AMIR sat beside Khalid on the parking lot curb. He had sent Ethan and Mo away to mingle with the other singles. He had never seen his friend like this.
“She hates me,” Khalid said.
“I’m sure she only dislikes you, like, a lot,” Amir said, patting him on the shoulder. “Why did you ask her to marry you?”
“I love her. I thought she’d say yes. I’m such an idiot.”
“Maybe you should have broken things off with her cousin before you made a move.”
Khalid looked up at Amir. “You’re not very good at this.”
Amir’s eyes rested on two figures, a man and a woman, standing just outside the tent. Their heads were together and the man was speaking urgently.
“Isn’t that hottie hijabi your fiancée?” Amir asked, nodding in the couple’s direction. Khalid recognized Hafsa, talking to Tarek.
“You mean my soon-to-be-ex-fiancée.” Khalid got to his feet.
“I’ll be here to help her pick up the pieces. Though it looks like I might have to get past that guy first. You know he’s putting the moves on your girl, right?” Amir said as Tarek gave Hafsa a hug, taking her by surprise. After a moment’s hesitation, she hugged him back.
“I’m not judging the behaviour or actions of anyone else ever again,” Khalid declared.
Amir’s eyes were still on Hafsa and Tarek. “You better keep an eye on that guy, Khalid. He’s a shady scuzzball.”
Khalid shook his head. “No more judgments. No more assumptions.”
“Trust me on this one. Takes one to know one.” Amir stood beside Khalid and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “I know it hurts now, and it will probably hurt tomorrow, but eventually, like maybe after a few years, you’ll get over it.”
“You’re really terrible at this,” Khalid said, but he punched Amir back. He started walking toward Hafsa.
BREAKING up with Hafsa was quick. Khalid found the words flowed from him easily, as if he had been rehearsing them for weeks.
“I have spent a lot of time thinking about our relationship. I’ve prayed about it too, and I now realize we are not compatible. I can’t make you happy. Please forgive me for any pain I’ve caused you.”
Hafsa was shocked. “You’re breaking up with me?” she asked. She put a hand on her hip. “Do you know how many people told me to dump you? Haris, Ayesha, Tarek. I’m dumping you, and don’t you dare try to say anything different!”
Khalid bowed his head. “I would never speak publicly about our private business.”
“I could have had any guy,” Hafsa said. “I settled for you. You will never do better than me. Never!” Her eyes were flashing, her voice raised.
“I never set out to cause you pain.”
“If you think you can get with my cousin now, forget it. She hates your crazy beard, your stupid clothes, your obsession with the mosque. Enjoy being alone for the rest of your life!” Hafsa stalked off.
Khalid looked over and caught the eye of Amir, who gave him a thumbs-up. He waited for some emotion to hit him. Hafsa was his mother’s choice; he should be upset that his perfect arranged marriage had disintegrated. But the only thing he felt was an overwhelming sense of relief.
Feeling lighter than a man with a broken heart had any right to be, Khalid wandered into the outdoor tent, where the Singles Mixer was in full swing. He might as well make sure the rest of the conference attendees were having a good time.
Khalid had been surprised to learn that a Singles Mixer did not involve parents. Instead, the young people talked to each other on their own. As he approached the tent, he noted all the seats at the tables were filled. The moderator, a young woman dressed in a colourful abaya robe and hijab, stood at the front, directing young men and women through a round of speed-introductions. The inside of the tent was draped in gauzy red fabric, and gently glowing paper lanterns hung from the ceiling. The room was perfumed with the smell of freshly mowed lawn, and it buzzed with energy and lively conversation.
He wondered how his life would have unfolded if he had been a participant at the Singles Mixer and met Ayesha for the first time today. Maybe they would be talking and smiling at each other, like the couple in front of him.
“There are many paths to love,” Imam Abdul Bari said, surveying the scene before him with a satisfied smile. “The executive board had reservations about this event. I told them, if we do not make space for love in our mosque, the young people will look elsewhere.” He patted Khalid on the shoulder. “Though the more traditional route works as well, of course.”
