Muslimah Next Door { Editing }

{ 9 } Mohammed?

{ Saabira }

"But Ayan, I have to tell you something," I say, looking up at her.

"Oh. Okay, go ahead," she encourages.

Silence.

"I might accept a marriage proposal," I say, shy.

"WAIT, WHAT? WHEN? HOW? WHO? TELL ME ALL THE DETAILS!" Ayan yells.

"Umm... Well... Mohammed is his name. Apparently, him and I were childhood besties. I'm not sure if I'm actually going to accept it or not. Also, I'm ready to get married but I think somehow this one is going too fast," I said, scared of her response.

"Oh, Barakallahu feek. I'm proud of you, but if you're not ready for a relationship, especially marriage, then don't rush into it," she advises wisely with a huge smile on her face.

"I don't know yet. But do you wanna go out to eat?" I change the subject, getting up from the floor.

"Sure, why not? We needta catch up anyway!" Ayan says, getting all excited.

◈

We leave the house, and instead of taking a car to our childhood hangout, we walk there instead.

It's fun, remembering old memories from our times as clueless kids.

When we were growing up, our parents grew up together just like us. Our moms were practically sisters.

"How's Aunty Fatuma?" I ask, taking a drink of my Diet Coke.

"She's getting there," Ayan says, looking down at the menu.

Aunt Fatuma, I've always called her that. She has been sick for the past couple of months. She's been in and out of the hospital. The doctors aren't sure of the cause of her illness. Some days she'll be perfectly fine, then one day she'll be in the hospital again.

"In Sha Allah, she'll get on her two feet again," I said whilst reading a text from an unknown number.

"Yes, In Sha Allah," Ayan says, putting a little smile on her face.

A couple of minutes passed by, we just talk about the most random things possible.

The waiter comes and she takes our order, smiling and carrying on conversations with us. It's amazing how some people treat us Muslim people as equals, and others just want us to fall and be poisoned with their words.

"Tell me how this incident happened with the rock and things?" Ayan asks while getting her napkin from the table.

"Oh, well, our neighbor James has a really strong hatred for Muslims. He was drunk last night and he decided to throw a rock through the window. That's basically how I got hurt." I said, looking down at my drink.

"Dang, I honestly don't know how people can stand to hate each other. You shouldn't hate a whole religion for one mistake. The people who have caused Muslim people this struggle aren't Muslims. Islam stands for peace, you know? But, I guess some people don't see what we truly see," Ayan says, looking around the room and at me.

"Ameen habibtii. Their words can't hurt us, 'cause we all know that Muslim people wouldn't dare to hurt a fly, even if they wanted to," I said, taking a long look at my food that just got to the table.

◈

We finally left the restaurant and started walking to our favorite park we always went to growing up.

After the park, we headed home and went our separate ways.

Once I walk into the house I see three men sitting there all talking. And then, suddenly, they all look right at me.

Uncle, Yusuf, and Mohammed (At least, I think it's him).

"Salam," I said, lowering my gaze.

"Salam," they all replied.

"Saabria, could I talk to you in the kitchen, please?" says Yusuf.

"Oh, yeah, sure," I reply in a kind of angry-confused voice.

"Yusuf, what in world is he doing here? I never agreed to have him here today!" I yell, throwing my hands around out of anger.

"Calm down, Saabria, he just wanted to come and see you," says Yusuf with wide eyes.

"Without my consent? You should have asked me before!" I say, staring at the floor. The designs on the tile suddenly look really interesting.

"I'm sorry, but he really wanted to come see you. He hasn't for the past couple of years," Yusuf says while looking around the kitchen.

"Well, he's here now, I guess I have to talk to him," I say, slowly walking out of the kitchen.

"I thought you wouldn't come back," Mohammed says, smiling.

I smile back. "Ha, yeah, me too," I say under my breath, through clenched teeth.

I sit down on the couch right across from him, Yusuf came in, giving me a cup of coffee and handing a cup to Mohammed with something -who knows what- inside.

He gives me a look. "Patience, Saabria," he says under his breath.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my cup of coffee and look at it, smiling.

I just love the smell and warmth of coffee, it brings me to such a happy and relaxing place.

"So, Saabria, how is everything going for you?" He says. I see him smiling out of the corner of my eye.

His hair is shaped so perfectly that it looks like a cloud. His eyes are this magical grayish blue. His smile... Masha'Allah. I should be lowering my gaze, Astaghfirullah.

Lowering my eyes to my coffee, I answer his question.

"Everything is going good, Alhamdulillah. Thank you for asking. How are you?" I ask, making small conversation.

"It could be better," he says, looking down at his cup.

There's something weird going on here, I don't know what.

"So, what are you going to school for?" Mohammed asks.

"Probably to become a doctor, In Sha Allah. How about you?" I ask.

"The medical field as well," he says with a little crack in his voice.

"Masha'Allah," Uncle says, coming into the living room.

I look to my right. Thank god, I don't have to be alone with this man anymore. There's something strange going on here and I could actually feel it.

"Oh, Alhamdulillah. Salam, Uncle," I say, finally relaxing my voice.

Mohammed got up. I couldn't believe how tall he was, Masha'Allah. Oh, Allah, forgive me, I have to lower my gaze.

"What were you two talking about?" Uncle asks while shaking Mohammed's hand and looking over to me at the same time.

"Oh, nothing really, just asking each other what we might go to school for," I say, trying to get this over with.

"Yes, but it's getting late. I should be getting out now. It was nice seeing you again, Saabria. Salam, Uncle," Mohammed says, getting up once again and walking to the door.

"Oh Allah, I thought he would never leave," I said while taking my hijab off.

"So, what do you think about him?" Uncle asks excitedly, looking right into my eyes. He's actually acting like a teenage girl.

"To be true to myself, I'm not sure," I say, looking at the pins that came from my hijab. They roll around in my hand.

I just don't know.