'That unorthodox kind of love' - A muslim love story

Chapter 3

A minute passed by, possibly a few, my mind was in no state to calculate. Any witty quip or distateful remark stayed clogged up in my throat effectively choking me into silence.

My mother studied me worriedly 'Arin..I realise this may be uncomfortable for you..but its..we are his last hope..Arin..?'

I wanted to raise the roof in panic, I wanted to stage an indignant protest. I wanted to deny their intrusion in anguish.  

Ofcourse! My mother had no clue of the stale emotions that continued to haunt me, we all underestimate the raw emotions of child hood asthough a step into adolescence completely wipes out whimsical fancies and replaces them with unfounded maturity. We fail to realise the very awakening of our innocence is the key to all caution and vigilance we guard ourselves with our whole life.

 I struggled to compose myself, plastering on a a smile, I turned to her.

'Ofcourse mama, who exactly..Y-Yousef or Zayn?' My voice unnaturally light.

'Weren't you paying any attention? Zayn of course, he is a troublemaker, and in honour of his mother It is our job to restore his deen,  make him god fearing and give him a purpose in life!' She spoke passionately.

'You two, will know better what..you youngsters get engaged in..its horrifying..one wouldn't dream of it in my time' My mother nodded dissaprovingly.

'Mama you think instagram is a tool of the Shaitaan'' I chuckled stiltedly ignoring my racing pulse.

I could have collapsed with relief.  God's defference of a possibly catastrophic re union was now replaced with a mildly awkward one. Zayn? Yes, him, I could endure. We had played togather once..regardless of my raging affection for his elder brother at the time. Despite my biased conduct with him at the time..I had sorely missed his innocent demeanor even for an 8 year old he had always been frail.

Moulding memories of his knobbly knees and short, skinny stature, not only his physical appearance but also his overwhelming naivity that had made him the victim of our pranks.

We thought we were hilarious. At the time. I made a mental note to apologise.

But, any notriety directed toward him was simply unthinkable.

My mother's voice suddenly took on stern tone

'Arin..even you Yasmin, my main concern is this, there will be no involvement, Yes, he will be living under our roof, attending your school, eating with us, its our job to show him a good lifestyle..but under no circumstances will you...' She paused struggling to not prevaricate from the reference.

'He will be a non mahram, he is haram for you, not only that he is troubled, I don't want you to be influenced. You are both modest ladies, you will preserve your self. So, no unnecessary interaction, no frivolous flirting....'

I opened my mouth to point out we are not mindless creatures driven by lust. And he was probably ugly anyways. (The last bit would have been exclusive to Yasmin)

'I realise I am being assumptous of your behaivior, but it needs to be said'  She added hastily 

'But..' My mother began hesitantly 'I want him to feel comfortable here, be polite, wear you hijaab, remember Allah is watching' She warned.

Then suddenly the news of our accomoation hit me, I'd to compromise. I'd have to make an effort. I had to bid farwell to the days of wearing old t-shirts and behaving like a tramp.

I shuddered inwardly at the thought of being..civilised.  Ew.

Distaste aside, I couldn't help but wonder what his involvement would bring, aside from his recently revealed apparenty 'badass' status, I couldn't help but feel a small..practically imperceptible flicker of..excitement.

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