“Hafsa and I are no longer engaged,” Khalid said.
“Oh, thank God,” Imam Abdul Bari said. “I did not want to say anything earlier, but I have never seen a couple more ill-matched.”
Khalid cracked a smile. “If anyone asks, she dumped me.”
“Now you are free to pursue Ayesha,” the imam continued happily. “A more compatible scenario. September is a good month for weddings, and I happen to have an opening in my schedule. I would very much like to perform the ceremony.”
Khalid looked at the young couple in front of him again. The girl, wearing a bright-green patterned hijab, was writing something down on a piece of paper. She passed it to her partner, a serious-looking young man with glasses and a goatee. He carefully pocketed the note and returned her smile.
“No more rushing into things,” Khalid said out loud.
The imam peered at him. “What do you mean?”
“I was so afraid of losing Ayesha I didn’t think things through. It’s not enough to find someone you love. You have to be ready for that love, and ready to make changes to welcome it into your life.”
A few young women and men at the tables in front nudged their friends. One serious-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard looked up.
“That’s the problem these days. The guys all want perfect Bollywood divas,” one of the young women, a petite girl in a black-and-white striped hijab, offered to Khalid and the imam.
“And the girls have all these high expectations of us,” a young man with square black glasses added. “Like, how much money are you making? How big is your house? What car do you drive?”
“The aunties are the worst,” the girl continued. “We get ranked on skin colour, height, weight, our parents’ social circle . . . If we haven’t settled down by thirty, we’re failures.”
“Or there’s something wrong with us,” another man, chubby and wearing a wrinkled cotton shirt, chimed in. “I’m thirty-five and single. I was in school and in debt for years. I didn’t want to burden another person with all of that.”
“Allah placed love in your hearts and created you as two separate individuals,” the imam said. “The Islamic view of marriage is not the same as secular romantic love.” He paused, thinking. “I have been married for over twenty-five years, and my wife and I are vastly different people. I think the reason we are still married and happy, most of the time, is because we have learned to forgive each other for not being the Ideal. We accept each other’s limitations.”
The young singles stared at the imam, unimpressed by his prosaic description of married life. Everyone except Khalid, who gripped the imam’s arm hard. “Where is my mother?” he asked.
The imam patted him on the shoulder. “I try never to know the answer to that question.”
Khalid walked swiftly toward the gym.
FARZANA was in the gym with her friends when Khalid approached and asked her if he could have a word in private. They walked outside to the main entrance, where they stood flanked by four large mirrored doors and an imposing stone staircase no one ever used. Khalid and Farzana were alone.
All of the adrenaline from his encounter with Hafsa was still coursing through him, and the imam’s words echoed in his mind. He needed to confront his mother, now.
“The imam is stealing money from the mosque,” Farzana said, interrupting his thoughts. “I have notified the mosque president. I knew Abdul Bari was a crook.”
“A
mmi, why don’t you want Zareena to attend my wedding?” Khalid asked.
“I was going to notify the police, but there is no reason to air our dirty laundry in public. We will have him banished from the property. I will hire the next imam, someone young and pliable.”
Khalid looked at his mother in exasperation. “The imam is not a thief. Ammi, why did you send Zareena away?”
“People must pay for their mistakes. It is best if these matters are dealt with quickly and quietly.”
Khalid wasn’t sure if his mother was talking about the imam or his sister. He pressed the issue. “Why didn’t you call her after Abba died? Why haven’t you talked to her since you sent her away?”
“Khalid, you need to focus. The imam is a thief! Make a citizen’s arrest.”
Khalid felt a rising frustration with his mother. Ayesha’s accusations about his sister were painful and had stirred up so many unhappy memories. He wanted to shake his mother out of her rigid thinking. “I send Zareena money every month,” he said abruptly. “We have been in touch for over ten years.”
Farzana started. “Foolish boy. She’s using you.”
