5. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎, 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖?

"Tell me more, tell me more," Ayesha urged, shaking me by the shoulders, her excitement bubbling over. I blushed as I thought of him, and, as my niqab was absent this moment, Ayeesha couldn't contain her enthusiasm, squealing and clapping her hands.

A week had passed since the dinner at the Musas', and I couldn't help but replay every detail in my mind, especially the part where Hassan sat across from me. His presence lingered, making me think about him more than ever before.

I'd spent most of my life intentionally avoiding interactions with the opposite gender, following the customs and values of my Islamic background. And honestly, I wasn't upset that Hassan had taken up residence in my thoughts. I was content with it, weirdly enough.

"I doubt I'll ever see him again," I sighed. I had hoped that he would reach out after the dinner, but the days had passed, and the silence between us remained. It was a disappointment I had anticipated, but it still stung.

"Girl, I'm telling you, he's definitely the one!" Ayesha was known for her boundless enthusiasm, always thrilled about something. She was my cousin from my mother's side, just a few years younger than me. We had shared a strong bond since childhood, and she practically lived at our place or vice versa, especially for sleepovers. She was more than a cousin; she was my best friend. I'd kept the news about Hassan from her until today, deciding to tell her in person.

"You totally like him, don't you?" she said, a mischievous smirk on her face.

"What? No, I don't," I replied quickly, averting my eyes. I had come to terms with my feelings, acknowledging them a day after that dinner. Yet, I had no intention of dwelling on them or letting them consume me. Nothing would come out of it.

"Say Wallah," Ayeesha insisted, getting uncomfortably close to my face. Personal space was clearly a foreign concept to her.

"What does it matter? It's not like he'd like me back. What's there to like?" I responded with frustration, pushing up from my bed and standing before the large wall-length mirror on my wall.

"You have to be kidding me; you're literally gorgeous. I wish I looked like you," she said in disbelief, standing beside me and sharing a reflection in the mirror.

"Yeah, right," I scoffed, unable to accept her praise. She groaned in frustration, exasperated by my self-doubt.

I wouldn't describe myself as unattractive, but gorgeous? Definitely not. My hair cascaded down to my waist, colored a deep black, and I possessed a somewhat curvy figure. Taller than most, I inherited my brown eyes from my father and a button nose from my mother. On my face, I had a couple of beauty spots – one positioned over the right side of my lip and another beneath my eye. My lips followed a typical pattern: a thin upper lip above a full, plump lower lip, often adopting a slight pout. If you asked me, it was all rather ordinary.

"You are so in denia-" Ayeesha began but was abruptly cut off when my door swung open, revealing my Ma's abrupt entrance.

"Halimah, Ayesha, get dressed, and come downstairs; we have company," she urged in a hurry before exiting my room as swiftly as she had arrived. Ayeesha and I exchanged puzzled glances before reluctantly starting to get dressed, all the while groaning about the comfortable T-shirt and sweatpants I was leaving behind.

I wonder why they called me downstairs. Typically, I wasn't called down to greet guests unless they were relatives or close friends. And I hadn't heard any cars pull up in our driveway.

Ayeesha and I quickly got dressed in under five minutes and headed downstairs. As I led the way, with Ayeesha following, my first glimpse of the person in the living room made me pause in my tracks. Ayesha bumped into me, causing me to stumble forward.

He was clad in a black thobe, and it suited him perfectly. His hair was slicked back, accentuating his stunning eyes. I couldn't help but feel envious of how effortlessly he could make any attire look runway-worthy. It really wasn't fair.

He occupied the single-person seat, engaged in a conversation with my mother. When he looked up and noticed me, my heart raced. He greeted me with a soft smile. Oh my, he looked good.

"Wow," Ayeesha whispered beside me. 'Wow' was an understatement.

I shyly offered my greetings, my gaze lowered, and received a chorus of replies. Then, I found my place beside my mother, and Ayeesha followed suit after extending her greetings to everyone. That's when I noticed Uncle Adam on the opposite side, seated next to my Baba.

"Halimah, how are you?" Uncle Adam inquired kindly.

"Alhamdulillah, Uncle. And you?"

"Likewise," he replied with a smile.

Now, I could really see the striking resemblance between the two of them, even though Hassan bore features of his mother as well. My father cleared his throat, capturing everyone's attention.

"We have some important matters to address. As you can see, Adam and Hassan are with us. The Musa family has been intertwined with our lives for many years, just as we have with theirs. They are a family that Allah has brought into our lives in a meaningful way. It pleases me to say that-"

My Ma interrupted him excitedly, "Hassan came to ask for your hand in marriage! Allahuma Barik, Halimah!"

Time appeared to stand still after my mother's sudden announcement. Ayeesha gazed at me in astonishment, but I was too stunned to acknowledge her. My heart raced, and I felt a pounding in my head that promised to turn into a headache. Everything around me faded as my mind struggled to process what I had just heard.

"W-what?" I finally managed to stammer.

"Halimah, I know this may come as a surprise. But I honestly can't think of a more perfect daughter-in-law and addition to the family. You'd make the perfect wife and companion to my son, I know. So please think about it and consider our proposal," Uncle Adam said, smiling softly.

"Please consider it, my dear," my Baba added.

They both gazed at me with hope, making me feel like the walls were closing in.

Marriage? It was something I knew would eventually happen, but I hadn't expected it so soon. I was only twenty-two, for God's sake. What did I know about being a wife? I hadn't even managed to maintain platonic friendships with the opposite gender, let alone a romantic one. I had accepted my feelings for Hassan, but this was all moving too fast. I needed time to think.

