It was Tuesday. Day four of Ramadan, day two of my period. My pelvic pain was unbearable and I was about to both cry because of the podcast I was listening to and shout at this guy whose rucksack kept touching me.
Commute aside, indoors with no one invading my personal space, I was asked how I’d been finding fasting.
“Oh I’m not fasting this week,” I said hesitantly, knowing what was about to happen.