A Muslim's Romantic Journey

Chapter 1.

Safia's POV

I was stuck in the kitchen all day again. When did I start doing kitchen work? Maybe I was going through another phase. Maybe it was my uncle's sudden mention of a proposal. It wasn't just any old someone, it was someone from school. He was a good guy, popular for all the right reasons. He was confident and practising. Not the guy that flirted and loved the attention. A boy that was liked for being himself. I saw him walking his little sister to school once and found it adorable. Was I really preparing my marriage with him without even realizing? But imagine what everyone from school would say. 'Did you hear? Safia's getting married to Abubakar!' 'He's way too good for her! She was that extremist lecturer.' I smiled at the thought of my reputation as an extremist. All because I refused to be friendly with boys. Oh who cares about them? I'll just sit back and enjoy the attention. Maybe I shouldn't think about it too much. My uncle hadn't even talked to him yet.

I decided to take a break and let my sister Zayna take over for a little while. We were getting random guests. Ones we'd never even heard of. Well all of us except my mum. It was her long lost friend who was coming to visit. I think her name was auntie Jerry. Weird.

I went to my room and sat in front of the mirror analysing myself. Abubakar was handsome from what I can remember. I never really noticed him though. Maybe because I had a crush on his friend by the end of school days. That was all thanks to a certain friend who said 'I think you'd like him, he's cute and practising and lowers his gaze.' The lowering of gaze caught my attention so throughout my 2 years of college* I had a crush on him. Now I felt guilty. What if I do marry Abubakar and he finds out about it? Why would he marry me? I stared at the girl in the mirror. Okay so I know most girls say they're average but they're pretty, but I really was average. I could prove it! 20 years old, all my friends had their little stories about 'he said this to me and he said that to me.' Well... Once someone said I was sweet... But then called my friend an angel that night. Someone said I was fair... But I like olive skin tones. Ooh! Someone said I evolved from cats! That was a compliment I liked. But that's the closest I've been to love. I guess it was good. It helped me stay strong in my faith. 

  *(If you're in a different country, college may be different to what you're thinking of. I dont know how to match the systems but college in the UK is 2 years (usually) between high school (which we call secondary school) and university. You qualify with A Levels and go into uni for another 3 years (or more, depending on the course) to graduate with a degree.)

I'd been staring at my face for far too long now. I suddenly remembered someone telling me 'staring into mirrors either makes you fall in love with yourself or hate yourself.' Those were truly insightful words... That came from a 7 year old. In my case, I was beginning to criticize what Allah had blessed me with. I felt guilty and silently recited 'astaghfirullah.' (I ask forgiveness from Allah)

"Get your butt down here NOW!" Aisha screamed from the bottom of the stairs. 

"I'm coming! So rude!" Aisha was my other sister. 

"Are you in one of your depressed moods again?" Asked Hamza, my older brother. I just gave him a dirty look and turned around. "I take it as a yes." I turned to give him another dirty look as I climbed down the stairs.

"Where's Amaan?" I moaned. Amaan was my younger brother, the youngest out of all of us. I felt more like his mother than sister although he was turning 14 soon. They grow so fast. "Where's Musa? Where's Zidan? Where's Sara?" They were all Aisha's children, aka, my nephews and niece.

"Don't think you can get Amaan and take care of all the children so you can get out of kitchen work." Aisha hissed at me. She knew me too well, "Safia! Don't you want to get married."

"Aisha... Can you read my mind?"

"No. I spoke to uncle Yahya and I went through your yearbook and saw Abubakar." She gave me a wink. I blushed.

"Stop it. I'm coming." I said through a slight smile.

I walked into the kitchen to see Zidan sitting there, playing with his hands. I couldn't resist as I swept him up and gave him a big sloppy kiss.

"Didn't Aisha say you have to finish this rice you're making?" Zayna asked pointing to the stove.

"It's practically done! Chill. I got it under contr- OW!" Zidan had just smacked me on my nose. It actually hurt. 

"They're here!" Hamza screamed. The doorbell hadn't rung but we had Hamza to stand upstairs and give us a shout when he saw poeple approaching our door. I quickly put Zidan down and fixed my hijab. While Hamza stomped down the stairs, the doorbell rang. "Wait! Let me run to the kitchen!" Hamza shouted as he came running to us.

"You're such a girl Hamza." I said as he quickly closed the door. He looked at me and fluttered his eyelashes.

"Am I pretty?" He asked.

"Gorgeous." I replied making a disgusted face. My mum came into the kitchen dragging Hamza out saying something about a guy being there and Hamza had to socialize with him. I gave Hamza a sympathetic look as he walked away. I turned the stove off for the rice and started custard for dessert.

"Start putting the food on the dining table. Mum's about to call them into the dining room." Aisha informed Zayna and I as I finished the custard. We did as we were told. Only the cups were left. As I left the kitchen, I saw that there were only two guests. A woman, probably aunt Jerry, and a man who I assumed was her son. He trailed behind her with a little limp. He was looking down so I couldn't see his face. I saw he had a brown beard! I liked beards in general but when they were brown they were even more attractive... I felt as if Shaytan began whispering things in my ears. I ran back and waited for them to go in. When they did, I stood outside the dining room and tried to call Hamza.

"Hamza." I whispered. "Hamza!" I whispered a little louder. "Hamzooo!" He still hadn't heard me. It meant that I had to go in. But there was a brown beard in the room. And the brown beard lowered its' gaze. I took a deep breath and walked in, trying my best to not look at the brown beard.

"Asalamu'alaykum." (Peace be upon you - Islamic greeting) I said as I placed the cups on the table.

"Wa'alaykumsalaam." (Peace be upon you too) Aunt Jerry answered.

"This is my middle daughter." My mum informed her.

"Oh okay. How are you?" She asked me. I had finished putting the cups down.

"Alhamdulillah good." (Praise be to Allah) I wondered if it would have been rude to just run out of the room.

"So, do you study?" Okay, she wants a full conversation.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I'm in university now." I realized that in my attempts to lower my gaze from brown beard, I was lowering my gaze from Aunt Jerry. I looked up at her. She didn't have a hijab and she was wearing a lot of make up. Not what I expected but I shouldn't judge. She seemed nice.

"Oh which university?" I despised that question. I didn't go Oxford or Cambridge so how would anyone know the university I went to. I told her and she gave me a blank look. 

"What are you studying?"

"Islamic Studies combined with Arabic." I replied. I was hurt she didn't say masha'allah. I was so used to hearing that. Oh well. She was nice. After the interrogation was over, I finally escaped without looking at brown beard. I was so proud of my accomplishment I gave myself a pat on my back.