HALF HER DEEN

5. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎, 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖?

"Tell me more, tell me more," Ayesha urged, shaking me by the shoulders, her excitement bubbling over. I blushed as I thought of him, and, as my niqab was absent this moment, Ayeesha couldn't contain her enthusiasm, squealing and clapping her hands.

A week had passed since the dinner at the Musas', and I couldn't help but replay every detail in my mind, especially the part where Hassan sat across from me. His presence lingered, making me think about him more than ever before.

I'd spent most of my life intentionally avoiding interactions with the opposite gender, following the customs and values of my Islamic background. And honestly, I wasn't upset that Hassan had taken up residence in my thoughts. I was content with it, weirdly enough.

"I doubt I'll ever see him again," I sighed. I had hoped that he would reach out after the dinner, but the days had passed, and the silence between us remained. It was a disappointment I had anticipated, but it still stung.

"Girl, I'm telling you, he's definitely the one!" Ayesha was known for her boundless enthusiasm, always thrilled about something. She was my cousin from my mother's side, just a few years younger than me. We had shared a strong bond since childhood, and she practically lived at our place or vice versa, especially for sleepovers. She was more than a cousin; she was my best friend. I'd kept the news about Hassan from her until today, deciding to tell her in person.

"You totally like him, don't you?" she said, a mischievous smirk on her face.

"What? No, I don't," I replied quickly, averting my eyes. I had come to terms with my feelings, acknowledging them a day after that dinner. Yet, I had no intention of dwelling on them or letting them consume me. Nothing would come out of it.

"Say Wallah," Ayeesha insisted, getting uncomfortably close to my face. Personal space was clearly a foreign concept to her.

"What does it matter? It's not like he'd like me back. What's there to like?" I responded with frustration, pushing up from my bed and standing before the large wall-length mirror on my wall.

"You have to be kidding me; you're literally gorgeous. I wish I looked like you," she said in disbelief, standing beside me and sharing a reflection in the mirror.

"Yeah, right," I scoffed, unable to accept her praise. She groaned in frustration, exasperated by my self-doubt.

I wouldn't describe myself as unattractive, but gorgeous? Definitely not. My hair cascaded down to my waist, colored a deep black, and I possessed a somewhat curvy figure. Taller than most, I inherited my brown eyes from my father and a button nose from my mother. On my face, I had a couple of beauty spots – one positioned over the right side of my lip and another beneath my eye. My lips followed a typical pattern: a thin upper lip above a full, plump lower lip, often adopting a slight pout. If you asked me, it was all rather ordinary.

"You are so in denia-" Ayeesha began but was abruptly cut off when my door swung open, revealing my Ma's abrupt entrance.

"Halimah, Ayesha, get dressed, and come downstairs; we have company," she urged in a hurry before exiting my room as swiftly as she had arrived. Ayeesha and I exchanged puzzled glances before reluctantly starting to get dressed, all the while groaning about the comfortable T-shirt and sweatpants I was leaving behind.

I wonder why they called me downstairs. Typically, I wasn't called down to greet guests unless they were relatives or close friends. And I hadn't heard any cars pull up in our driveway.

Ayeesha and I quickly got dressed in under five minutes and headed downstairs. As I led the way, with Ayeesha following, my first glimpse of the person in the living room made me pause in my tracks. Ayesha bumped into me, causing me to stumble forward.