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[Mini Story] Muscles & Modesty pt. 4

Published: March 10th 2025, 9:04:00 am

Hi Hi ✨

Sorry for the small delay, just finishing the last touches for this part 4 of the Muscles & Modesty series. I decided to continue writing this story, so we. might have more parts coming up, I will try not to delay them as much as this one 😅. This is a setup part, introducing a new scene, characters and setting up part 5. I hope you like it and as always, continuation ideas are very welcomed! Enjoy 15 FREE images that go with this part of the story, meet all the cast ;)

Here is part 3.

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Muscles & Modesty pt. 4

The letter from Karima lay on the coffee table, its contents echoing in the silence that had fallen over the room. Amira traced her finger over the handwriting, remembering her friend's delicate script that now seemed at odds with what she must have become.

"A new world is coming," Rashid repeated Karima's words softly, breaking the silence. "What do you think she means by that?"

Fatima shifted in her reinforced chair, the wood creaking under her 550-pound frame. "It sounds like they're organized, doesn't it? Not just hiding, but actually... doing something."

Amira nodded, her thoughts racing. "Sanctuary and purpose," she murmured. "Both sound appealing right now."

Rashid ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he'd been making more frequently since their lives had been upended. "It's an enormous risk. Leaving everything behind on the word of a letter."

"What choice do we have?" Amira asked, leaning forward. The movement caused her massive thighs to spread across the specially reinforced couch. "We can't live like this forever, Rashid. In constant fear, the boys walking on eggshells in their own home."

The decision wasn't made that night, nor the next. But over the following days, the idea took root, growing stronger with each news report of Amazon "containment," each suspicious glance from neighbors, each moment of confinement within their increasingly claustrophobic home.

One week after receiving Karima's letter, they made contact through the encrypted messaging service she'd provided. Three days later, under cover of darkness, they loaded their essential belongings into Rashid's delivery van and left behind the only home Nasir and Malik had ever known.

The journey was arduous. Amira and Fatima cramped in the back of the van, hidden under tarps whenever they stopped, the boys alternating between excitement and tearful silence, and Rashid vigilant at every checkpoint and border crossing. They traveled for days, heading into increasingly remote regions, until finally, their guide—a silent, stern-faced man named Omar—gestured for them to stop.

"We walk from here," he said, the first words he'd spoken in hours.

"Walk?" Malik asked, looking dubiously at the wild, mountainous terrain ahead. "Through that?"

Omar nodded. "The village cannot be reached by vehicle. It is part of our security."

As they gathered their belongings, Rashid approached Amira, concern etched on his face. "Habibi, are you sure you can manage this terrain? You and Fatima... your size..."

Amira smiled, placing a massive hand gently on her husband's shoulder. "Rashid, my love, I think you're forgetting something." With casual ease, she reached into the van and lifted out a crate that had taken three men to load. "We're not exactly fragile anymore."

The trek took hours, winding through narrow passes and dense woods. Amira and Fatima surprised themselves with their endurance, their powerful legs making short work of the steep inclines. By mid-afternoon, they crested a ridge and Omar pointed to the valley below.

"There," he said simply. "Qanat Jadid. The New Channel."

Stretched before them was a sight that took their breath away. A village, larger than they'd expected, nestled between protective mountain slopes. But what made Amira's heart skip a beat wasn't the village itself, but the people moving through it. Even from this distance, she could see them—women of extraordinary height and build, moving freely, without hiding or shame.

"There are so many," Fatima whispered, her voice filled with wonder.

Omar nodded. "Over three hundred now, with more arriving each month. Plus their families."

As they descended into the valley, Amira felt a strange sensation—something between fear and homecoming. When they reached the outskirts of the village, a crowd began to gather. Women of various heights and builds, from merely tall to truly gigantic, accompanied by men and children of normal size, came to greet the newcomers.

And then, pushing through the crowd, came a familiar figure.

"Karima!" Amira cried out, tears springing to her eyes.

