Both of us are more on the non-practicing side when it comes to being Muslim, even though we both firmly believe in Allah. It’s natural for us to say words like inshallah and hold true to the meaning behind it—to believe that Allah is the one who wills things into existence—even if we aren’t as religious when it comes to other things.

I know a lot of it has to do with my specific experience growing up as a child of diaspora and my fraying relationship with my parents. I have the utmost respect for those who have a better and healthier relationship with their religion and culture, but I’m not there yet. Maybe I never will be.

But I hope that isn’t the case.

When I leave this city behind, there will be infinite room for me to figure myself out. I just have to wait until then.

By the time we get back to the counter, Nazifa has already prepared both our breakfast orders. I slide her the money and pass Anam her bagel, which she takes eagerly.

“I’ll see you guys this weekend at my mom’s party, right?” Nazifa asks, absently playing with a loose thread in her hijab.

I salute her with my croissant, some of the heaviness in my chest easing. “Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Can’t wait!” Anam says, waving cheerfully as the door shuts behind us.

When we get to the subway station, there are two other kids from our school waiting there already. I don’t know either of them that well since they’re freshmen, but I nod anyway before turning back to Anam.

“Are we still on for our movie marathon tonight?” I ask, mentally working out what time I need to be home by. Some days I test my parents’ patience more than others, but considering this morning’s events, it might not be worth pushing my luck today. “Or do you have too much homework?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m going to do my homework before Sunday night,” Anam says, biting off a piece of her bagel. Through a mouthful of mush, she adds, “Yes, we’re still on.”

For one painful, heart-stopping moment, I remember I’m going to leave this behind if I go to California. Mornings with my sister will be a thing of the past.

Then I shove that thought away. My future is at stake—I can handle a sacrifice or two.

“I’ll come home straight after film club,” I say, smiling thinly as I wipe some cream cheese off Anam’s chin.

She offers me a thumbs-up. “Sounds like a plan. Don’t be late.”

I give her a sidelong look as the R train pulls up. “When have I ever been late?”

2

There are three things that people applying for the Golden Ivy student film competition should know.

One: film transitions can make or break you.