It was a glorious fall day, just warm enough that a light sweater could keep you comfortable. I was sitting in a cafe in my Montreal suburb with a novel, a croissant and a coffee. Two hours of freedom stretched before me until I needed to pick up my baby from daycare. I took a sip of my coffee and opened my book slowly, deliciously.
Ten minutes later, I looked up to find an older lady coming toward me. She was maybe fifty, well put together in slacks and a shawl, expensive sunglasses propped on her coiffed hair. I smiled, and she smiled back before stopping in front of my table.
“Beautiful day,” she started.
“Yes, absolutely,” I agreed.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I replied. The answer is always sure. I’ve been a minority my whole life; I’ve been wearing hijab since I was eleven ...