Her old friend had changed dramatically. Gone was the relative slightness Amira had glimpsed in the early stages of her transformation. Now Karima stood nearly 7'5", her powerful frame wrapped in a colorful, loose-fitting garment that seemed designed specifically for her new proportions.

"You came," Karima said, her face split in a wide grin. "I knew you would."

The reunion was emotional, filled with tears and laughter. As the crowd dispersed, Karima led them to a cluster of houses on the eastern edge of the village.

"These will be yours," she explained. "They're designed for families like yours—with special accommodations."

The houses were unlike anything they'd seen before. Doorways were tall and wide, furniture was reinforced, and ceilings soared overhead. It was a space built for giants.

"It's... perfect," Amira breathed, running her hand along a countertop that was actually at a comfortable height for her.

"How is this possible?" Rashid asked, taking in the specialized construction.

Karima smiled. "We have many skills among us now. Engineers, architects, craftspeople. When the world turned its back on us, we learned to build our own."

As they settled in, the enormity of what they'd done began to sink in. They had left behind their old lives entirely, leaping into an unknown future. But as Amira watched Nasir excitedly exploring their new home and even Malik looking around with cautious interest, she felt a flicker of hope.

That evening, after the boys had gone to bed, exhausted from the journey, Karima sat with Amira, Fatima, and Rashid, explaining more about their new home.

"Qanat Jadid was founded almost a year ago," she told them. "At first, it was just a handful of us, seeking refuge from the persecutions. But word spread, and soon more came."

"How do you remain hidden?" Rashid asked.

"Multiple layers of security. Lookouts, early warning systems, and the natural protection of the mountains. Plus," she added with a smile, "no one expects to find a village of Amazons out here in the middle of nowhere."

"And everyone here... they're all like us?" Fatima asked, gesturing to her massive frame.

"Most of the women, yes. Though there's quite a range of sizes and types. You two are actually on the larger end of the spectrum," Karima noted, glancing between Amira and Fatima. "We've found that final sizes seem to vary based on genetic factors, though we're not entirely sure why."

"What about the virus?" Amira asked. "Is it still spreading?"

Karima's expression grew serious. "Yes, but more slowly now. We're careful about contact with the outside world. And we've learned that the virus only seems to transfer through direct contact in the active phase—which lasts about a month after transformation begins."

The conversation stretched late into the night, covering everything from daily life in the village to the broader implications of their condition. By the time they retired to bed, Amira's head was spinning with new information.

In the days that followed, they began to adjust to life in Qanat Jadid. Rashid found his skills as a businessman valued in helping organize trade with carefully vetted outside contacts. The boys were enrolled in the village school, where they studied alongside the children of other Amazon families.

And Amira and Fatima? They discovered a freedom they hadn't known since before their transformations. Here, they could move without stooping, speak without whispering, exist without hiding.

About two weeks after their arrival, Amira was hanging laundry in the yard when she noticed Malik returning from school, accompanied by a girl she hadn't seen before. The girl was tall—perhaps 6'2"—but slender, with just the beginnings of muscular definition visible in her arms.

"Mama," Malik called out, his voice tinged with an unusual nervousness. "This is Zahra. She's in my mathematics class."

Amira smiled warmly, trying not to embarrass her son with too much enthusiasm over this first friendship. "Welcome, Zahra. It's lovely to meet you."

The girl smiled shyly, her eyes darting briefly to Amira's massive frame with something like admiration rather than fear.

"Zahra was wondering if I could help her with some problems," Malik explained. "Is it okay if we study at the kitchen table?"

"Of course," Amira replied, fighting to keep her expression neutral despite her surprise and delight at this development.

Over the next few days, Zahra became a regular visitor. Amira noticed how Malik's demeanor changed around the girl—less sullen, more animated. She also couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in Zahra's physique each time she visited. A bit more definition in her shoulders, a slightly thicker neck, the hint of veins beginning to appear on her forearms.

One afternoon, as Amira was preparing dinner, she overheard Malik and Zahra talking in the living room.

