by S. Nahar
Copyright © 2019 by S. Nahar
All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in, or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Typewriter Pub, an imprint of Blvnp Incorporated
A Nevada Corporation
1887 Whitney Mesa DR #2002
Henderson, NV 89014
www.typewriterpub.com/[email protected]
ISBN: 978-1-64434-087-5
DISCLAIMER
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While references might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A DIAMOND IN ISLAM
S. NAHAR
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Not an Ordinary Day
Chapter 2
Story Time
Chapter 3
Mystery Behind Eyes
Chapter 4
Terrorist Control Central
Chapter 5
Just the Beginning
Chapter 6
His Messages
Chapter 7
Gym Class Horrors
Chapter 8
Playful Tease
Chapter 9
A Blast from the Past
Chapter 10
Taqwa
Chapter 11
Temptation
Chapter 12
Temptation
Chapter 13
The River of Denial
Chapter 14
The Storm on the Sea
Chapter 15
Armed in Friendship
Chapter 16
Observing Beauty
Chapter 17
Family Comes First
Chapter 18
Party Disasters
Chapter 19
Self Control
Chapter 20
Subtle Confessions
Chapter 21
Difficult Pathways, One Destination
Chapter 22
Awakening of Inquires
Chapter 23
Snow Drugged Emotions
Chapter 24
Puppy Love
Chapter 25
Drainage of Years
Chapter 26
A Storm of Woes
Chapter 27
A Touch of Hope
Chapter 28
Two Hearts
Chapter 29
Brotherly Problems
Chapter 30
The Journal of Truth
Chapter 31
Mistaken Judgments
Chapter 32
An Unwanted Intrusion
Chapter 33
Depths of Broken Memories
Chapter 34
His Choice
Chapter 35
Broken Hearts
Chapter 36
Torn Apart
Chapter 37
Misery
Chapter 38
In Comforting Arms
Chapter 39
Happily Never Afters
Chapter 40
Damn Damon
Chapter 41
The Letter
Chapter 42
Break Ups
Chapter 43
Promise Me
Chapter 44
A Nightly Surprise
Chapter 45
Goodbye
Chapter 46
I Love You, Mum
Chapter 47
Bromance
Chapter 48
Consequences of Hatred
Chapter 49
Their Greatest Fear
Chapter 50
The Real Terror
Chapter 51
A New Path
Chapter 52
Five Years
Chapter 53
Proposals and Suspicious Fathers
Chapter 54
Her Fairytale
Chapter 55
Finally His
To my closest friend, Ethar, for always standing by this book.
In a time of darkness and fear, you were the friend who put your faith
in my works and in me, and for that, I will always be thankful.
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Chapter 1
Not an Ordinary Day
Amira Sarker
A usual morning for most American teens consisted of cereal, light-hearted conversations and continuous complaints about school, however in my household, it was never that casual. Any child born in a Bengali household knows better than to expect such a simple, perfunctory morning.
“Tanwir! Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Baba yelled. “Other kids aren’t always staying at home, gazing on their laptops. They go out with good friends or help their parents. All you do is ignore your family. Does it hurt to answer your phone, once in a while, when we call?”
Mom and I sat and ate our breakfast quietly while listening to a father and son argument. My twenty year-old brother still had not learned how to stay silent when being scolded at. His nostrils flared as Baba’s words stung before his eyes.
“Maybe if you stopped comparing me to others, I wouldn’t act this way!” Tanwir countered back.
Baba sighed. “Tanwir, please, just listen to us. You don’t even talk to us anymore. Did you even pray your daily prayers lately?”
Tanwir stayed silent.
“Tanwir! Allah doesn’t teach us this in the Quran. We were made to worship Him. Stop taking advantage of life in this dunya (world). Your time here is limited. You can’t guarantee that you’ll be alive tomorrow morning,” Baba said.
“I’ve been busy,” he mumbled.
“That’s no excuse! On the Day of Judgment when Allah asks you why you didn’t pray, ‘I’m busy’ is not going to be a good reason.”
“All you do is criticize me,” Tanwir said. “You never listen. Comparing kids is one of the reasons why Muslim kids turn away from Islam.”
“Astaghfirallah (May Allah forgive you)! Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true. You know what? Just forget this. I can take care of myself,” Tanwir ran up to his room, seething.
He slammed the door loudly. Baba sighed, sitting down at the table with his head in his hands. He was mumbling a small duaa (small prayer) for his son.
“What are we going to do with this boy?” he asked Mum wrinkles showing on his brown skin.
“I don’t know,” Mum replied. “How did he end up this way? I miss my quiet little boy.”
