Ayesha At Last(53)

Life is good. God is great. Allahu Akbar!

Khalid settled in to work, checking emails and fiddling with the website. Maybe lime green and electric orange? His cell phone beeped.

K,

Congrats! I didn’t tell you before, but I heard Ammi was on the prowl for a docile little wifey for you. In fact, the aunties in my neighbourhood asked for your picture to post on their rishta database. I gave them one from your third birthday party. You’re naked and stuffing chocolate cake in your mouth. Iqram didn’t think it was a good idea, but I thought the picture really captured your eyes.

Khalid’s eye caught on the unfamiliar name—Iqram? That was the name of his sister’s husband. Zareena never referred to him in her emails. He continued reading.

Also, I looked up Hafsa on Facebook. She doesn’t really seem like your type, but what do I know? The last time I saw you, you were a sad, awkward fourteen-year-old boy who didn’t talk to women. I’m sure you’re completely different now.

—Z

P.S. Drivers who signal when they want to make a lane change.

P.P.S. You might not hear from me for the next few days. I’m going on a trip. I promise I’ll be in touch soon.

Khalid read the letter again, his eyes lingering on the name Iqram. Maybe this was a good sign. He looked around the office, noticing the quiet for the first time. Amir was sitting at his desk, staring intently at his monitor.

“I have some news for you,” Khalid said, walking up behind Amir’s desk. “Are you free Sunday?”

“Are we going to Bella’s again? I knew you’d love it!”

“No, I’m inviting you to my . . .” Khalid’s voice trailed off as he looked at Amir’s computer. “What are you doing?” he asked, horrified.

There was a picture of a fully veiled Muslim woman looking coyly out from the screen. Beside her stood a woman in a translucent string bikini.

“I wanted to show you this amazing website. It’s called unveiledhotties.com and all the women on it are Muslim. The whole site is full of women who wear hijab in real life, and if you click a button, you can see what they look like with their hijabs off. Some take off even more, if you’re interested. But it’s totally halal,” Amir hurried to assure Khalid. “If you like what you see, you can email the administrator of the website and ask for the girl’s hand in marriage.”

Amir scrolled to a pretty woman wearing an innocent expression and a pink hijab. He clicked on it and all of a sudden the woman was looking lasciviously at the camera, one hand cupping a voluptuous naked breast. Khalid closed his eyes and turned away.

“This is completely inappropriate, especially at work. You could get fired for this!” Khalid said.

“It’s not for me,” Amir said, sounding wounded. “I get enough action. I was thinking about you. You know what Prophet Muhammad said: ‘You’re not truly a Muslim until you want for your brother what you want for yourself.’”

“I’m pretty sure the Prophet did not mean pornography!”

“It’s not porn. It’s a matrimonial service. I know how hung up you are on all that no-dating, marriage-only stuff.”

The reminder of marriage put a smile back on Khalid’s face. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m engaged! My mom picked out the perfect person for me. Remember Clara’s friend from Bella’s?”

“Mo said that chick was frigid.”

Khalid gave Amir a warning look. “The engagement is Sunday. I’d like you to be there.”

Amir closed the window on the website and looked at his friend. “Are you for real? I can’t believe you did it—you actually got an arranged marriage. Mubarak and congrats! But I still think you should have a backup plan, in case things don’t work out.”

Usually this type of conversation would irritate Khalid, but nothing could dampen his good spirits today. In his own way, Amir was trying to be nice.

Khalid settled down to work on the WomenFirst webpage, but his thoughts continually drifted to Hafsa. He wondered what she was doing now. Maybe she was thinking about him and their life together too.





Chapter Twenty-Three

Nana sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper while Nani loaded the dishwasher. It was nine in the morning and they were alone in the house. Ayesha and Idris were already gone for the day, and Saleha had not yet returned from her night shift at the hospital.

The only sound in the kitchen was the rustle of the newspaper. Nani, deep in thought, looked at her husband. “Nasir, I must go to the mosque,” she said.

“The bus runs every fifteen minutes, Laik,” Nana said. He peeked over the paper, eyes twinkling at his wife of over fifty years.

“Hafsa’s engagement was too quick,” she said, ignoring her husband. He loved to tease her and it was no use encouraging him.

“‘Better three hours too soon than a minute too late,’” Nana quoted.

Nani paused in her cleanup. “Nasir, are you listening to me? Something is not right about this situation. I feel it in my knees. I was there when Farzana first saw Hafsa. She showed no interest in her at all.”

Nana sipped his chai, his face unconcerned. “You didn’t want Saleha to marry Syed because they’d known each other for too long. Now you don’t want your granddaughter to marry this boy Khalid because she hasn’t known him for long enough. If Hafsa is happy with her arrangement, who are we to interfere?”