"So it happened to your mother too?" Zahra was asking. "Did she... I mean, was it scary? Watching her change?"

There was a pause before Malik replied. "At first, yeah. It was terrifying. She didn't look like my mother anymore. And I was angry about it for a long time."

"But now?"

Another pause. "Now I think maybe I was wrong. She's still my mom, just... different. Stronger. And I'm starting to think that might not be such a bad thing."

Amira felt tears prick her eyes, the knife in her hand suddenly trembling. Her son's acceptance, after so much resistance, felt like a precious gift.

Later that week, Fatima burst into Amira's house, her eyes wide with excitement. "Amira! You have to come quickly. There's someone you need to meet."

Curious, Amira followed her friend through the village to a large structure that served as a community center. Inside, a crowd had gathered around a speaker—a tall, distinguished-looking man with a salt-and-pepper beard and the flowing robes of a religious scholar.

"That's Sheikh Hakim," Fatima whispered. "He arrived yesterday. They say he's issued a fatwa declaring our condition as a divine blessing."

Amira's eyebrows shot up in surprise. A religious leader supporting them? It seemed too good to be true.

The Sheikh's voice was deep and resonant as he addressed the crowd. "For too long, our sisters have been persecuted, hidden away as though they were abominations. But I ask you this: would Allah create something without purpose? Would the Most Merciful bestow these changes without wisdom?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as he continued. "The Holy Quran tells us that Allah 'created man in the best design.' But perhaps, my friends, the design is not fixed. Perhaps it evolves as Allah's wisdom dictates. These women—these Amazons as they are called—represent not a deviation from Allah's plan, but an advancement of it."

The speech continued, weaving together theological arguments and compassionate reasoning. Amira found herself deeply moved, particularly when the Sheikh addressed the question of modesty.

"Some argue that these physical changes make proper hijab impossible," he said. "That such powerful bodies cannot be modest. But modesty, my friends, resides in the heart and in behavior. It is not nullified by muscle or height. These sisters remain the same believers they always were, deserving of the same dignity and respect."

After the speech, as the crowd began to disperse, Amira found herself approaching the Sheikh, drawn by a need to express her gratitude.

"Sheikh Hakim," she said, bowing her head respectfully. "Your words... they mean more than you know."

The elderly man smiled up at her, seemingly unintimidated by her towering presence. "Sister, it is simply the truth. I have studied this phenomenon extensively, spoken with many affected women. Your strength is a gift—perhaps one we do not yet fully understand, but a gift nonetheless."

"Not everyone shares your view," Amira said softly.

"Change frightens people," he replied with a sigh. "Always has, always will. But the tide is turning, slowly but surely. Communities like this one prove that a different way is possible."

As Amira walked home with Fatima, they discussed the Sheikh's message.

"Do you think he's right?" Fatima asked. "That this is really a divine blessing?"

Amira considered the question carefully. "I don't know. But I do know that for the first time since this all began, I don't feel ashamed of what I've become. And that feels like a blessing in itself."

The next morning, Amira was rummaging through the storage boxes they'd brought from home when she came across a carefully folded garment. Pulling it out, she realized it was her favorite dress from before—a beautiful blue abaya with delicate embroidery that Rashid had given her for their anniversary years ago.

On an impulse, she held it up against herself. The garment that had once flowed gracefully to the floor now looked like a child's dress compared to her massive frame. She would barely be able to fit one arm through its sleeve now.

"What's that?" Rashid's voice came from the doorway.

Amira turned, a rueful smile on her face. "Just an old dress. From before."

Rashid crossed the room, taking the garment from her hands and examining it. "I remember this. You looked so beautiful in it at Malik's seventh birthday."

"It's strange," Amira said softly. "Sometimes I forget how much I've changed until I see something like this."

Rashid was quiet for a moment, then said, "Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand up," he repeated. "And hold this in front of you."

Curious, Amira did as he asked, rising to her full 8'2" height and holding the dress against her body. Rashid took several steps back, his eyes traveling from the dress to Amira's face and back again.