She was absentmindedly stirring the sugar in her tea, her dark eyes holding deep sadness reflecting my father’s.
Tanwir attended to a college near home, so he didn’t have to move into the campus living areas. He was a straight A student, but had a nasty attitude that emitted fear to anyone he walked by. His rage was unbearable at times.
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was 6:45 a.m. and school started at 7. Knowing I had to run, I grabbed my backpack, and prepared to head out.
“Assalamualaikum Mum and Baba,” I said, opening the door
.
“Waalaikumusalaam.”
I stepped outside and felt rain drops on my hijab. Great. Nonetheless, I walked to the bus stop.
***
When I got to my locker, I saw my friends Tasneem and Lucy waiting for me. They were both Muslim students, but Lucy converted two years ago saying Tasneem and I inspired her. She found Islam to be fascinating and logical. It fits her moral values, which ultimately led her toward the path of Islam. Unfortunately, her family disowned her, so she moved out and lived with her aunt. As Muslims, my friends and I wore hijabs around our heads.
“What’s up?” Tasneem asked.
“Not much,” I replied, shuffling through my things to find the correct textbook. “Did we have any history readings?”
No one knew how rocky my brother was with my family and his faith, and I had no intention on telling my friends everything. Some secrets were better left untold.
Tasneem shook her head. “No history homework this time. Thank Allah for that. I was so busy.”
Lucy had her eyes glued to the phone; her light-colored eyes reflected a popular social media app. She seemed indifferent, scrolling through the mindless stream of updates and shallow posts. Suddenly, her eyes brightened, and she showed her bright screen toward us.
“There’s a new guy at school. One of the girls took a picture of him,” Lucy said, shocked at the gall that our classmates had. “That poor boy is already stuck with a paparazzi.”
“New guy?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. Apparently, that new guy in school is really hot,” Tasneem gushed, but quickly straightened herself when I raised a brow at her. Clearing her throat, she continued talking.
“I heard that he’s a complete genius, but hardly acts like it. There was a rumor at his previous school that he moved out because he had gotten into a fight with a Muslim! Can you believe that?”
At this point, I was intrigued. He had troubles with another Muslim? Why would he be at our school where the Muslim population was greater than in other areas?
“Yeah. I think his name is Derek.”
“No, it’s not. It’s David.”
The girls bickered while I rolled my eyes. A new boy in town just meant another person for me to avoid. Given what I’d heard about him, I wouldn’t want to start a feud.
Suddenly, a tall, intimidating, fearful and towering shadow loomed over me. I knew it was a male student before I even turned around.
“It’s actually Damon, ladies,” a deep voice rumbled from behind. His voice was oddly sensual, as though he was trying to provoke something within us.
Tasneem and Lucy instantly stopped fighting. I turned around and crashed into a wall of a human being, inhaling a deep breath as a strong scent of cologne winded through the air. My caramel brown eyes met his dark shade of green eyes, emulating an evergreen forest with the harshness of his gaze. He had thick, dark brown hair and perfect lips that slightly parted.
I lowered my gaze.
For a moment, he stood silent as if he was the judge and I was a witness on the stand. He scrutinized my behavior, but I didn’t dare to react. When I stole a glance I noticed his sharp gaze on me like he hated me without even knowing who I was.
This time, I didn’t back down and met his eyes with the same fervor. Perhaps, he really did get in a fight because the student was a Muslim. For all I knew, I could have been completely wrong, but the way he stared at me gave me a feeling that I wasn’t.
“Hey Damon. Come hang out with us. Not with these terrorists,” Maya said with disgust, another student who was far from being comfortable with Muslims. No one really cared though.
I broke myself from my daze, frowning at Maya. “Excuse you. Unless you catch me in the act of terrorizing somebody, don’t you ever assume that I’m a terrorist just because of my hijab. At night when you’re asleep, I’ll assume that you’re dead and bury you,” I said calmly. In fact, I was waiting all day to say it. Some of the perks of being a minority student were all the snarky comebacks one could come up with. There were no limits, so I took full advantage of that.
The new guy, Damon, seem slightly impressed. A ghost of a smile feathered his lips; I thought I could have been wrong all along.
“Oh, shut up. You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” she hissed.
I laughed.
“I do in all honesty. Thank you for noticing. I appreciate the compliment.”
Maya was fuming red at this point; her tan skin burned with a red coat of embarrassment.
“You’re a feisty one, huh?” Damon winked. “That’s a favorable quality.”
Maya, who felt threatened by my presence, stood to whisper into his ear and smiled devilishly. His eyes brightened, and they turned to a corner only Allah knew where.
