Lightness of Being…

"It is just that I care too much about humanity…" Hamza asserted passionately.

"The problem with your type is that you care much more about "humanity" than a single real live human being" Ilhaam countered, challenging.

"Excuse me, and what would my type exactly be?" a single eyebrow rose in question.

"Hmmm…How do I define thee, let me count the ways" she frowned in mock contemplation.

And so the afternoon flew by, their attempts at studying or getting any real work done completely thwarted by inevitably useless pontification on any number of topics.

"Dealing with life's mysteries, is just as important as struggling through physics problems!" he declared once, much to her amusement and exasperation.

And struggle through physics they did. This flawlessly logical branch of science, was just a little too precise for their hopelessly meandering (non linear) brains. They tried to philosophize through the problems, and ended up with a board full of juxtaposed equations and even further away from the solution than the actual question itself posited. Somewhere in between, they would get bored of their lack of progress, and fall back effortlessly into some "meaningful" philosophical abstraction.

They were incredibly bright, witty, passionate and stubborn. In her, he met his intellectual equal, constantly pushing him and taunting him for his (sometimes) brash statements. She poked holes in his theories, and amusingly presented a counter point that he had inadvertently missed. He in turn, teased her about her poetry "typical girly stuff" as he called it, and sometimes recited her lines with exaggerated sadness or sentimentality.

He was always careful not to tread too far though, for he knew behind her easy laughter and twinkling eyes, lay a sensitive soul.

They were kindred spirits, and in his tender moments he confided in her that the Maker of souls must have fashioned them in the same breath. She was quick to bring him down to earth with a sharp and sassy comment of course.

They would have been perfect together (in the forever kind of way), but for her single flaw. To his thick lashed dazzling hazel eyes, perfectly symmetrical face, strong square jaw; she presented stunted lashes, small eyes, and a modest chubby face. To his unruly soft curls of black hair, chiseled Arab nose, and full gorgeous lips; she boasted short frizzy hair, a lumpy freckled nose, and a thin sweet smile.

She bore no illusions about their relationship (or lack of it). She quietly understood the unspoken rule that defined the parameters in the interactions between the "beautiful" and the "others". Theirs was to be a special sort of friendship, deep and personal at times, but strictly platonic nonetheless.

For what else could she hope for? Would the sheer radiance of her soul, simply captivate him, and blind him to her otherwise lackluster appearance?

He certainly was not blinded and this small seemingly insignificant obstacle bore him a lot of anxiety.

"It's not like I am superficial you know…" he confided in two of his closest friends Ansar and Abdullah.

"I know, but dude, I can't be married to someone I'm not physically attracted to…" Ansar empathized.

"It's all about the deen (religion) brother" countered Abdullah pulling his beard thoughtfully.

"Whatever man, even deen gotta look good, don't give me that crap" Ansar retorted.

"It's not like she is ugly, come on" Hamza jumped to her defense. He couldn't help feel protective over her, even against his own prejudices.

"What you guys are doing is wrong…" Abdullah never missed the chance to throw in a lecture. "You know when two people are alone together, who is the third?" Ansar and Hamza avoided each other's eyes, suppressing grins.

"They aint doing nothing wrong man, who said you can't just be friends with a woman. Please we live in a society where worse things are happening every day!" Ansar retorted.

Soon both Ansar and Abdullah were bickering. Hamza, who was already regretting having this conversation with them, walked away slowly.

Part II 

Attending a small university had its perks in terms of individualized attention and opportunities for growth. Ilhaam enjoyed her college experience and was immersed in a host of Causes, which made her popular among her peers. The downside of their small campus was an even smaller MSA, and a constricting circle of rumors and never-ending "exhortations" from a well meaning (of course) squad of brothers and sisters.

She was soon trapped, facing a delegation from the sisters' battalion that was sent to correctly dispense "naseeha" (loosely translated: advice). She stared at them across a large library table strewn with her books and papers, bracing for the inevitable.

"As you know sister, you have been spotted at many locations hanging out with Hamza, alone…it is just not right" The troop leader began, others were murmuring and shaking their heads.

"I understand your point, and will take it into consideration, and next time I need your advice I will let you know thanks" Ilhaam briskly delivered her prepared statement. She had been joking about the "squad" with Hamza for weeks now.

"Well, we can't force you to do anything of course…" the leader pressed on delicately, "but for the sake of Allah you need to stop your haraam ways". Others nodded in assent.

