Ayesha At Last(15)

They had been joined there by Amir’s friends Mo and Ethan. The trio had high-fived and cracked jokes, Khalid’s presence a source of great amusement.

“Yo, this a prayer meeting?” Mo asked when Amir had introduced Khalid. Ethan snickered.

“You got any shawarma hidden under that robe?” Ethan asked. “How about a Persian rug?”

Khalid knew they were trying to be funny, but their teasing, combined with the loud noises and unfamiliar smell of alcohol, made him feel irritable and ill at ease.

“You look like you belong in one of those videos Amir likes to watch, with the unveiled girls,” Mo said, but Amir hushed him.

The trio began downing shots and Amir was soon drunk, Khalid bored. A thought drifted into his mind: How would it feel to behave as Amir did, so loose-limbed and free of inhibitions? Would he be happier if he drank alcohol too, instead of just watching from the sidelines? He looked at his friend. No, that was not for him.

Khalid was eyeing the exits when he noticed the woman in hijab. She looked comfortable sitting alone at her table, golden-brown skin shadowed in the dimly lit room, her face arresting and familiar. He made the connection after a few minutes: the girl with the red mug! His disappointment hollowed out his stomach and loosened his tongue.

He had only seen her in their neighbourhood, bathed in early-morning sunshine and filled with purpose. Not sitting comfortably in this seedy lounge. A good Muslim would never frequent such an establishment.

He felt the weight of his white robe at that moment, the skullcap on his head bearing down. He knew he had no right to be upset, but he couldn’t help it. She didn’t belong here.

Or rather, the person he’d thought she was didn’t belong here.

Then the girl with the red mug was onstage. He had tried to keep his eyes modestly lowered, even when her voice moved over him like a silken caress. But when she flung her final lines at the audience—What do I see when I look at you? I see another human being who doesn’t have a clue—Khalid was on his feet and walking toward the exit. He knew he would do something incredibly foolish if he stayed.

Like walk up to her and ask, “What is a good Muslim doing in a place like this?”

Or worse: “Do you want to leave with me?”

Now Khalid banished his ricocheting thoughts and knocked on Sheila’s half-open office door. His boss motioned for him to take a seat and gave him a discreet once-over, her eyes lingering on his white robe and skullcap.

“Thank you for coming today, Khalid. I’m eager to discuss your performance and future at Livetech,” she said, shuffling papers around until she found a file with his name on it.

The door to the office opened and Clara walked in and smiled warmly at Khalid.

Their familiarity was not lost on Sheila, who fixed cold blue eyes on Khalid. “I met your office mate, Amir, on Friday,” she said, pronouncing his friend’s name Ahhh-mare. “We chatted for a while. I found it interesting that he had no problem shaking my hand. He seems like a good fit at Livetech.”

There was an awkward pause.

Sheila continued. “Khalid, let me start off by saying that according to your employee records, your performance has been consistently acceptable. Clara has talked to many of your co-workers, and everyone said you are an asset to the team. I called this meeting because I wanted to discuss a few matters. I believe in a transparent work relationship between management and employees.”

Clara took a deep breath and seemed to plunge in. “As the regional manager of HR, Khalid, I think it’s important to hear Sheila’s concerns. In particular, she has some thoughts about your emphasis on religion in the workplace.”

“What do you mean?” Khalid asked, taken aback.

“Are you comfortable reporting to a female director?” Clara asked, her eyes conveying a subtle warning.

Khalid was confused. “I have no problem working with women. I have no wish to cause discomfort through my actions or words.”

Clara gave Khalid an encouraging smile before she continued. “Since we are on this topic, I also wanted to bring your attention to the Livetech employee dress code. Sheila is concerned that your . . . cultural clothing stands out in a work environment. We want to ensure that you feel comfortable with your colleagues.”

“As a member of the Livetech executive team, you are required to look professional at all times,” Sheila added, her eyes flicking to Khalid’s white robe and beard. She smiled stiffly at him. “We have to present a united front to our clients.”

Khalid looked down at his clothes, heart sinking. Not this again. “I don’t understand the problem,” he said, keeping his voice flat. “If you can wear a dress to work, why can’t I?”

Both women, momentarily speechless, stared at him. He forced himself to stand, despite his shaking legs.

“Clara, Sheila, thank you for your concern, but I am very happy at Livetech. I must return to my office to attend to urgent matters.” He nearly ran for the door, closing it firmly behind him.

The women exchanged glances: Clara was chagrined and embarrassed, Sheila furious.

“I’m very disappointed with your performance today,” Sheila said. “His co-workers must be covering for him.”

Clara gathered her files and tried to keep the note of impatience from her voice. “I talked to everyone he’s ever worked with. People find him a little odd, but he’s also reliable and hard working. If you get rid of him, he might sue for religious intolerance. My advice would be to leave him alone.”