A Muslim's Romantic Journey

Chapter 11.

Safia’s POV

I yawned for what felt like the billionth time reading a chapter on the Ottoman Empire. The topic itself was so interesting but this book just used unnecessary complicated English to make it harder for me to read. I hadn’t checked my phone in about three hours. I decided to take a break from working and see if I had any new messages. Sometimes I felt like the main purpose of my phone was to maintain a close friendship with my two friends from college. They were both a year older than me and I met them in my first year of college. Hafsa, being a year younger than me, didn’t know them too well but they were like sisters to me.

We had a strong bond but after they’d left college, we all went our separate ways. Amy was the mature one, Layla was the one we teased and they referred to me as the innocent one. I liked that title. I had grown very distant with Amy after I started university. She was caught up in her life, whereas I was lost in mine. She hadn’t made the effort to contact me and I was angry at her at the time. It was only later I found out the reason and I felt like the worst friend in the world. I could not express my guilt for not being by her side. Amy was a convert and like many converts, she was discriminated against by her fiancé’s family. Although she never really told me the full story, I knew it was the reason she moved back to Germany. The thought of someone hurting Amy made me so mad! She was such a strong person, a quality I admired and lacked. I hated these people. I didn’t know who they were but I hated them. Amy completely avoided the topic; I didn’t even know her fiancé’s real name. Before leaving, she came to see me and promised she will stay in contact. She kept true to her promise, and I felt as close as ever to her even though we mostly spoke in our group chat on whatsapp. I rarely met Layla either, after she, much to our surprise, got married and moved to Manchester.

Expecting to read what they both cooked for dinner, I unlocked my phone and clicked on the whatsapp icon. It said I had four messages. I felt a little excited; I didn’t really have many people message me. First message was of Layla telling us her husband brought her a bouquet of flowers. I smiled and prayed to Allah to keep their marriage happy and blissful. I responded to her writing ‘how cheesy.’ The next was a broadcast message about how you will get bad luck if you don’t tell 10 people you love Allah. I ignored that. Then there was a message from Hamza saying ‘Please don’t kill me.’ I was confused but it made sense when I clicked on the last message. I had been added to a group chat with Hamza and I number I didn’t recognize. But then I jumped when I read the messages in the chat:

  Hamza: I guess I shall formally introduce u 2. Safia, Yusuf. Yusuf, Safia.

  Yusuf: Asalamu’alaykum

  Hamza: Now u can tell her ur answer is yes to the last question she asked u and u can ask those questions u wanted to ask.

  Yusuf: I’ll wait for Safia to reply

 

A feeling of nervousness and excitement mixed with fear erupted in my stomach. I also felt like there was something stuck in my throat. Sounds like an over exaggeration? Not when this was the first time you were communicating with someone who expressed an interest in you and it was totally unexpected. I really was inexperienced. After sending a message saying ‘I am going to kill you’ to Hamza, I replied to Yusuf.

  Safia: Wa’alaykumsalaam

 

I read over the conversation again to think of what to say. Then it processed that Yusuf said he was okay with not seeing me before the Nikah. I was really surprised. I had begun to form arguments in my head as to why I thought we shouldn’t see each other. That was all for nothing then. A smile crept up on my face. This man was just getting better! I went back to my task of thinking about what to write. My mind was blank as I felt myself become paranoid. How was I going to write anything to him? I was now starting to sweat and I felt hot although my hands were still cold.

  Hamza: Now ask ur questions. I’m quite curious.

  Yusuf: Is that okay with you Safia?

 

I began sweating even more. He said my name! Well, he technically wrote it. But it still made me feel weird. Why was I feeling all weird, sweaty and happy? I knew I liked him but surely I hadn’t developed feelings for him. I hadn’t even seen Yusuf yet! Did I need to see him to get feelings for him? I put that thought aside and focused my attention on the conversation. I wondered whether I should write ‘yes,’ ‘yep,’ or ‘yeah.’

  Safia: Sure.

  Yusuf: You probably have many questions for me too. I’m more than happy to answer them

  Hamza: Get to the point.

  Yusuf: Right. I was wondering how regular your Salah was

-Long pause whilst I tried to make a sentence without sounding stupid-

  Safia: Other than my occasional battles to wake for Fajr, I would consider myself quite regular. You?

  Yusuf: Same, although I don’t have much of a problem with waking up for Fajr

I was relieved to hear that. One of the reasons I wanted to get married was to rely on someone to wake me for Fajr.

  Yusuf: I’d also like to point out that my family’s not very rich. I mean, we’re well off but we keep an eye on where our money goes

  Safia: I’m not materialistic. And that’s good. I heard a saying; you should use money like you use a toilet – Only when you need to.

  Yusuf: That’s a nice way of putting it lol

 

Before I could overthink what I was writing and start feeling embarrassed, I heard Hamza’s voice downstairs. He should have warned me about this so I could at least be prepared to answer Yusuf’s questions. I went down and motioned for Hamza to come to the next room for a little chat.

“You could have told me about this!” I said waving my phone in his face. “Look at me, I’m a wreck! I’m sweating! I think I smell.”

“You always smell. Why are you so nervous?” Hamza grinned sheepishly.

“I never smell! And I don’t know, maybe because I suddenly spoke to my possible future spouse?” I replied sarcastically.

“But isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” Obviously Hamza wouldn’t understand.

“With a little warning!”

“You stress too much.” That was undeniable. I did stress a lot and it annoyed my loved ones so much.

“Tis true.” I sighed.

“Your cheeks have gone pink.” Hamza told me. Really? My cheeks were pink?

“I never go pink.” Blushing was one thing I could never do. My cheeks just never changed colour. Unless I was sick, then they went pale. I’d tried many times to pinch them to make them go red, but always failed. The most colour I ever got on my face was a very light pink nose.

“You like him!” Hamza teased. That was absurd. I just shook my head and ran upstairs. I did like him but not in the way Hamza was implying. Or was it in that way? Was that even possible? Was it okay if I did like him? I felt so confused!