Ilhaam felt hot waves of anger rising dangerously within, "Haraam ways?" she inquired steeling her voice against her emotions.

"I mean, if you two had like, a chance or future, like…it would be something else" perked another sister vainly suppressing a giggle.

Ms. Pretty thing shrugged at the consternation of the others; and pouted her lips cutely, her small pretty face cascaded in a silky pink hijab (scarf).

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Ilhaam turned squarely on her, resisting the urge to punch the smirk out of her face (and a few teeth for good measure).

"oh nothing, I mean…just…it's not like you two are on the same level or anything" Ms. pretty thing continued bravely, to the collective gasp of her sisters. "What?" she blundered on defensively “if we are giving naseeha we might as well be honest! He will never marry…her!" she waved carelessly at Ilhaam as if she were an pile of poop or something a bit worse.

Ilhaam shrank at her sheer towering meanness.

The other sisters flustered, tried to cough, fix their hijabs and stood around awkwardly.

The leader attempting to gain some control plunged on "anyway, sister as you know the future is irrelevant here…it is the principle of haraam that we are worried about".

"I know exactly what you mean, thanks for your time" Ilhaam's voice was cold.

She picked up her bag and stashed her papers and books carelessly. She tried not to blink, or look up or do anything that would compromise her hurt feelings. With as much dignity as she could muster, she walked away with a quiet "assalamu alaykum". Leaving behind a chorus of whispers and giggles.

Part III

The flurry of exam time descended upon them, affording Ilhaam and Hamza the perfect excuse to avoid each other. Since Hamza was a senior, he also had the added stress of searching and interviewing for jobs. As if that was not enough, his family kept pestering him to start another kind of "interviewing".

After all, with his successful future secured and good looks as an extra bonus, (and of course he was sufficiently religious)the sky was the limit.

His mother kept pestering him: "just take a look at some of these pictures, just one look"

"Its okay mom, I am not ready yet!"

"Come on, how much longer? Weddings take so long to prepare and for my only son I need all the time i can get! Do you want me to die before I see the light of my life fulfilled and happy?" she laid on the guilt, thick.

"Mom, it’s okay…soon, just give me some time, let me at least make sure I graduate!"

She huffed and puffed and sullenly gave in.

Hamza, went through the daze of exams, securing a job, and finally walking down the graduation aisle.

Meanwhile, Ilhaam was accepted into a highly coveted UN internship program across the country for the summer.

They had managed to skittishly avoid each other to the very end.

Unable to escape his mom's stony silence and blatant hints much longer, Hamza began the arduous task of meeting and filtering through potentials.

Part IV

"Daaang Hamza! you definitely deening beautifully man!" Ansar teased him laughingly.

"Mashaallah, Subhana Allah" murmured Abdullah, "May Allah grant you righteous offspring"

"They certainly gonna be beautiful, I know that for sure!" Ansar rejoined.

Hamza smiled evasively "yeah man, Alhamdullillah she is great".

After numerous "interviews" Hamza had grown sick and tired of the process. The girls were inevitably the same; pretty, coiffed, and boring to the core. They laughed coquettishly, demurely inquired about his job, and had little to say about anything "meaningful".

He kept searching for that spark, that laughter, that special extra something that would ignite his soul, in every gorgeous pair of eyes he gazed into. But nothing happened. His mom had a knack of picking out the placid, affable girls who would guarantee their status as obliging daughter-in laws.

He finally settled, against all his inclination, for the first girl that showed a bit of personality. The chosen one, Imaan sat respectfully until they were left alone.

She then sighed in an exaggerated manner and whispered conspiratorially "it's okay, you don't have to say anything, we can just sit here and pretend we are talking…when they come back we'll both say we hate each other and on we move".

He laughed amusedly and soon they were immersed in a light banter.

He chose her, because she was a pretty face with a hint of Ilhaam's personality.

Part V

Ilhaam threw herself into her internship and dazzled her employers. She continued writing poetry and taking long hikes in her free time. She also stubbornly refused to think of Hamza and what could have been (knowing well, that nothing could have happened). She missed their friendship, long talks and easy laughter. Ilhaam had very few good friends, and none of them were around her to provide her the much needed nest of comfort.

