Clueless Love

I am about to leave Fatima’s to go home when I am pulled from behind into a big hug from Abeela. Abeela is brown skinned and 5 feet 5 inches tall.

“As-salamu Alaykum, kiddo.”

“Wa- Alaykumu Salam, how are you, aunt Umit?” she says stepping in front of me.

“I’m good, how are you?”

“I am fine too, how is work?”

“It’s a bit stressful but okay. How is school?”

“It’s amazing. There is so much I want to tell you about school, but I am on my way out,” she says.

“You are going out looking like that?” I say taking a good look at how she is dressed, and I am disappointed to say this is no way a Muslim girl should dress to go out. She is wearing a very short skirt that stops mid-thigh and even though she is wearing pantyhose, it’s still too short.

“Yes, what’s wrong with it?” she says like she doesn’t know.

“What is wrong with it?” I say in a stern voice.

“Aunt, what’s wrong with it? This is how everyone dresses now.”

“Abeela, one thing about life you should understand is that just because everyone is doing it does not make it right. The way you are dressed is not Islamic, and you know that. So why are you doing it?”

“I know, but if I don’t dress like this I will be left out,” she grumbles.

“Abeela, you don’t have to dress like this to follow what is trending. They are other ways you can dress and still follow what is trending.”

“I know, but they are not fashionable.”

“Says who? Am I not wearing what is trending and still looking modest?”

“Yes, you are but…” she whines.

“But nothing, Abeela. I am not telling you not to dress fashionably. What I am saying is, you should dress modestly. And most importantly, make sure, make really sure that what you do is pleasing to Allah. Because nothing is worth doing if Allah is not pleased with you,” I say trying to make her understand.

“I understand what you are saying aunt, but it’s hard you know,” she says looking sad.

“Nothing is too hard with Allah beside you. If you pray and always remember you are doing it for the sake of Allah, everything will fall into place. And never forget nothing is too small to pray over,” I say and hug her to make her feel better.

“I feel so bad for dressing like this, thank you so much for making me understand what I was doing is wrong,” she says hugging me back.

“I am always here for you, my dear,” I say feeling happy I was able to make her understand.

“Alright aunt, I am going to change but you are going to help me pick what to wear,” she says pulling me upstairs to her room.

I walk into Abeela’s room. The walls are painted a light brown with a chandelier in the middle. The bed has a charcoal blanket with white patterns. The pillows are burgundy and white in colors. The bedside table is silver with a pink blush lamp. There are two dusty pink couches with a TV. There are two doors that lead to the bathroom and her closet.

“Aunt, how should I do it?” Abeela asks from inside her closet.

“Do what?” Fatima says from outside the door.

“Dress modestly but still wear what is trending,” Abeela says.

“Oh, it’s easy you can wear anything you want. You just have to know how to wear it,” I say sitting down on one of the couches in her bedroom.

“Umit, you did not make sense,” Fatima says sitting beside me.

“Okay what I am trying to say is, for instance, if you want to wear ripped jeans you can but you have to wear patched ripped jeans. Also, you can wear anything as long as you look modest in it,” I explain.

“You make it sound so easy!” Abeela says falling on her bed.

“Because it is, you will see,” Fatima says as we help Abeela pick something to wear.

The next morning, I wake up smiling. I just know today, In Shaa Allah (if Allah wills), I will blow Ismail’s mind with the new game the team and I have programmed. We have worked hard and taken a completely different approach. While I was praying Fajr (morning) prayer, I made sure to make a lot of duas (appeals) for my success today.

I get to the office and I show Ismail the new game. Ismail loves it. Finally! But that is not what has me freaking out for the past two hours. The board of directors are coming later this afternoon to see the game. I have been pacing up and down in my office thinking of all the possible bad outcomes.

“You need to sit down and calm down. Everything is going to be fine,” Emma says from one of the chairs in front of my desk.

“How can I calm down? What if they don’t like it? What am I going to do? What if they insult it more than Ismail did last time? Oh, Allah, I don’t know what I will do,” I say thinking of all the ways this could go wrong.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Don’t worry! I saw the game, and it’s amazing. They will love it. You have nothing to worry about,” Emma says, pulling me down to sit.

“Alright, if you say so,” I say, trying my best to stop overthinking it.

I finished my presentation to the board of directors a few minutes ago. I am waiting in my office to hear if they liked it or not when Ismail calls me to his office. I say a few prayers on my way, hoping they loved it.

I burst into Ismail’s office, too impatient to knock before entering and banging the door.

“Hey! Why did you enter like that?” Ismail says jumping from his seat due to the loud thud I made bursting into his office.

“Sorry, I am just really anxious to know what they thought of it,” I say.

“Hmm,” Ismail says, sounding neutral so I can’t tell if they liked it or not.

“Ismail!” I say loudly.

“Chill woman, they love it.”

“They what?” I say getting excited.

“Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar (Allah is the greatest) Alhamdulillah (Praise be to Allah), they loved it, they loved it, they loved it,” I chant super excited.

“Yes, they did,” Ismail says smiling.

“We need to celebrate. Dinner is on me tonight. You guys should pick the place and I will pay. I will call Waheeda and tell her not to cook,” I say grinning.

“Anything is fine with me.”

“You eat everything, so why wouldn’t anything be fine with you,” I giggle.

“Hey! It’s not a bad thing,” he says smiling.

“Even when you sneak a plateful of food you supposedly don’t like,” I laugh.

“I don’t have time for you. Go and call your sister,” he says sending me away.

“The only reason you are chasing me away is because you know I am telling the truth,” I tease him.

“I don’t care, just leave my office.”

“Alright, Ma’ as-Salama, see you later,” I say walking out of his office.

“Ma’ as-Salama, and I don’t want to see you later,” he says.

I smile, knowing full well he does not mean it, mostly because he will want to eat dinner.