“Boys get turned on too easily in this school,” Tasneem said, shaking her head. “Did I mention that Damon is an absolute flirt?”
“I wonder what gave that away,” I muttered sarcastically.
***
Seated in my history class, my non-Muslim friend, Aria, was smiling brightly when she entered the room, and sat in front of me. I had no idea why she would be so perky on a Monday morning when nothing but stress outlined the rest of my day.
“Hey,” she said.
“Why are you so happy this early in the morning?”
“Because a smile a day keeps everyone happy.”
“That’s absolutely atrocious.”
She threw her head back in a soft laugh. Her silky brown hair was moving effortlessly as she did. At times, I wondered how people would react if I ever took my hijab off. I wondered if they would silently admire my own hair.
Stop these thoughts, Amira, I told myself. Your beauty does not have to be advertised for everyone. It’s personal.
Aria broke me from my thoughts. “Did you hear about the new guy?”
“Yeah. He’s a charmer,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Got on the rocky road with him?” she laughed.
“Please. You know I don’t do boys. Besides, Islam doesn’t allow dating,” I shrugged.
“Hey, babe,” Mark, Aria’s boyfriend, interrupted as he walked into the classroom.
“Hey,” she said, as she pecked him on the lips.
They had been together for a year now and were a cute couple. Just then our teacher, Mr. Well, walked into our class right when the final bell rang, indicating to start the class. He was an elderly man with gray hair, but slim enough to infer that he cared at great deal about his health. His blue eyes gleamed with wrinkles creasing around them as he addressed the class.
“Alright, guys, settle down. Today, we have a new student named Damon. Please treat him with your best behavior,” he announced while ushering Damon to come in.
My eyes widened. You have got to be kidding me? The new jerk in town is in my history class? I groaned.
“Let’s see. How about you sit behind Amira? The girl in the peach colored headscarf,” Mr. Well pointed on my direction.
Damon nodded, and walked to the seat behind me. He lightly brushed his arm against mine, causing goose bumps to appear in that spot. I inwardly groaned, not this guy again.
I took a couple of deep breaths. If I continue ignoring him, then I’d never have to talk to him.
***
When Mr. Well partnered us up with people to do a project on a leader, I knew all chances of ignoring Damon would fly out the window because, lo and behold! Damon became my new partner. Given our earlier interaction, I dread the flirtatious conversation that I knew for sure would bother me.
“So, who do you want to do the project on?” I asked, turning in my seat to face him.
He looked more bored than a student watching an ecology documentary. “I don’t really care. As long as I get a good grade on it,” he said.
I thought for a while, knowing he’d be no help. Damon continued to stare at me, silently observing my every movement once again. I noticed that with every gesture of my hands, he would visibly tense as if await
ing a punch or hit.
“Are you okay?” I questioned. “You seem oddly… nervous.”
“I’m fine.”
I hesitantly let the topic go, thinking back to our project. “Let’s do it on Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). He changed the world and was a wonderful leader, the start of the Islamic Empire.”
“Okay, but you’re gonna need to tell me more about him.”
“How about afterschool in the library tomorrow?” I asked.
“Deal.”
He changed the topic to our project and I momentarily forgot all about his odd behavior. We reviewed the structural format of our project, assigning each other with roles and responsibilities. Him being cooperative this morning, seemed like a faraway dream. Damon wasn’t being overbearing or strange, but focused on our presentation completely.
That was until he decided to bring up a small talk.
“So, where are you from?” he casually asked, scribbling a quick note down.
I couldn’t tell if he genuinely wanted to know or was just trying to be nice and failing at it. “Guess,” I told him, curious about what his answer might be.
Because of my hijab, I would always get the most random Muslim countries from the Middle East. For some reason, people always assumed that all Muslims came from the Middle East and no other country.
“Saudi Arabia.”
I shook my head.
“India.”
“Close,” I replied, mirroring his note-taking.
“Just tell me,” he sighed, exhaling a defeated breath.
“My parents are from Bangladesh.”
He nodded. He kept asking me questions until he brought up a dating matter.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No. Islam doesn’t allow us to date.”
He glanced at me, amused. “What a darn shame, huh?” he mocked. “Luckily, I wasn’t interested to begin with.”
“So, why ask then?”
He shrugged. “For amusement, I guess. That’s what Muslims enjoy in their own twisted ways.”
His words angered me. I had no idea why he insisted on a passive-aggressive conversation with me when he could have just easily ignored my presence. He had no right to say such a disrespectful comment. I knew there was more to his fighting rumors.
