Ayesha At Last(64)

Ayesha laughed. “Hafsa loves coming to the mosque,” she teased.

Hafsa shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, sure, the mosque is really great and all . . . but don’t you think it’s a little dank?”

“There’s a chandelier,” Khalid offered. “Besides, you come to the mosque to pray.”

“I can pray at home, where it doesn’t smell like dirty feet,” Hafsa replied.

Ayesha’s phone buzzed with an incoming text from Masood:

Salam. I haven’t heard from you. I hope you weren’t offended when I wrote that I’m not into you. At all. Not even a little bit. I still think you’re a great person, despite all your negative energy. Have you ever considered wrestling? With your repressed frustration, you’d be a natural. I could be your coach. We just need to find a signature move.

Hafsa said brightly, “But with all the wedding stuff, the shopping and parties, there won’t be time for all this.” She waved her hand around the room.

Khalid looked pained, and Ayesha felt sorry for him. “The shopping is for you, Hafsa,” she said. “Khalid just has to show up on the wedding day.” Wedding day. She blinked rapidly.

“Are you also employed, like your cousin?” Khalid asked Hafsa, making an attempt at conversation.

“Dad promised he would give me some money to launch my company, Happily Ever After Event Planning, just as soon we get married.” Hafsa nodded dismissively toward Ayesha. “She has to work. When her dad died, he left them with nothing. It’s a big mystery in our family. My mom said he was involved in something illegal. Maybe he was a gangster!” Hafsa giggled.

“You are speaking of her deceased father, Hafsa,” Khalid said gently. “There is nothing amusing about that.” He turned to Ayesha. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “How old were you when he died?”

“I was ten. We left India soon after and moved to Toronto. I lost my father and my country at the same time.”

“Yeah, but who would want to stay in India?” Hafsa said. “There are cows and amputated beggars everywhere, and people poop in the middle of the street. Why are you talking about things that happened so long ago?”

Ayesha and Khalid had no reply to this ignorant image, both shocked into silence. Hafsa had already moved on, her gaze fixed on the door.

Tarek had just entered the room, dressed in a tight-fitting white shirt. Its top two buttons were undone, showing off a smooth, sculpted chest. With his grey pants and hair carefully gelled into mussed-up peaks, Tarek was a fashion model straight off the runway.

“Who is that?” Hafsa said, her eyes fixed on Tarek’s face. When he caught Hafsa’s eye, he gave her a slow, lazy smile.

Ayesha and Khalid exchanged a glance, and then looked away. After what had happened at Kamran’s Superior Sweets, Tarek had morphed from Prince Charming to Big Bad Wolf in Ayesha’s eyes, and right now he was eyeing Hafsa hungrily. From the concerned expression on Khalid’s face, he was having similar thoughts.

Ayesha’s phone pinged again—another text message from Masood.

How about “Punch of the Seven Veils” for your signature move? Just think about it. The FIRST Muslim hijab-wearing wrestler. You could be famous!

Ayesha turned her phone to silent. Imam Abdul Bari had followed behind Tarek, and he lit up when he spotted Ayesha. “I knew you would return, Sister Hafsa,” he said.

She shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, my name is Ayesha. This is my cousin Hafsa. I was just filling in for her. She’s the real event planner, and also Khalid’s new fiancée.”

Hafsa was still staring at Tarek, the thrill on her face obvious when he selected the seat beside her.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” Tarek purred to Hafsa. “I bet you weren’t on the market for very long.”

Hafsa preened. “Is that shirt from the Armani Spring collection?”

Tarek leaned close. “Observant and beautiful,” he said softly. “This conference is sure to be a success.”

“Let’s get started,” Ayesha said sharply. “Since you missed the last few meetings, Hafsa, we’ll have to get you up to speed.”

Hafsa laughed. “My cousin is always so focused on the goal. I prefer to enjoy the journey.”

“I’ve always admired the way Ayesha gets straight to the heart of the matter,” Khalid cut in. “Brother Tarek, what is on the agenda for today?”

Tarek called the meeting to order and updated everyone on the progress so far, his eyes lingering on Hafsa as he talked. Khalid didn’t notice. He stared at the table, or took notes in a blue leather notebook that was familiar to Ayesha.

He bought us matching notebooks, she realized with a lurch.

Tarek asked about the website, and Khalid filled him in. “Sister Ayesha suggested black and white as the colour theme, and I have come up with a beta of the website. The attendees will be able to pay for tickets online as well. What is the banking information?”

“I’ll get that to you,” Tarek said. “So we have agenda and speakers confirmed. Sister Hafs . . . I mean, Ayesha will open the conference with a poem. We are on track for a successful event. Now we just need to figure out the marketing tag line and mission statement to tell the speakers, so their speeches can align.”

“And decorations,” Hafsa said. “I think we should go with something classy. How about a 1920s theme? Like that movie with Leonardo DiCaprio, The Good Greatsby.”