She didn't wait for a reply, and Letha had to scramble to her feet and chase after her. The door she swept through led to a simple kitchen with a shockingly bright yellow bench top. Letha winced and raised a hand to protect her eyes.

"Which means..." She continued, but Min ignored her, approaching a man Letha hadn't noticed. She watched him now, frowning.

He was tall, wearing a frilly pink apron and towering over a stove. The seriously outgunned eggs were frying and flipping obediently in the pan at the direction of his spoon.

"How's it coming, Al?" Min asked.

The man threw his head to the side, grinning at her before shaking his head. "You're going to steal my rice now, aren't you?" He asked with a heavy sigh.

He saw Letha and smiled again. "Oh, hi!" He chirped, wiping a hand on his apron and offering it for Letha to shake. "I'm Al."

I'm response, Letha grunted, turning away deliberately to study a wall hanging. It was written in Arabic, but Letha preferred pretending to be interested in an inanimate object to pretending to be interested in Al.

Min rolled her eyes and stage whispered to her chef; "Letha doesn't like Muslims."

He froze for a second, but blinked her explanation off. "just take my rice," he urged, flipping the pan, "you're ruining my eggs."

"Thank you," Min sang. Wrapping both hands around the pot beside and swinging it down off the bench. She waddled over to a table set against the far wall and Letha trailed behind ignoring the curious glance Al sent her over his shoulder.

"Grab me a plate from under there, would you?" Min ordered Letha, pointing to a shelf in the corner.

Obediently, but not without a heavy sigh, Letha trudged over and returned in time for Min to heap several spoonful’s of rice on top. She pushed it at Letha.

"Eat."

She raised a brow at the food, flinching away. "I'm not hungry."

"Nonsense," Min scolded, grabbing a spoon from a draw and digging into the pot. "It's Turkish food."

Letha perched on a stool. They were against the wall opposite the door to the restaurant. It looked as if Al and Min ate here daily from the comfortable stools and hazardously thrown magazines. There was a half-finished crossword that Letha flicked away delicately.

"So?"

Min's next mouthful stopped halfway to her mouth. "'So'?," she hissed, "Turkey is the country of food."

Letha snorted. "I thought that was Italy?"

"Eh," Min shrugged, "they just get flour and eggs and throw some cheese and a vowel on at the end: linguini, lasagne, penne. But Turkish food... Eat some of that and you'll understand."

Letha pushed the bowl away instead. "So what someone grows up believing in can be right even if it's wrong?"

Min's head jerked up. "Excuse me?"

"Wrong to the rest of the world," Letha amended.

"Different to the rest of the world." Min said, rubbing her face. "I can't believe we're still on this."

She leant forward, meeting Letha's eyes with determination. "What do you really want to know, Letha?"

Letha took a breath, raking her curls away from her face.

"Do you think that what people grow up thinking is normal determines how they act for the rest of their lives?"

Min opened her mouth, but Letha raised a hand. "Yes or no?"

The woman took another mouthful of rice, chewing slowly and studying her meal. Eventually, she nodded. "Yeah, I think it has an effect."

For a second, Letha looked broken, but then she slouched back in her stool with a sneer. "Tell him that would you?" She said, jerking her head at the door.

Min made a noise, dropping her spoon into her bowl. "I guess that's not an answer Mickey could survive being true. If he's his past, then he hates himself."

Letha looked away, studying the floor tiles.

"Do you want him to hate himself?" Min asked sharply, biting her nail with a frown. Letha didn't look up. "Or do you want to give him a reason to hate you?"

The girls eyes flicked up to min's and the woman nodded softly. She quite literally dusted her hands of the matter. "Either way, I'm done with this topic." She pushed her sleeve back, glancing at her watch, and frowned again. "I wonder where he's gotten to." She slipped off her seat and walked over to the door. "I'll be back in a second. Eat your rice."

Letha let her head collapse into her hands, knotting her fingers in her hair. A pair of feet appeared on the floor beneath her.

"Are you ok?" Al asked.

"You know," she said, "that's the most rhetorical question ever asked. You don't want me to say I'm not good, you want me to agree whole heartedly that I'm wonderful. The question demands a smile, perhaps a laugh, and at least a 'thank you for asking'. If I say 'I'm horrible' or 'I'm terrible' you'll have an apoplexy. You're more than likely to reply with 'that's good' regardless of what I say, just because that's the answer the question expects.

"So, as I'd hate to be a disappointment, I'm ok. Thanks for asking."

Al rubbed his jaw. "You're a strange girl, Letha."

"I've been called worse."

"I'll bet you have." Still looking a bit dumbstruck, Al reached around her head to grab his crossword. "I'll just..."

He walked back to his stove where a large bowl of soup was simmering and leant back against the counter. Letha was still hunched at her stool and he sent her a concerned look. "If you want to do something, take your mind off things, you can come stir this for me. Working since 6 makes me a bit lazy. Do you cook?"