“She was seventeen and she made a mistake,” Khalid said.
Farzana drew herself up. “She was an embarrassment, and it was my job to correct her behaviour. She’s lucky I was so gentle.”
Khalid felt disgust at his mother’s words. Had she always been like this, self-righteous and cruel? Was it possible that he had simply never noticed? “She’s your only daughter and you treated her like a criminal. Zareena deserved better.”
“If you won’t confront the imam, I will. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, Khalid. I hope this isn’t Hafsa’s influence.”
Khalid was angry now, and he couldn’t stop the words from slipping from his mouth. “Hafsa and I are no longer engaged.”
Farzana continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “It is a good thing your fiancée is so young and well behaved. She will listen to me when I advise her.”
“Ammi, did you hear me? We’re not getting married anymore.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No,” Khalid said. “We’re not.”
Farzana looked at her son for the first time since they had walked out together. He recognized the stricken expression on her face, and his voice softened. He took her hand.
“I want you to be part of my life, Ammi, but it’s time I made my own decisions and learned to live with the consequences. Whatever they turn out to be.”
Farzana snatched her hand away. “You will leave me too. Just like your father and your sister before him.”
Khalid wanted to reassure his mother that he would never abandon her. A part of him wished he could take back his words. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he also felt a sense of lightness and relief. For the first time in his life, he had told his mother what he actually thought about something, and it felt fantastic.
“Yo, K-Man!” Amir stood at the bottom of the staircase. “Your ex-hottie just got in a car with Mr. Shady. I told you to watch out for him. She gave me this.” He held out a Post-It note. “I didn’t read it,” he lied.
Khalid turned to his mother. “Ammi, who told you the imam was stealing the conference funds?”
Farzana wiped her eyes. “Tarek. He’s a good boy. He wanted to warn me.”
Khalid ran down the stairs. He snatched the note from Amir’s outstretched hands and read it quickly. His mother joined him, and her eyes widened as she read over his shoulder.
“The reason I know the imam could not possibly have stolen the conference money is because I set up the website myself,” Khalid said. “All registrants paid directly into the Muslims in Action account, the same account controlled by Brother Tarek. He told me he cleared it with you.”
“He told me the imam was a crook and that he would keep the money safe for the mosque.”
Farzana and Khalid looked at each other, panic clear on their faces. Khalid did a quick calculation: tens of thousands of dollars in desperately needed donations, gone.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Asmall crowd had gathered in the parking lot. Hafsa’s parents stood apart, frantically dialing their daughter’s cell phone over and over.
“Hafsa would never get into a car with a strange man. Something must have upset her,” Samira Aunty said.
Something like a semi-public breakup? Khalid and Amir exchanged glances, thinking of the Post-It note in Khalid’s pocket.
I’m going to have some fun with a real man—he’s hot, rich and totally into me. Tell everyone I’ll be in touch after our nikah. And don’t forget—I dumped YOU!
Khalid assumed she was joking about the nikah. Hafsa wanted a big, showy wedding. He felt the first flicker of guilt. “I’m sure she’s fine,” he said out loud, but no one paid him any attention. He wished Ayesha were here. Even if she yelled at him, he would feel better.
The imam plucked at Khalid’s sleeve. “I hate to think the worst of a fellow Muslim, but it is better to have all the facts,” he said. “How much money was deposited into the Muslims in Action account?”
“A lot. Enough to buy us a few months of breathing room.”
The imam closed his eyes. “Subhanallah.”
“I’m sure Brother Tarek took Hafsa to run an errand. Or perhaps out for coffee. He wouldn’t steal from a mosque, and even if he was that reprehensible, I’m sure Sister Hafsa would convince him otherwise,” Khalid said, trying to sound reassuring.
Abdul Bari looked pale. “‘The pens have been lifted, and the pages have dried,’” he quoted.
After Hafsa’s parents made a call to the police, the crowd dissipated and Khalid drove his mother home.
