Ayesha At Last(19)

She opened her eyes and they looked at each other wordlessly. Then she sat up. “Were you staring at me?” she asked, voice unfriendly.

“No,” he said. The lie came automatically to his lips. Lying inside the mosque! He was going to hell.

His heart was beating even faster now. Her eyes were two large pools of inky brown, and he couldn’t look away.

“I mean, I was about to leave and then I noticed you sleeping. I thought you were a pile of prayer sheets and was going to fold you and put you away. Then I realized it was you. A person, I mean. A woman. You.” He looked stupidly at her.

She seemed amused, but then her expression hardened and she stood abruptly. “I have to go. I try to stay away from the type of Muslim who stares at sleeping women in prayer halls.”

In her rush to exit, she left her book behind, a plain purple notebook, the type used by students. He picked it up to return it but sat down instead, his legs jelly.

AYESHA had grown up attending Sunday school and Friday prayers at the mosque, but she had not visited the Toronto Muslim Assembly in a long time. The prayer hall looked older and shabbier. The green-and-beige striped carpet was frayed at the edges, and there was a faint but distinct odour of socks. The walls had dents and black smudge marks made by running children. Still, the room retained some of the majesty she remembered, even if the crystal chandelier now looked like it belonged in a Trump casino.

Ayesha had been early for the meeting, and after she’d found a spot in the empty prayer hall, took out her purple notebook. But it was no use. She was too tired after her late night at Bella’s, and the confusing conversation afterwards with her mother and Nana. Instead her eyes had felt heavy and she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When she awoke, she felt rested and at peace. Her eyes had slowly opened to see a man standing in front of her, staring intently. He looked surprised but hadn’t looked away. I know you, Ayesha thought, half-asleep.

He had been wearing a rumpled white robe, the kind her Nana wore sometimes to Friday prayers. They locked eyes, and a hum of energy rose around them. With a jolt, she realized who the man was—Khalid, the bearded fundy from Bella’s!

“Were you staring at me?” she asked, jumping up quickly and straightening her skirt.

“No!” he said, looking guilty.

A smile had twitched at the corner of her lips at his blatant lie. Then she remembered she was sleeping in an empty prayer hall, and Khalid was a judgmental jerk and possibly a peeping Tom.

Now, as she hurried out of the prayer hall, she ran straight into a large man wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt. Flustered, she apologized. “Brother, do you know where the conference planning meeting will be held?” she asked.

“Assalamu Alaikum, Sister,” the man said. “You must be Hafsa. You look so much like Brother Sulaiman. I am Imam Abdul Bari.”

“No, I’m not . . .” Ayesha said, but the imam was gently steering her toward a conference room beside the main office.

“I am so thrilled to have an actual event planner help with our conference. It is so kind of you to donate your time.”

“Imam, there’s been a misunderstanding,” Ayesha was saying firmly when Khalid entered the room. “Are you following me?” she said to him instead.

The imam, who seemed to have selective hearing, offered Ayesha a chipped mug filled with a cloudy-looking liquid. She accepted the tea and scowled at Khalid.

The imam handed Khalid a cup as well. “Have you met Sister Hafsa? She’s the official event planner for our conference.”

Khalid looked embarrassed and confused. He selected a seat far away from Ayesha and stared at his hands.

Ayesha put the cup on the conference table. “Imam, my name is not—”

A tall man in a tight black shirt entered the room, and Ayesha stopped speaking. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His long face was accentuated by sharp cheekbones and he had the jawline of a Disney prince. His tawny eyes contrasted with terra cotta skin, and his generous lips curved in a wide-open smile as he surveyed the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” the beautiful man said, his smile increasing the temperature in the conference room by several degrees. Even his voice was sexy, Ayesha thought, like drizzled honey. And he had big hands. She watched the beautiful stranger greet the imam and nod cheerfully at her with his perfect, manly chin. He even had a dimple. Seriously, who was this guy?

“Sister Hafsa, Brother Khalid, please allow me to introduce Tarek Khan, the president of the Muslims in Action organization,” Imam Abdul Bari said by way of introduction. “Let us open with a recitation of Surah Fatiha.”

Khalid recited the first chapter of the Quran in Arabic, his voice clear and deep, and not remotely as sexy as Tarek’s, Ayesha thought.

The imam continued. “Thank you all for attending our first planning meeting. Our mosque has a unique opportunity to host an important youth conference. I have asked all of you here today to form the central organizing committee.”

The imam’s words brought Ayesha crashing back to reality. She texted under the table.

Hafs, where are you? The mosque conference meeting started already, and the imam thinks that I’m YOU! Hurry!

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.

I can’t make the meeting. Can you take notes for me? Don’t tell them your real name, it will be like Freaky Friday. Sooo hilarious! You’re the best! xxx