Him & His Muslimah

5

Zoya

Zoya faced the consequences of washing her hair with some unknown-weird- shampoo at Naimat's place. She was having a tough time: tying her hair into a disorganized bun. While she softly chewed at the miswak, she eyed Naimat, who frantically paced the room. The blinding darkness and heavy wind savagely blustered the trees and plants.

Noticeably, it was soon going to rain cats and dogs, so Zoya contentedly remained at Naimat's home. Bilal had also insisted that she remained with Naimat, for they couldn't afford a car, and Bilal only owned a feverish motorcycle. As Zoya kept the miswak away and flopped onto the enormous bed, Naimat spoke up, seemingly distraught.

"Do you think Ehsan likes me?"

Zoya's ocean eyes rolled to the back of her head, hearing the question for the umpteenth time that night. She bit her lip irritably, staring at her with uprising temper and chagrin.

"Have you completely lost it?" Zoya deadpanned. Naimat sat upset, her eyebrows thrust to her forehead and worry consuming her sharp features. She sighed laboriously, collapsing beside Zoya, who was dressed in Naimat's admirable, gold-coloured nightgown.

"I'm just scared. I found him interesting, Zoe." She mumbled apologetically. Zoya sensed the painful tension rise, and a frown acted on Naimat's lips. She scooted closer to Naimat.

"He'll love you. What's there not to like?" Zoya insisted, Naimat was one of a kind. She was beautiful and compassionate, always putting others before herself. To Zoya, she was the world.

Naimat still seemed dazed, with a grim frown planted on her lips. Zoya began to consider a strategy to make things easier and better.

"You know what? I'll call Bilal and ask him. He was great friends with Ehsan in Uni."

Upon processing those delightful words, Naimat hauled the petite Zoya into a tight embrace. Zoya smiled, enveloping her arms around her best friend. She was so blessed to have such caring and lovable people around.

She then grabbed her phone from her purse and rang up Bilal. Several rings continued, but he didn't receive the call. She glanced over at Naimat who had started playing a round of Candy Crush to calm her nerves. After the tenth or maybe the fifteenth ring, he finally picked up.

"Ya Allah! Bilal, finally! Where have you been, you inconsiderate brother? What if I was dying, and you'd be busy not receiving my call, such a brother you are. I need you to attend to my calls immediately. Anyways, I wanted to know what Ehsan thinks about Naimat. Please tell me he likes her. Because if that's the case, then that'll make my day because it'll also make her day and–"

"Who's the call from, Zaib?"

Zoya froze, her face ashen as she processed Bilal's words, which were strangely farther away from the phone. Then her eyes magnified in horror, and she sat calculating the aftermath. Nervousness and anxiety rushed through her blood. She sat terrorized-dazed– What?

Zaib?

Her ears bled when she heard the unknown man on her brother's phone softly chuckle.

"It's your sister." His unknown voice, velvety and husky arose, unwanted goosebumps on the nape of her neck as her heartbeat subtly increased pace.

So it wasn't Bilal on the phone who heard her blabber all that nonsense?

She panicked, quickly disconnecting the call while panting. She let the horror set in and terrorize her to the depths of her core. The man just heard Zoya freaking out on the phone and– the man just heard her like she was insane– Ya Allah! He must have thought she was a mad woman.

"So what did he say!"

Flushed, she faced Naimat who wore a large smile on her face. Her eyes were wide and interested. The waves of anxiety flowing out of her were extremely dense, and they hit Naimat like a ton of bricks. Naimat peered over to read Zoya's face, and then she sat alarmed, concerned at the detectable uneasiness.

"Zoya, what's wrong? Does Ehsan hate me?"

"Oh my god."

Zoya wrapped her arms over her brewing red face and whimpered drastically. Her stomach felt constricted; knots were tangled together. She desperately wanted to sob in the corner and never face the world ever again out of embarrassment.

How could she be so stupid?

'You should've asked who it was, you idiot!' Her inner consciousness yelled at her.

"Zoe? What happened?"

"It wasn't Bilal. His friend heard me say all that! Oh my God–his friend heard me say those stupid things. I can't live anymore–"

Zoya immediately quieted, her jaw-dropping at the unbelievable melodies of laughter emerging out of Naimat. Naimat wasn't the least bit worried or embarrassed for Zoya; in fact, she carelessly held onto her stomach while chortles freely sprung out of her mouth. This was unbelievable!

"You dare to mock me!" Zoya bawled, her hand clenched into a threatening fist.

"You said all that to an unknown man! Allahuakbar, there's nothing more ridiculous," Naimat giggled, all while Zoya felt worse.

"I'm such an idiot," she murmured, her frown growing. She never had the intention to talk to him whatsoever. But now she felt the urge to call back and explain herself to this man.

Zoya was going out of her mind.

She reminisced when she walked in today morning, and he was there. She noticed the three men sitting on the couch, not daring to look up. She had slightly smiled to herself, then she sat beside Naimat's mother while Naimat and Ehsan interrogated one another. She was curious towards who the man with dark ash brown hair was, but her gaze remained immobile on the carpeted ground. She wasn't going to appease her eyes.

Only for her husband.

"Zoe..."

"Yeah?" She answered breathlessly.

"Are you okay, now?"

Zoya could have sensed the concern brewing miles away, so she plastered a smile on her face, then met Naimat's brown worried gaze. Brown just like his soft-looking hair– Astaghfirullah. Zoya desperately had to fling him out of her head, or she might go insane. "I'm fine. It's over." Naimat smiled softly. "When will you get married?" She questioned with a sly smile.

"Not anytime soon," she promised. Zoya couldn't marry until she accomplished her dream. She fantasized about working in hospitals and saving precious lives, but she couldn't do that with marriage crossing her way. Something unusual flicked in Naimat's gaze. Was that a hint of disappointment? But then Naimat subtly dismissed the issue.

They began to talk silly, stalk other friends on Instagram and looked at flashy clothes online. Zoya didn't like any of them since she considered modest clothing more relevant. After all, they weren't impressing anyone but their Allah, right? When she'd get married, she'd do it for her husband, In Sha Allah.

"Did you set the alarm for Fajr?" Zoya asked, her eyelids limply falling upon the blue orbs while she clung to the blanket and cuddled with her marshmallow-soft pillows.

"Yes."

And they fell into their world of slumber.

Glossary:-

Hijab

Female head scarf

Fajr

One of the five daily prayers in Islam