He didn't finish the question before Letha was on her feet. "I don't help people." She said stiffly, smoothing the hem of her shirt against her thigh. "I'd say thank you, but I'm not thankful you tried to wrangle me into manual labour."

Biting the inside do his cheek to keep from grinning, Al grabbed the spoon and stirred his soup. "Of course. Well, it was a pleasure, an interesting one at that, to meet you Letha."

Letha turned abruptly and walked away. "I'd say the same, but..."

"But it wasn't a pleasure. I know." Al watched her shoulder through the kitchen doors.

Just before she was gone, Letha turned back, smiling in a way that had Al's stomach turning.

"The serpent, the spirit of evil," she murmured.

Al gulped. "Excuse me?"

Letha dragged her eyes up to meet his, her expression flat. "'Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav'n'. Question Four down, five letters."

He looked at the crossword in his hands quickly.

"Satan."Min guided Letha towards a cushion, smiling at her brightly. Mickey cast them a concerned look but Letha saw him and scowled. He ducked out the door with a shrug: it wasn't Letha he was worried about. Collapsing on the opposite cushion, Min took a breath.

"So," she began, watching Letha hesitantly perch on the pillow. "How long have you and Mickey been friends?"

"We're not."

Min frowned, glancing quickly to the door before meeting Letha's eyes again. "Then what are you doing here?"

Because Letha didn't have an answer to that, she looked min up and down slowly. Something about the hijab, long sleeves and earnest smile turned her stomach.

"I don't like Muslims." She said suddenly, cocking her head to the side. Min looked like she had been slapped.

"Excuse me?" She stammered, continuing before Letha could repeat her confession and lunging to her feet. "What: you think we're all terrorists or something? We're going to blow you up?"

Her other customers, who had risen to put on their jumpers, looked at her sharply.

"Please come again soon," she said to them, and they hurried to the door.

A cold breeze wafted through, and Letha ground her teeth to stop from shivering. Min dragged her eyes back to her and she raised her chin.

As the woman opened her mouth to yell at Letha again, she interrupted her.

"I don't think you're a terrorist," she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "So calm down."

Her mouth snapped shut with a clack, and Letha smirked. "Much better."

"So what?" Min demanded, still frowning, "you think my religion makes me inferior to men? Or to you?"

Letha snorted, brushing hair out of her face. She leaned back on her hands and raised a brow.

"I don't give a damn who you're inferior to," she said, watching Min's expression. The woman was bemused. "You make your own worth and I couldn't care less."

Exhausted, Min sunk back onto her cushion, catching her head in her hands. "Then what? What other problem could you possibly have with Islam?" She demanded.

Her face scrunching as if there was a bad smell in the air, Letha grunted, looking away. "You're so...devout." She complained.

Very slowly, Min raised her eyes. She stared at the red head in front of her, trying to see whatever it was Mickey saw. Letha was pretty enough, or she could be if she ever smiled, and she was obviously a smart ass.

"You don't like Islam," Min said softly, "because you think we're to devout?"

She nodded tersely.

Min's smile returned, and she folded her arms across her chest. "I don't think that's true. Like all religions we have people who practise regularly and others who are lax."

"But unlike other religions," Letha choked on the word, sneering, "you constantly demonstrate your beliefs with the..." She gestured to the head scarf.

"It's not a..." Min took a breath, questing around the room for inspiration. She found none. "I grew up knowing this is what I wanted to do. It doesn't seem like a huge demonstration or anything because I've always been around women who wear the hijab. It shoes my faith, but it isn't a wearisome task."

"Wearisome task?" Letha muttered, continuing before Min could voice her glare. "So because you grew up thinking it was what was done, 'the norm', it doesn't seem different to you."

"Exactly," Min nodded, pleased.

Letha leant forward, her gaze fierce and fixed on the other woman's. "Even though you're surrounded by non-Muslims who act differently to you? People with... Hair?"

Min snorted. "I have hair..." She complained.

"Stay on topic," Letha snapped, clicking her fingers.

"Even still," She agreed sharply, frowning, "it's what I grew up believing in."

With that, Min stood, fisting her hands on her hips. "Now that the grand inquisition is over, I'm starving. Would you like some food?" She didn't wait for a reply, and Letha had to scramble to her feet and chase after her. The door she swept through led to a simple kitchen with a shockingly bright yellow bench top. Letha winced and raised a hand to protect her eyes.

"Which means..." She continued, but Min ignored her, approaching a man Letha hadn't noticed. She watched him now, frowning.

He was tall, wearing a frilly pink apron and towering over a stove. The seriously outgunned eggs were frying and flipping obediently in the pan at the direction of his spoon.

"How's it coming, Al?" Min asked.

The man threw his head to the side, grinning at her before shaking his head. "You're going to steal my rice now, aren't you?" He asked with a heavy sigh.

He saw Letha and smiled again. "Oh, hi!" He chirped, wiping a hand on his apron and offering it for Letha to shake. "I'm Al."

