Chapter 1: The Pastel Hijab
Zara adjusted her pastel blue chiffon hijab for the fourth time in front of the hallway mirror. Her fingers were ice-cold. She tucked a stray lock of dark hair beneath her under-scarf and smoothed down the pleats of her modest, long-sleeved mauve dress. Down the hall, she could hear the muffled, overly cheerful voices of her parents greeting the guests at the front door.
“Just look at it as a casual afternoon chat, habibti,” her mother had pleaded that morning while baking fresh baklava. But there was absolutely nothing casual about a formal marriage introduction.
Zara took a deep, shaky breath. At twenty-four, her mind was completely closed to marriage. She was entirely focused on her life’s ambition: opening a specialized, non-profit therapy clinic for children with learning disabilities. She had spent the last two years writing business plans, studying zoning laws, and drafting therapeutic curriculums. She simply did not have the time or energy to be a traditional housewife, which is exactly what she assumed a traditional guy from her parents’ community would expect.
She walked into the formal living room, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.
Sitting on the velvet sofa across from her father was Zayd. He wore a crisp, dark green linen shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms. He looked just as uncomfortable as she felt, his posture stiff and formal. As Zara entered, his dark eyes met hers for a fleeting second before he politely lowered his gaze, offering a respectful, low-voiced, “Assalamu Alaikum.”
“Walaikum Assalam,” Zara replied softly, taking a seat on the armchair next to her mother.
The parents did most of the talking at first. Zara’s mother served mint tea and homemade sweets, while her father asked Zayd about his job. Zara learned that Zayd worked as a data analyst, loved his family, and volunteered at the local mosque every Friday. Bo-ring, Zara thought, tracing the rim of her teacup. He probably wants a quiet, predictable life. I want to change the world.
Finally, after an hour of exhausting small talk, Zara’s father smiled warmly. “Why don’t you two go sit out on the patio? Get some fresh air and talk privately.”
Zara stood up, her heart hammering against her ribs. Zayd followed her outside, maintaining a respectful distance as the heavy glass door slid shut behind them, completely cutting off the chatter of their parents.