I rose from my seat suddenly, Ayesha rising with me. My voice quivered as I spoke, "I... I don't know what to say, Uncle Adam, but I need some space right now. I'm sorry." With those words, I left the living room, very much aware that my mother would likely scold me later. I needed a moment to think, away from the piercing gazes in the room.

Who could have seen this happening today? Was I even mentally prepared for marriage? Would we be compatible? They said you only truly knew a person when you lived together. We had spoken, and I had gotten to know him better, and he had known me better, and so far, I liked what I had heard . But what if I ended up not liking him? What if his gentle personality was just a facade, and he revealed his true self after we were married? What if he saw my face for the first time and didn't like what he saw? Was I ready to take a chance on love?

So many questions raced through my mind, and I feared that some might never be answered.

-

I gazed out of my bedroom window, the stars above painting the night sky with their radiant beauty. The tranquility of this moment often served as a sanctuary for me. An hour had passed since the unexpected proposal, and I had finally found some solace. Ayesha had tried her best to calm me down, but now she slept soundly, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The peaceful scene outside brought me some peace , and as I contemplated the wonders of Allah's creation, my eyes fixed on the stars. This view always offered me serenity, and I often came to this window sill whenever I needed to think or unwind. And tonight, it was exactly what I needed.

As Uncle Adam and Hassan left my house, I couldn't help but watch them from my window. Hassan walked a bit behind his father and then came to a gradual halt. My heart raced as he turned to look back, his gaze finding me by the window. A soft smile graced his lips as he waved, and I, somewhat nervously, waved back.

Why did he have to be so charming? I sighed inwardly. He turned back around and hurried to catch up with Uncle Adam, who had already reached their porch.

The idea of marriage with Hassan lingered in my thoughts. I had met him just a week ago, but I couldn't shake the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about him. Was that enough to consider such a significant step?

My moment of thinking was interrupted by a gentle knock at my door.

"Yes?" I replied.

"May I come in?" It was my mother.

I couldn't help but giggle at the irony. She had barged into my room earlier without asking and now was politely seeking permission.

"Okay," I said, bracing myself for what lay ahead.

She entered, closing the door behind her and dragging a chair over to sit beside me.

"Talk to me, Habibi, what's wrong?" She held my hand and rubbed it soothingly. I looked down at our hands, unable to find the right words.

"It's okay if you need time," she started to say.

"What if I'm not enough, Ma? What if no one can love me? What if I'm not pretty enough, or meant to be loved?" My voice wavered as I cut her off, my insecurities about my appearance, even before wearing the niqab, spilling out.

Every girl wanted to be regarded as beautiful, and my doubts about how people saw me had long been a source of concern. Now, as a Niqabi, those fears had intensified, especially in the context of marriage.

My mother's arms enveloped me, drawing me into a tight and warm embrace. Tears welled up in her eyes as she held me, and I couldn't help but let out quiet sobs against her shoulder. It might seem like an overreaction on my part, but the tough facade I had always put on about not caring what others thought of me or my niqab was finally crumbling. Deep down, I had always yearned for someone to look past my flaws and still see me as perfect. After all, didn't every girl desire that?

This marriage proposal had brought back these insecurities, and the fact that I had genuine feelings for Hassan only intensified my apprehension.

"You're one of the strongest women I know. You're beautiful inside and out, and any man would be lucky to call you his wife," my mother whispered as she untied my niqab, unpinned my veil and ran her hand through my hair, a barrier no longer between us.

"Thank you, Mommy" I responded sincerely. Despite our differences, I couldn't imagine my life without my mother. She was always there for me, even when I didn't realize I needed her support. May Allah bless and protect all mothers, I thought in silent prayer.

-

After changing into fresh clothes, I descended the stairs to find my father in the living room. He sat by the window, gazing outside and sipping what I assumed was hot tea from a flask, the steam rising in the dim light.

"Baba?" I called out tentatively, worried he might be upset with me.

He turned to face me, and a warm smile graced his features. "Come sit, princess."

I gave out a sigh of relief as I settled into the spot where Hassan had been seated hours ago, next to my father.

"How are you feeling now? I'm sorry on behalf of everyone for overwhelming you," my father said with a caring expression. It took me by surprise that he was apologizing to me, considering I had probably embarrassed him earlier in front of Uncle Adam and Hassan.

"There's no need to apologize, I should have handled it more maturely instead of rushing out on you guys. I'm sorry," I replied solemnly, reflecting on how I could have handled the situation more gracefully. The overwhelming emotions had clouded my judgment at that moment.

"It was totally understandable. Nobody was offended, be assured of that," he reassured me. My father set his flask aside and gently patted my cheek. "Remember, you have all the time in the world to think about it; there's no rush, okay? And don't feel obligated to say yes just because Adam is my good pal. This is your life, hmm?"

"Thank you," I said, getting up and hugging him tightly. I was grateful to have such thoughtful and kind parents. Marriage was a significant step, and I wouldn't rush into it just because I liked the guy. I hoped that in the end, I would make the right decision.

I took my father's empty flask to the kitchen and glanced at the clock, realizing it was almost 1 a.m. The knowledge that I had an 8 a.m. class waiting for me didn't exactly lift my spirits. Tired and emotionally drained, I headed upstairs to get ready for bed.

With the evening's events weighing on my mind, I decided to perform Istikhara, a prayer for guidance. Before getting into bed, I performed ablution and offered the supplication. This ritual would help me find clarity and direction in making my decision.

Istikhara is a prayer recited by Muslims seeking guidance from Allah when facing important decisions. After offering two units of prayer, the supplication of Salat al-Istikhara is recited. I prayed with deep emotions, seeking guidance for the important choice ahead. Finally, I settled into my comfortable queen-sized bed and recited Ayatul Kursi, my thoughts heavy as I drifted off to sleep.

~

Ya girl got a marriage proposal 🌝

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