Beautiful Things (A Muslim Love Story)

Chapter Three: Drop Dead Familiar

Darius was huge.

I couldn't believe that this was where I would stay for the next four years. I checked my paper again, and sure enough it read, "Asiyah Sloane, Political Science, Building eight, Room #67."

I pushed open the doors only to find hundreds of students swarming around, some chatting, hurrying to class, or sitting on chairs drinking espressos and studying.

I felt warm, secure, and fashionable as I walked around trying to find the elevator that led to Room #67. I wore a long knee high dark purple guess dress, secured with a sliver belt. Under it I wore black skinny jeans and some black Prada heels. My scarf was some sort of silky material with the words "Guess" all over it.

When I finally reached Room #67, my heart was beating so hard I was sure the room next to it could here me. I took a deep breath and walked in.

There were hundreds of students in the room. The professor was a thin blonde woman with lots of red lipstick. She had a microphone in her hand, and she smiled warmly when she saw me. "Hello. Welcome to the class. You are?"

I cleared my throat. "Um, I'm Asiyah Sloane."

"Ah, yes. I have you here. I am Professor Jenkins. You may take your seat. You are right on time."

I hurried to the back of the class, ignoring the stares of boys. What puzzled me was the mystery of non muslim boys staring. I wore Hijab. And I have never met a non Muslim boy attracted to a Hijabi.

Professor Jenkins voice boomed. "Adam Hassan? You may take your seat."

Wait, Adam Hassan? That name sounded drop-dead familiar. Where have I heard that name before? Deep down inside of me, a small voice kept whispering, "hate, hate, hate". And then a very unpleasant feeling a hatred zoomed through my body, from my black heels to my silk scarf. My body kept asking who Adam Hassan was, and that voice kept replying, "You hate him."

My thoughts were interrupted by Professor Jenkins microphone, and I focused on class. But that name, Adam Hassan, was stuck to my mind as if burned through with red hot iron.