She felt a restless void, which was exacerbated by both their lack of closure and an MSA group email that somehow made it to her account. The email was written by Ms. Pretty thing (who was lucky to still sport a full set of teeth). It was a Mabrook (Congratulations) declaration for Hamza and Imaan. Her triumph was sealed by a post script that read "Awwww…they like look sooo adorable together Mashaallah!".

Ilhaam was now officially depressed.

Not that she didn't expect it or anything; she just always assumed she would hear about it from him first. You know, the way best friends are supposed to know about each other's life decisions. Even platonic best friends.

Ilhaam yearned to know all the little details. She was happy for him, she bravely assured herself. She just wanted to ask him, if Imaan made him laugh, and if she was witty and if she even knew and cared about his obsession with saving "humanity". She wanted to know if their conversation sparked. If his heart was electrified by Imaan's presence; and if his presence ignited Imaan's creative soul.

She really wanted to find out if Hamza and Imaan's souls were fashioned together, by the same breath, the same Maker.

She would never find out of course, she reminded herself. And being pragmatic and wise, Ilhaam refused to wallow in self pity.

 Instead she signed up for a kick boxing class that very day she received the email.

Part VI

Their courtship did not last long, before the marriage forces converged upon them. The moms were already charting dates and looking into halls, reservations, cards, and flowers.

Imaan was shy and it took a while for them to get a conversation going.

Hamza kept prodding her, throwing out outrageous statements, baiting her feisty side.

Imaan was confused by most of his rambling thoughts, and playfully distracted him away from all that "heavy stuff". He loved the way her pretty forehead creased in concentration; it was as if the very process of thinking was too much for her. She wasn't dumb by any means, simply unassuming and quite content with her lot in life. She was pretty, educated, and brought up in an affluent family. Her whole life held a promise of prosperity and she didn't feel the need to worry about things she had little control over. Besides, she had enough cuteness to alleviate at least some of the world's suffering (she actually told him that once). She did smile a lot, and smiling is charity.

Hamza, cared for her, but he could not shake off a cloud of loneliness that enveloped his soul, even when he was hanging out with his pretty future bride.

The wedding planners moved forward, unperturbed by the nagging whispers in the back of Hamza's mind. The couple was duly swept up in the tide of fervor and excitement portending one of the biggest wedding bashes of all times.

Part VII

He had tried not to call her or even think of her. He wrote many long winded emails and simply deleted them. There was no use. Everything was out of his hands now. But Hamza missed her. He felt suffocated by his family's hysteria, even his sweet pretty Imaan was no comfort to him. Ansar and Abdullah were out of question. Ansar would refuse to understand that beauty is not really everything; and Abdullah would inevitably launch into another boring tirade on third parties and shayateen (devils).

He yearned to talk to Ilhaam. He would give anything to kick back, and laugh at the irony of the situation they were in. He missed the way her eyes completely disappeared when she laughed, it was cute in its own way. He missed many things about her, her presence, the vivacity she exuded, her intellect, her soul. Yet he knew his sole comfort was strictly out of bounds. 

Part VIII

Fall semester started with the usual flurry of classes and activities. After passing a hectic afternoon bustling in and out classes and meetings, Ilhaam finally managed to sneak out to her favorite hideout in the corner of a nearby park. She made her way across campus, along a narrow wooded path, and dragged her book bag to the edge of a clearing where a large lake sparkled magnificently.

She found her seat under a sad arching willow tree, took out a note pad, and began doodling meaninglessly.

The tree branches hung low, almost kissing the water. She smiled wistfully remembering one of her last conversations with Hamza.

"This tree is so sad" she had remarked with characteristic melancholy.

"What makes you think the tree is sad?" hamza rose typically.” Look at it, it sleeps and wakes up everyday on the bank of a gorgeous lake, it gets to stare at its reflection and receive lapping kisses from the water every morning. I declare this tree to be the happiest in the world!"

She had rolled her eyes at him and they spent the next hour debating the tree's "real" emotions.

She was suddenly startled out of her reverie by a sound of crunching leaves.

"Ilhaam?" Hamza's soft voice whispered across to her.

She swallowed an aching lump, her heart racing madly.

"Can I join you?" he asked hesitantly.

Ilhaam nodded, afraid to say another word.

They sat in silence watching the fading glow of the dying sun inexplicably comforted by each other’s presence.

Words could wait a while.

For now, they had each other, and that was more than enough.

-the end-