Love from a to Z

Adam, this may not be the time to begin anything.
And there it was, the voice of reason, of pragmatism, that ruled my life,
that I didn’t want to listen to today.
Not the right time for love, it whispered again as the elevator doors
opened.
I tested a tentative step out and then sped up, holding on to the wall, to
leave that crippling voice behind in the elevator.
We were meant to meet.
I believe that there’s a connection between the things that happen to us,
beyond ourselves. Like Dad taught me to believe.
And I’ve believed this way for seven years.
Zayneb and I were meant to cross paths. I want to get to know her, keep
her showing up in my life.
This was the script I used to replace the thoughts I didn’t want inside
anymore.
I want to keep her showing up in my life was in my head as I entered the
darkened exhibit hall and saw the back of that blue hijab, under a spotlight,
in front of a display.
She turned, face full of life, eyes dancing with excitement, and I thought,
Yeah, she’s a marvel meant to be in my life.

---

ZAYNEB
SUNDAY, MARCH 17
MARVEL:
ADAM . . . AND HIS SOUL
E
XHIBIT
A: H
IM, AT THE
museum.
One of the reasons Ayaan said she loves being Muslim is because it
makes her feel like a natural feminist. “Like, hello? Our queen Khadija
didn’t wait for the man she had her eye on to ask her, to get on his knees.
Nope. Instead, she said, I like you, oh employee of mine. Will you marry
me? And then, after they hitched, she just kept her job as his boss. Mad
respect.”
She was talking about the prophet Muhammad. How he was proposed to
by his boss, Khadija.
Those were the two I kept thinking about as we moved through the
museum, with Hanna flitting around and between us and the other museum
visitors like a butterfly, excitedly “landing” on a display of jewelry every
once in a while to stare at the stones and pearls, read the caption sometimes,
and then, always, take a picture.
I was thinking of Ayaan and the prophet Muhammad. And a third person
too: Adam.
How Ayaan would just say, Tell him. That you’re interested in getting to
know him seriously. Make a move, advance like our queen. Like you’re
supposed to. Be the boss you’re meant to be, Zayneb.
I was thinking of how the prophet Muhammad was a soft, beautiful soul,
who didn’t get bothered that a woman had asked him, didn’t get bothered
that she was his boss.
How Adam had that kind of a soul.
I could tell from the way he loved his mother to the way he treated his
sister.

---

Like, right now he was calling Hanna over to a display case. When she
arrived, iPad held out ready to snap, he bent over so that he was at her level
and then told her quietly about whatever precious thing they were looking
at.
I hung back, my facial expressions blocked by a pillar display housing a
bejeweled sword sheath, unnamed feelings eating me up inside and most
probably spilling out on my face.
My parents have always been pretty relaxed when it comes to
relationships. As long as we’re in a group or in public and observe certain
boundaries, it’s okay for my siblings and me to be on friendly terms with
anyone. They have no interest in setting us up or arranging marriages or, the
best, making harsh statements like Stay away from boys! My sister, Sadia,
met Jamil on her own at college, and my brother, Mansoor, has been talking
to the same person, Hodan, forever, since they met in middle school, and
everyone knows where that is headed. I mean, it was great for my parents
that they knew Hodan from the mosque and that she was related to Ayaan’s
family, which immediately gave her another layer of legitimacy.
Because they’ve told me I’m free to meet someone who shares my
values, whether they know the person or not, on that front, I know that
they’d be completely fine if I told them that I’d met a boy in Doha. Like
Sadia had been okay with it.
But I didn’t know what to do with all this.
I mean, I knew he liked me. And vice versa, to the hundredth power, if
we’re talking mathematically.
But what did that exactly . . . mean?
The “certain boundaries” my parents had coached Sadia, Mansoor, and
me about were physical ones. Touching leads to kissing leads to sexing.
Which they (and every sermon at the mosque regarding this topic) had
warned us about—especially that being alone with someone you had the
hots for and who also had the hots for you could lead to touching and
kissing and sexing.
Until Adam, I hadn’t understood this.
• • •
“This is my favorite necklace.” As we exited the exhibit, Hanna extended
her iPad to show me a picture of a heavy-looking choker filled with rubies,

---

emeralds, and pearls, which appeared to cover the entire neck and part of
the shoulders of the mannequin head it sat on. “Adam said I have a good
eye. Because this one took a lot of crafting to make.”
I peered at it. “I love it. Especially the rubies and emeralds, the way
they’re stuck inside the gold.”
Adam glanced over at the image. “Yeah, some of these are stones, but the