My anklet wants to be seen.

Some nights I wrap my hijab close, the hijab hugging my shape, and I make sure it falls just enough for the anklet to be visible when I move. I think about standing in a crowded place, my eyes on nothing in particular, while a hand slips beneath the cloth and finds the warm skin above my knee. The fingers would move slowly, pressing and exploring as if they have all the time in the world, making it impossible for me to take a deep breath. I would keep my head still, my lashes low, and let the moment stretch, feeling my heartbeat rise with every inch taken. The anklet would sway and catch the light, each small movement giving away what my face refuses to admit. Every stroke would make my legs tense and part just enough to let the touch deepen without anyone else noticing. The noise of the crowd would fade into nothing, replaced by the deep stillness inside my body as I focus only on what’s happening under the hijab. I would move in the smallest ways, just enough for the anklet to move again, its sound our shared secret in the middle of so many strangers. No one would see the way my toes curl inside the thin heels, or how my fingers close tightly around the strap of my bag to stop myself from moving too much. I would feel hidden and exposed at the same time, knowing the anklet was telling the truth I wouldn’t dare to speak. These thoughts stay with me long after the moment ends, pulsing against the silence of the night when I am alone again. And when I can’t keep them inside anymore, I write them, so the ones who want to feel them with me will always know where to find me.