Dawud.

Chapter 15: Parents and Plants

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

I propped up a small mirror against the salt shaker and applied my usual turmeric and honey face mask. It helped with the annoying blemishes that came and went as they wished.

My father shook his head, staring at me in awe. "Dawud punched the guy in the head and then walked you home?" He asked.

I nodded with a smirk."He walked ahead of me too. Plus, we didn't say one word. When we got to the house he waited until I was inside before leaving." I narrated excitedly.

My father scratched his chin. "Dawud's a real man. I like him even more."

I sighed and cleaned my hands at the sink. "But have you forgotten about mom? What are we going to do?" I asked. My father told me that he was going to call her. "No! Dad, you know how much she.." I chose my words carefully. "You know how angry she is towards you."

My father thought for a minute. "This isn't about us. It's about our daughter getting married and if she is going to be close-minded, we'll just have to get you married without her permission. I'm your wali (guardian). She isn't." He told me sternly before handing me his phone. I dialed her number and handed it back to him with a large lump in my throat.

The very thought of getting married without my mother's consent terrified me.

My father spent half an hour on the phone. He was in his office, a bit of a distance away from where I was pacing back in forth in the kitchen. I heard him speak calmly, grow frustrated, shout and then apologize. Not once did I hear him cuss and not once did I hear an insult. He returned with a line of sweat across his forehead and on the bridge of his nose. I looked at him with anticipation. "So?" I asked him, biting my lip.

"She's meeting him today. We're all going to his apartment downtown, Insha'Allah. He's left his basketball game and is tidying up his place for us." My father said breathlessly. I poured him a glass of water and watched him chug it down. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. "We're going to pick your mom up and head over to his place in an hour so I suggest you fix yourself up."

I gasped. "You and mom? In a car? Together?" My father threw his head back in laughter. "No, but really. You're going to be inhaling the same air. You know that, right?" I pressed. I felt like throwing up. Not once have I seen my parents be professional. Not even at my high school graduation.

"I'm not the same man I was three years ago. You're really hurting my self-esteem." My father scolded. I took a deep breath and walked past him. "Where are you going?" He asked me.

"To take a shower. I'll be ready in an hour, Insha'Allah."

I stood there, under the pressure of the shower head, daydreaming of a life by Dawud's side. He'd surprise me with flowers, chocolates, and gifts. He'd teach me how to play basketball and best of all, he'd help me become a better Muslim. This would all be possible if Allah (Glorious and Exalted be He) willed for Dawud and me to be together and I prayed that it may be so.

My father pulled his car into my mother's driveway. I observed from the back seat as she stomped over to the passenger's side and pulled open the door. She threw herself into the seat and slammed the door shut. I sympathized with her seatbelt as she yanked and pulled at it until it was buckled to her comfort. She turned her head and looked at me in the back seat. I smiled at her and she huffed, turning back around. My dad looked up at me through the rear-view mirror and gave me a supportive wink. I chuckled.

The ride was quiet. The painful silence lasted for a nice half hour, draining me of excitement. When we pulled into the parking lot, I was taken aback by the beauty of the area. The trees were adorn with lights of all colors. They shun brightly, showcasing the apartment building. My father gave me a sly smile while my mother scoffed, grumbling to herself.

My father and I held hands, walking up to the entrance door. I reached out for my mother's hand but she ignored my gesture and looked on, crossing her arms. I frowned and sighed, giving my father the incentive to pull me close to him lovingly. He rested his arm on my shoulders, cradling me. It was reassuring and nice.

The lobby wasn't as pleasant and extravagant as you'd think. The floors were carpeted and dirty and the receptionist was snoring away. It was twelve in the afternoon.

My question is, could there have been anything in my life more awkward than the elevator ride up to the fifth floor where Dawud lived?

Answer: Maybe, but I can't think of any moments so, no.

Once we reached his door, my mother knocked harshly. My dad gave her a shocked expression and she just chuckled grimly. I swallowed the worry down, praying that Dawud had a sturdy backbone. My mother was like a harsh wind and only the strongest survived through her current.

The door was pulled open slowly. There stood Dawud, tall and confident. "Assalamu'Alaykum." He greeted us charmingly.

I followed my parents into his apartment. It was beautiful. The walls were a matte shade of white and the air was pure and refreshing due to the several plants placed around the flat. The floor was covered in dark gray ceramic tiles. It was very modern and chic which surprised me. "Your apartment is very nice, Dawud." My father told him, patting him on the shoulder.

Dawud looked down modestly. "Thank you, Sultan. I've furnished and renovated it myself." He said, leading us to the sitting area. The curtains were pulled open, revealing the beautiful view he had of the city. We sat on his beige leather couch. My father sat on my left, I sat in the middle and my mother sat on my right. I gawked at the large wooden bookshelf placed against the wall, gushing with books upon books. It towered over us.

My mother cleared her throat. "What is it that you do for a living, Dawud?" She pressed. I winced at her threatening tone.

Dawud smiled at her brightly, untouched and unaffected. "I'm still a student so work is not something I do full-time but, I do work at an Islamic bookstore downtown. It belongs to my father and after I finish university I plan on running the business myself." He told her. His speech was clear and his tone was moving.

My mother studied him. "How did you afford a place like this?"

I opened my mouth to intrude but my father squeezed my shoulder. I stared at him angrily, causing him to put his index finger to his lips, silencing me.

Dawud gave me a reassuring smile before answering my mother's question. He must've seen what had just happened. "Well, to be completely honest with you, both my parents run successful businesses. They helped me get my own place and I've been paying the rent ever since, Alhamdullilah."

My mother raised her eyebrows in surprise. Yes! Dawud, you've broken her first wall! "How is your relationship with Islam?" She asked him.

"I pray five times a day, I abstain from music, I go to the masjid regularly and I teach a recitation class for little kids who are learning to Quran." He told her.

I marveled at how blessed I was. Allah, Glorious, and Exalted be He, has gifted me with such a pious young man. Dawud saw my expression and looked at his shoes modestly. I did that too.

"Do you expect my daughter to stay at home after marriage?" She questioned him. There was a slight fury in her eyes. This was a very sensitive topic for her.

"If she wants to then it's her choice. But to answer your question, No. We're both in school so I thinks it's important that we complete our degrees. Education is so important." Dawud told her with a slight worry in his eyes.

My mother stuttered as she tried to think of other questions. "I suppose you and Sultan have a close-knit relationship, yes?" She urged. He nodded. "Then, I've seen enough." She concluded.

I looked up at her immediately with shocked eyes. Dawud had the same expression. What would her answer be?

Chapter Sixteen ->