Farzana was uncharacteristically silent, but she perked up as he pulled into their driveway. “Now that Hafsa has run away with Tarek, we can cancel the wedding. I never liked her anyway. The mistake we made was trying to find a girl here instead of in India. I have another girl in mind for you. Her name is Zulfat and she lives in Hyderabad. She’s seventeen, and if we start the sponsorship now, she can immigrate to Canada soon.”
Khalid stared at his mother. She couldn’t be serious.
Farzana crossed her arms. “What if I telephone Zareena and invite her to visit?”
Khalid took the key out of the ignition. He thought about his sister, who hadn’t returned any of his texts or emails. He had buried his worry for her, just as he had buried his feelings of loss and guilt. No more.
If he had been looking for a sign that he had made the right decision, his mother’s attempt to arrange his marriage to another stranger, and cajole his obedience by promising to telephone Zareena, was better than a burning bush. For better or for worse, he had taken the first few steps toward a new life.
“Zareena is no longer part of your life,” he said softly. “You have no daughter. Remember?”
KHALID paced his room, his thoughts jumbled. It wasn’t just that Hafsa had run away with Tarek. It wasn’t just that Ayesha had stomped on his heart. Or that his only sister had vanished. Something else was bothering him. Khalid couldn’t stop replaying Ayesha’s words: Gun to my head . . . Coward and hypocrite . . .You beat your sister almost to death . . .
He paused, rewinding. That last allegation, at least, he could answer. Khalid reached for his blue leather notebook, the twin of the one he had bought for Ayesha back when he’d thought his life would unfold exactly as planned.
He began to write.
THE townhouse was quiet when he walked over, but the lights were on. A young man opened the door and looked Khalid up and down.
“I heard Hafsa dumped you and ran off with some pretty boy,” the young man said.
Khalid remembered him now: Ayesha’s brother, Idris. “Is your sister here?”
Idris yelled for Ayesha before letting him into the living room. He perched on the arm of a saggy sofa.
“Is that beard for real?” Idris said. “I forgot to ask at the engagement.”
“Yes.”
<
br /> “Solid.”
There was a moment of silence. Then: “I hear you’re rich.”
“My mother has money, not me.”
“That’s probably why Hafsa dumped you. I’m going to be rich one day. I’m killer at writing code. Maybe you could come work for me.” He reached into his pocket and handed Khalid a business card.
Khalid took it and nodded gravely. “I’d like that.”
Satisfied, Idris wandered away. Khalid stood up and walked around the small living room. There was a framed picture of the Kaaba on the wall, along with a print of the Prophet’s Mosque in Medina. On a small side table, a large white marble model of the Taj Mahal was prominently displayed. His eyes lingered on the model, and he thought about the legendary love Emperor Shah Jahan had for his wife Mumtaz Mahal. After he was deposed by his sons, Shah Jahan had spent his last days staring through the window of his jail cell at his wife’s tomb. It came to represent his deep grief and love.
Ayesha slowly walked down the stairs, watching him stare at the Taj.
“It belongs to my Nani. A wedding gift, I think,” she said to his back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. She didn’t smile.
“Why did you come?” Her voice was flinty.
He moved toward her, reaching first for the letter, but pulling out Hafsa’s Post-It note instead.
Ayesha read quickly, shaking her head in disgust. “Did she break things off with you?”
Khalid shifted his weight. “That is what the note claims,” he said. “I didn’t want to show this to her parents at the mosque. They were already frantic. I thought I’d ask if you had any idea where she might have gone. Does she like to frequent a particular park, or . . .” he trailed off. Ayesha was laughing softly.
“Shouldn’t you know this stuff? After all, you were engaged to be married. You should be able to read her like an open book.”
The mocking tone in her voice made Khalid wince. She was so angry with him. She had every right to be.
“I knew her better yesterday than the day before,” he said. “However, a few weeks’ acquaintance is not enough to sustain a working knowledge of another person.”
Ayesha At Last Page 24
