A young woman runs through the streets, anxiously glancing behind herself every few feet. There's no one there except an old man peddling bagels dipped in za'atar.

She clutches the folds of her dress, trying to keep herself from tripping on it. The long fabric of her dress wraps around her legs, slowing her down. Her hijab slips back, exposing her hair and loose pieces dangle in the wind. She ducks into an alleyway and pulls it back up as she tries to control her erratic breathing.

Her face, which was previously devoid of any emotion, drops. All of a sudden, she realizes the magnitude of what has transpired over the last few weeks. Her eyes fill up with tears and she breaks down, sobbing as she crumbles onto the cold ground.

I was five when my brother, Altair, plopped me on the handlebars of his bike to get us both to school and told me to hold on tight. Partway there, I let go with one hand and promptly tumbled off. We weren’t going quickly so all I got to show for it were a few scrapes on my elbows, but Altair still stopped the bike and picked me up. “Dove, are you okay?” Dove was his pet name for me and he rarely called me anything else.

He smiled and I could see the warmth in his eyes. I felt loved and safe, and my little cuts didn’t seem so bad. I nodded and we rode to school, with me in his lap.

I remember my eleventh birthday. Laughter filled our small house. My brother, my protector, presented me with a few small gifts. That year, Altair gave me a tea set. I remember asking him why he had given it to me; I had never wanted one. He smiled and shrugged, telling me that a friend of his thought it would be a good gift. It wasn't until a few years later that I understood the significance of this.

Two years later, I was walking home from school when some boys started throwing rocks. They were calling me a terrorist, saying that because I wore a hijab, my family and I were murderers. Altair, who was coming to meet me, overheard them. He started yelling at the boys, cursing them and threatening to hurt them if they ever talked to me again. He punched the leader in the face and then walked me home. He later told me that he had to protect me and teach them not to mess with him. It was the first time he truly scared me, and the first time he truly showed his temper.

Altair changed after going to University. He became cold, silent, and brooding. He never spoke to me or teased me like he once did. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen. The only times he spoke, he would rant about how it wasn't our fault that people thought all Muslims are terrorists. He would say that they are the real terrorists.

My parents tried to tell him that the problem was just misunderstanding. People are quick to judge, but retaliating only proves them right. Altair would shake his head and then quote his friends, teachers, or the Qur'an. Everything that came out of his mouth started with "I heard" or "___ said". Nothing was his own thought and it scared me.

For the first time, I was wiser than Altair. I knew that he wasn't going to change the world or make people understand. He would never be known, as he hoped, for exposing people to the truth. Because he was a pawn. And the chess players were moving him. And he never realized it. My parents hoped that this was just a passing phase, but I saw that it was different. Altair couldn't ever return to the person he was before.

Everything came to a head three weeks ago. Altair was talking constantly about something big that was going to happen, and how the world would see who was right. The seedy little store over on the corner would just be a symbol for what was to come.

My father put everything together and told an authority, hoping to stop anything before it happened. Trying to protect my brother from himself. What he didn't know was that my brother had followed him and heard everything. Altair told my father that he was the problem. His friends had shown him that we must fight back. Altair never let my father explain that all he wanted was to prevent innocent civilians from being killed. He never had a chance to scream, never had a chance to say goodbye.

Altair saw my father as a traitor to our family and to Allah. My father saw denouncing violence as his duty, his way to be a loyal follower of the Qu'ran.

Altair told us that he had found our father lying on the pavement, with his throat slit. He had always been a good liar and my mother believed his story, protecting herself from the fact that her child could murder his father. But I saw right through him. And he knew it, too.

After the funeral, he shoved me into a car and started driving. I tried to protest and reason, asking him how he could do this to our father. He just sent me a twisted smile, "Hanifa, I'm trying to help you by showing you the truth. Who the real heroes are.”

He was still my brother in blood, but his eyes conveyed no sign of warmth. I could no longer recognize him as the brother that I had grown up with.

He brought me to a concrete labyrinth of buildings. Two men threw me into a small cell and closed the door. For weeks, I got only a crust of bread and a cup of water to sustain me, but finally one of the men came back again.

"Who else is against our cause?" He screamed at me.

"What?" I asked, unaware of what was truly going on or how I could be of any help. I soon realized that I wouldn’t be any help. I, too, like my brother, was just a pawn. Someone to use as a game, practicing for someone with real value. But that didn’t mean that they would let me off easy. I was still their enemy.

"Who wants to stop us from fulfilling Allah's orders? Who?" I felt the man's hot breath against the back of my neck as I shivered involuntarily.

“I don't know.” Because the truth is, everyone I know thinks that they are fulfilling Allah's orders. Everyone thinks that whatever they are doing is right.

"Your father was against us. Now who else? Who wants to help those dirty Westerners? And this is the last time that I will ask nicely. If you answer, we will let you go. If not, well..." He smiles slightly, but it only makes me sick.

"I don't know," I repeated.

Obviously my answer didn’t satisfy the man because he punched me across the face, sending me, and the chair that I was tied to, toppling. After I pulled myself up, he repeated the questioning over and over, never relenting. I tried to remember what my parents would always tell me when people called us terrorists. They would tell me that the only people who are terrorists are the ones who kill innocent people. Not all Muslims are terrorists, and not all terrorists are Muslim. I had to be strong, for them.

But I didn't know how much longer I could stand it. Looking back, I’m not sure how I ever did. My skin was on fire as a knife entered my flesh over and over. I bit my lip, but that only drew more blood.

I couldn't stand it any more, "You!" I screamed. "You are the ones who are against the teachings of the Qu'ran!"

The man reacted quickly, slapping my face before I can say any more. He took off his belt agonizingly slowly. When it was off, he smirked at me, "Wrong answer."
His belt slapped across my skin and I screamed. Tears were falling down my face as I screamed for help. He laughed, a frightening laugh that scared me more than his yells ever could, "You won't be getting any help in here."

"Altair!" I yelled as loudly as I could. I knew what he'd done, but he was my last hope. "Please, Altair!" I got no reply. The only sound I heard was my own breathing, heavy as I tried to choke back sobs.

I was forced onto my knees as the leather sliced my back. Finally, the man threw the belt onto the ground, "This b**** isn't worth it. Altair! Get her out of here!"
My brother came immediately and his obedience to them is more painful than anything else they could ever do to me.

He tossed me out onto the street, telling me it was for my own good. My whole body hurt, but still, I ran. I couldn’t stay for another moment. I had to leave and never go back. Because I was a captured pawn, useless but expendable. And they got their wish; make the enemy doubt themselves and they will no longer be your enemy.

I sink to the ground and cry, not knowing how I got here or how to keep going.