A means to an End

Chapter Two: Unexpected Encounters

"Mind if I give you the greeting?"I turned to face the source of the voice, and my eyes widened as I took in the sight before me—a tall brother dressed in the crispiest white thobe I had ever seen. His outfit was accentuated by gold cufflinks, and his kufi appeared as though it had just been unwrapped from its packaging. Even at a distance, I could catch a whiff of Saudi oud lingering in his beard.

"You talking to me?" I replied, attempting to maintain an air of composure despite the excitement bubbling within me.

"Yeah," he responded, his charming smile lighting up his face. Zariah leaned in and whispered in my ear, "That beard, though." Unable to contain my amusement, I giggled and replied, "No, I don't mind."

He extended a warm greeting, "Asalaam Alaikum Warahmatullahi Wa Barakati, Ya Ukhti."

"Walaikum Salaam," I replied, 

"Oh nah you cant short change me on the greeting. In Surah Nisa Ayat 86 Allah Subanna WataAllah says 'And when you are greeted with a greeting, greet [in return] with one better than it or [at least] return it [in a like manner]. Indeed, Allah is ever, over all things, an Accountant'"

"My bad brother, Wa Alaikum Salaam Warahmatullahi Wa Barakatu."

"Barakallahu Feek," he acknowledged. "Are you married?"

The question caught me off guard, and I glanced at Zariah, disbelief written all over my face. "With all due respect, brother, I think this conversation is getting a bit too—"

Zariah interrupted, her impatience evident, "If you're interested in her, you could just say that, Casanova."

"Zariah!"

"What? He's taking too long, and we've got to go."

"Yes, I'm interested," he said abruptly, his gaze locked onto mine. I quickly averted my eyes. 

"Can I get your wali's number? If he's around, I don't mind talking to him in person."

"I'll give you his contact." I retrieved one of my business cards and wrote my dad's name and number on the back, handing it to the brother. "My number is on the front just in case you have trouble reaching him."

"Alright," he said, "you didn't even ask me for my name."

"Brother, just tell her your name. We don't have time for this," Zariah urged impatiently.

He chuckled, "Alright, my name is Taheer. What's your name, sis?"

"I'm Amiyah."

"Amiyah... Amiyah... Amiyah!!!" My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Zariah's enthusiastic voice. 

"Amiyah!"

"Yeah, what were you saying?"

"You were thinking about Eid again, weren't you?"

"Maybe..."

Zariah rolled her eyes playfully. "Just order already."

The waitress approached our table. "Are you ready to order?"

"Yes," I replied. "I'll have a plain Belgian waffle with two eggs over hard and two strips of halal beef bacon. I absolutely love waffles."

"I'll have the same," Zariah chimed in, "but instead of the waffle, I'd like a stack of buttermilk pancakes."

Although we were committed to our health and wellness journey, Fridays were our designated cheat day. We tried not to go overboard, but we made sure to indulge in our favorite treats.

"So, have you had any other suitors approach you?" Zariah asked.

"No, not yet. How about you?"

"None at all. Sometimes, I feel like I might have to leave Philly to meet my husband."

"Could you really up and leave the city if you did?"

"Now that I think about it, I don't know," Zariah pondered. We both sighed, knowing that finding a good, practicing brother in Philly was proving to be quite the challenge.