I'm response, Letha grunted, turning away deliberately to study a wall hanging. It was written in Arabic, but Letha preferred pretending to be interested in an inanimate object to pretending to be interested in Al.

Min rolled her eyes and stage whispered to her chef; "Letha doesn't like Muslims."

He froze for a second, but blinked her explanation off. "just take my rice," he urged, flipping the pan, "you're ruining my eggs."

"Thank you," Min sang. Wrapping both hands around the pot beside and swinging it down off the bench. She waddled over to a table set against the far wall and Letha trailed behind ignoring the curious glance Al sent her over his shoulder.

"Grab me a plate from under there, would you?" Min ordered Letha, pointing to a shelf in the corner.

Obediently, but not without a heavy sigh, Letha trudged over and returned in time for Min to heap several spoonful’s of rice on top. She pushed it at Letha.

"Eat."

She raised a brow at the food, flinching away. "I'm not hungry."

"Nonsense," Min scolded, grabbing a spoon from a draw and digging into the pot. "It's Turkish food."

Letha perched on a stool. They were against the wall opposite the door to the restaurant. It looked as if Al and Min ate here daily from the comfortable stools and hazardously thrown magazines. There was a half-finished crossword that Letha flicked away delicately.

"So?"

Min's next mouthful stopped halfway to her mouth. "'So'?," she hissed, "Turkey is the country of food."

Letha snorted. "I thought that was Italy?"

"Eh," Min shrugged, "they just get flour and eggs and throw some cheese and a vowel on at the end: linguini, lasagne, penne. But Turkish food... Eat some of that and you'll understand."

Letha pushed the bowl away instead. "So what someone grows up believing in can be right even if it's wrong?"

Min's head jerked up. "Excuse me?"

"Wrong to the rest of the world," Letha amended.

"Different to the rest of the world." Min said, rubbing her face. "I can't believe we're still on this."

She leant forward, meeting Letha's eyes with determination. "What do you really want to know, Letha?"

Letha took a breath, raking her curls away from her face.

"Do you think that what people grow up thinking is normal determines how they act for the rest of their lives?"

Min opened her mouth, but Letha raised a hand. "Yes or no?"

The woman took another mouthful of rice, chewing slowly and studying her meal. Eventually, she nodded. "Yeah, I think it has an effect."

For a second, Letha looked broken, but then she slouched back in her stool with a sneer. "Tell him that would you?" She said, jerking her head at the door.

Min made a noise, dropping her spoon into her bowl. "I guess that's not an answer Mickey could survive being true. If he's his past, then he hates himself."

Letha looked away, studying the floor tiles.

"Do you want him to hate himself?" Min asked sharply, biting her nail with a frown. Letha didn't look up. "Or do you want to give him a reason to hate you?"

The girls eyes flicked up to min's and the woman nodded softly. She quite literally dusted her hands of the matter. "Either way, I'm done with this topic." She pushed her sleeve back, glancing at her watch, and frowned again. "I wonder where he's gotten to." She slipped off her seat and walked over to the door. "I'll be back in a second. Eat your rice."

Letha let her head collapse into her hands, knotting her fingers in her hair. A pair of feet appeared on the floor beneath her.

"Are you ok?" Al asked.

"You know," she said, "that's the most rhetorical question ever asked. You don't want me to say I'm not good, you want me to agree whole heartedly that I'm wonderful. The question demands a smile, perhaps a laugh, and at least a 'thank you for asking'. If I say 'I'm horrible' or 'I'm terrible' you'll have an apoplexy. You're more than likely to reply with 'that's good' regardless of what I say, just because that's the answer the question expects.

"So, as I'd hate to be a disappointment, I'm ok. Thanks for asking."

Al rubbed his jaw. "You're a strange girl, Letha."

"I've been called worse."

"I'll bet you have." Still looking a bit dumbstruck, Al reached around her head to grab his crossword. "I'll just..."

He walked back to his stove where a large bowl of soup was simmering and leant back against the counter. Letha was still hunched at her stool and he sent her a concerned look. "If you want to do something, take your mind off things, you can come stir this for me. Working since 6 makes me a bit lazy. Do you cook?"

He didn't finish the question before Letha was on her feet. "I don't help people." She said stiffly, smoothing the hem of her shirt against her thigh. "I'd say thank you, but I'm not thankful you tried to wrangle me into manual labour."

Biting the inside do his cheek to keep from grinning, Al grabbed the spoon and stirred his soup. "Of course. Well, it was a pleasure, an interesting one at that, to meet you Letha."

Letha turned abruptly and walked away. "I'd say the same, but..."

"But it wasn't a pleasure. I know." Al watched her shoulder through the kitchen doors.

Just before she was gone, Letha turned back, smiling in a way that had Al's stomach turning.

"The serpent, the spirit of evil," she murmured.

Al gulped. "Excuse me?"

Letha dragged her eyes up to meet his, her expression flat. "'Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav'n'. Question Four down, five letters."

He looked at the crossword in his hands quickly.

"Satan."