Dawud.

Chapter 7: Dawud's Delivery

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful

Jannah's P.O.V

I glared at my father. He handed me a plate of scrambled eggs with toast and a glass of water. "Dad, you can not be serious!"

My father scoffed. "I am. I have to know this boy." He said simply.

I groaned, stomping my feet against the kitchen tiles beneath me. When I started to tell my father that Dawud was coming to our front step to deliver my books at the restaurant yesterday, my father wouldn't let me finish. He said that I would have to answer the door and invite Dawud in to meet him. I groaned once again, imagining how awkward it'll be.

"It's nearly eleven. Say 'Bismillah' and eat your food. When you're done, go dress up and look nice, okay?" My father said. I finished my plate as quickly as I could and did as he told me to do. He was a lot more serious today. It scared me a bit. My father was always easy going.

I wore a vivid red hijab and a long black abaya. Once I came back downstairs, the house was neat and tidy. It smelt of vanilla. "Dad, did you light my vanilla scented candle?" I asked him suspiciously.

He laughed a bit, adjusting the afghan that hung down the couch. "I think the question you should be asking me is if I finished your vanilla scented candle. The answer is yes." My father taunted me. I playfully punched his arm. "You look nice." He pointed out.

"Thanks, I think I get it from my mother."

"Yeah? Maybe you got your attitude from her too." My father said, lifting me onto his shoulders and running down the hallway. Alhamdullilah, the aura at my father's place was so relaxing and peaceful compared to my mother's house. My stomach hurt from laughing too much. I barely had enough strength to get myself down from his shoulders.

Our little fit was interrupted by a knock at the door. My dad set me down. We looked at each other with wide eyes. "Answer the door!" He said frantically. I ran to the front door, stopping in front of a mirror in the hallway to fix myself up.

The door handle shocked my hands as I grabbed it. "Bismillah." I whispered, pulling it open.

There he was, as handsome as ever. Dawud's green eyes looked brighter than usual. His cheeks were a rosy pink from the cold. His hair was slightly pulled back today, apart from the bit hanging over his temple and stopping just below his ear. It looked sleek and professional. He wore the same coat as he did when I saw him at the mosque yesterday. He then spoke, winning my heart with his profound voice. "Assalamu'Alaykum, Jannah."

I took a deep breath and replied. "Wa Alaykum As Salam, ‎Dawud."

We stared at each other wordlessly.

"Jannah!" My father poked my shoulder. He was hidden behind the front door I was holding open. What was he doing? Oh, yeah! I had to invite Dawud in. How dreadful.

I turned my attention back to Dawud as I winced in shame. "Hey, if it's not too much trouble, my father would like for you to come in and.." I lost my train of thought as I looked at him. His eyes were so intricate... So-

"Have some tea!" My father spat. I'm thankful Dawud couldn't hear him.

I pulled myself out of the clouds and continued. "And have some tea."

Dawud grinned and hauled the large box of books in his hands into my house. After asking for approval, he dropped them by the door. My father stepped out from behind me as I shut the front entrance and gave Dawud a nice and firm handshake.

"I knew it! You're Muhammad's son from the bookstore!" My father exclaimed, pulling Dawud in for a hug. They laughed that belly laugh that all men do. "Masha'Allah, you've grown into such a handsome young man!" Dawud looked down bashfully. "Come in, come in! Let's have some tea."

The two of them disappeared down the hall. I snuck into the kitchen, rubbing my forehead in confusion. Why did everyone know Dawud? First, Abdallah and Mariam and now my father? I mean, I guess that's a good thing. It's just strange that I've never met him before.

They were sat in the family room, speaking to one another like buddies. I hid in the kitchen for at least twenty minutes before I grabbed my phone off the counter and called Muna.

"Jannah! What's up?" She responded.

"Muna! Dawud is sitting in my living room right now!" I whispered, shutting myself in the pantry.

She gasped. "Uhm, why? Where are you?"

"I'm hiding in my dad's pantry!" I wept, popping a few chocolate chips into my mouth. I probably looked ridiculous. "He is talking to my dad about ... God knows what! I don't know what to do! After what happened yesterday on the phone, how can I have a conversation with him?" I whined, jumping up and down in hopelessness.

"Yesterday? What happened yesterday? You two were on the phone?" She pressed.

"Jannah!" My father summoned me from the family room.

"Ya Allah!" I cried, shaking my head. "Muna, I have to go. My dad is calling me." I whispered.

"But-" I hung up and took a deep breath, relaxing my muscles.

"You can do this." I told myself, stepping out of the pantry. The walk over to the family room felt like a million steps. I felt both of their eyes on me as I sat next to my father, looking down at my socks. I mentally patted myself on the back for putting on matching socks today.

"Jannah, be confident. You're an amazing and beautiful girl. Let him see that." My father told me in our native tongue. I smiled and looked up, feeling confidence wash over me. I held my chin high as I looked at my father. He nodded in approval.

"How do you know my dad?" I asked Dawud, grinning.

"Your father donated a cheque to the bookstore when it first opened a few years back." He told me softly. My cheeks were burning and I fought the urge to look down shyly.

"Dawud, I give you permission to talk to my daughter about what you were telling me before she came in. I'll give you two some privacy." He said, before walking into his office, just across the room. He left the door open. It gave us enough privacy to speak freely without him hearing every word but he still had a clear view of what was going on. My father was a brilliant man.

Dawud rubbed his hands together before speaking. "So, Jannah."

I giggled. "So, Dawud."

He bit his lips, making me weak in the knees. "I spoke to your sister and her husband yesterday and they told me many good things about you." I covered my face in embarrassment. "Don't be shy! Please! If this is about the phone call, I thought it was really funny." He said reassuringly.

I glared at him playfully. "Funny? That makes it worse." I said, crossing my arms. He erupted with laughter.

"You really are funny." Dawud said, shaking his head. "Anyways, the first day I met you, you asked me if I was married. I said that I was looking for a wife."

I nodded calmly but on the inside, the nineteen-year-old me was melting. I focused on the way he spoke with one side of his mouth. It wasn't a medical condition. It was just his boyish charm.

"I'd like to get to know you. It would be an honor for you to could consider me for marriage." He said tenderly.

A sharp breath escaped my lips.

Chapter Eight ->