"What do you see?" he asked.

Amira glanced down. "A dress that doesn't fit anymore. A reminder of what I've lost."

Rashid shook his head. "That's not what I see." He stepped forward again, taking her massive hand in his. "I see my wife, who has endured extraordinary changes with extraordinary grace. Who sacrificed normality to protect our family. Who remains, despite everything, the same woman I fell in love with."

Tears welled in Amira's eyes. "Rashid..."

"The dress doesn't fit," he continued. "But that doesn't diminish you. If anything, it shows how much more of you there is to love now."

The moment was interrupted by Nasir bouncing into the room, his face alight with excitement. "Mama! Baba! There's going to be a festival tonight! Can we go? Please?"

Rashid laughed, ruffling his son's hair. "I don't see why not. What do you think, habibi?"

Amira smiled, carefully folding the dress and placing it back in the box. "A festival sounds wonderful."

The festival was held in the village square, a celebration of their community's one-year anniversary. Tables groaned under the weight of food, music filled the air, and people of all sizes mingled freely.

As Amira and Fatima stood watching the dancing, they were approached by three women they hadn't met before. All were clearly Amazons, but with interesting variations in their physiques. One was nearly as tall as Amira but leaner, with a dancer's defined muscularity. Another was shorter—perhaps 7 feet—but incredibly broad, with massive shoulders and arms. The third was somewhere in between, with particularly pronounced leg development.

"You must be the newcomers," the dancer-like woman said, smiling warmly. "I'm Noor. These are my friends, Yasmin and Layla."

Introductions were made, and conversation flowed easily. Amira found herself fascinated by the diversity of their builds, evidence that the virus affected each woman slightly differently.

"I've never seen arms like yours," Amira commented to Yasmin, the broadest of the group.

Yasmin grinned, flexing a bicep that swelled impressively. "And I've never seen legs like yours. Those thighs are incredible!"

What followed was a good-natured comparison of their various physiques, each woman marveling at the others' development. There was no competition, only appreciation—a celebration of their shared condition in all its variations.

"You know what's funny?" Layla said as they compared the definition in their abdominal muscles. "Before all this, I used to be so self-conscious about my body. Always thinking I was too big, too muscular naturally. Now look at me!"

The others laughed in recognition. It was true—the virus had a way of putting previous insecurities into perspective.

As the evening progressed, Amira found herself drawn into a circle dance, her powerful legs easily keeping rhythm with the traditional music. Across the square, she spotted Malik sitting with Zahra, their heads bent close together in conversation.

When Rashid joined her for a slower dance, she nodded toward their elder son. "Have you noticed?"

Rashid followed her gaze and smiled. "Yes. It's good to see him opening up. She seems like a lovely girl."

"She's transforming," Amira said quietly. "It's still early stages, but it's happening."

Rashid considered this. "And how do you think Malik feels about that?"

"I think... I think he's finally making peace with all of this. With what happened to me, with this new life."

As they swayed together, Amira marveled at the journey that had brought them here—from fear and hiding to this place of acceptance and community. It wasn't perfect. There were still risks, still uncertainties about what the future held. But for the first time in months, the future didn't seem quite so frightening.

Later that night, as the festival wound down, Amira found herself sitting beside Sheikh Hakim, watching the last of the dancers.

"You have a beautiful community here," the Sheikh observed.

"We're still finding our way," Amira replied. "But yes, it is beautiful."

"The road ahead will not be easy," he said, his voice thoughtful. "The world is slow to accept change. But places like this, people like you—you are writing a new chapter in our history."

Amira thought about the letter that had brought them here, about Karima's words. A new world is coming, whether the old one likes it or not.

Looking around at the village—at the women of extraordinary strength dancing without shame, at the families rebuilding their lives on their own terms, at her son leaning tentatively toward his first crush—Amira felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

Hope.

Perhaps Karima was right. Perhaps a new world was indeed coming. And perhaps, just perhaps, it would be a better one than they had left behind.