The Rejects of Richmond University | editing

69. In Which Ziyan Lost the War

❝Happiness [is] only real when shared❞

-into the wild

🌥ZIYAN🌥

Two things were certain. I hated everyone in the room.

And, more importantly to the occasion, I was hiding an erection that came out of nowhere.

Alright, I was lying. Out of nowhere would be a flat out lie. Salma hugged me. You could blame her for the possibility of embarrassment. She had taken out her braids, flowing with the scent of her grapefruit conditioner when she walked...or was it her lotion? Whatever it was, it made me undone.

The room was illuminated with her in it. Even before my grandmother came to celebrate her birthday, young children gravitated to her waisted, tugging on her clothes, and asking what he name was and who she was to me.

"She's going to be my wife," I said.

The kids giggled, whispering something in each other's ear.

"She's pretty," one of them noted as though Salma wasn't standing there.

"I know. I'm lucky." I fought against the impulse to pull her near me. Partly due to the fact that I didn't know how she would react, I kept my hands to myself. Salma was a fighter and she was hard to read most times. Another critical reason to keep my stance was obvious. My parents and elders where in the room, making it a million times weirder. Touching, especially before marriage, was frowned upon. So, for that reason, I stuck with admiring her from my safe distance.

Her skin was radiating, sparking at particular angles. I was certain it was in the blush she had on, shimmering beneath the shine of the lights. Her makeup was done, and she looked like the most beautiful person in the room. It was me judging, of course. And the living room of my grandmother's house was bustling with partygoers. It hadn't been this lively since Ramadan last year. I could see my brother in the far corner, chatting it up with cousins I haven't seen in months.

Deep down, I wanted to know what Salma was thinking. Was she having a good time? Her face was like a sheet of armor.

"I have to take this outside," she said, holding a phone to her ear. "It's my sister."

"Go right ahead." I pointed toward the patio. "There should be more privacy out there."

With her gone, I found it to be a perfect opportunity to talk to some of the relatives I missed out on seeing at the last event I couldn't make it to. With living in the Dallas area, it made it difficult to make time to drive all the way down to Houston for small gatherings like this. Tonight, was a special occasion though. Not only was it my grandmother's eighth birthday, but tonight was the night I everyone in my family could see the girl I planned to marry.

Well, for the next few months.

The deal was simple. I knew my dad would give up on the arrange marriage thing going into my last year. I was a junior now, so that meant I had to hold off for one more semester with this bullshit storyline about me marrying Salma. I could survive the lie; my only worry was when Salma would throw in the towel.

"You are sweating."

This came from my cousin Sufiyan.

Sufiyan was a troublemaker, one that got a bad rep for being in and out of jail. I was fearing that I would be a mirror image of him within a year. He was the oldest out of five kids. His dad was remarried like my old man but was a lot less lucky than my dad. He had been cheated on, supposedly, and was left with wife number four at the moment.

"There isn't a need to look so shaken up when it isn't your engagement that has everyone chattering," Sufiyan noted. "No one even knows about you and that black girl."

"Her name is Salma."

"That's a Muslim name. I'm shocked."

"That I ended up with a Muslim girl?"

"Yea. Why stay within your religion? You don't have to. If I were you—"

"I'm not, thankfully," I cut in, "and you make no sense. What's the point in marrying outside my religion on purpose? That makes things harder for the kid—if I had one."

The idea of me having a child was a scary one. I didn't think of having one for a decade or more. It was true though, the fear at least. The fear that confusion would be riddled in my child's life if they had to juggle two faiths at the same time, contemplating the existence of a higher being while two routes are presented to them.

"You know it's not that hard for the dad. The kid always goes with the faith of his father."

"That's not always true—look at you," I laughed. "You're a Satanist."

"What are you doing here?"

This made me spin around.

I turned at the sound of anger, feeling the heat of my father's breath behind my neck as I twirled. "Hey, you got here!"

"Don't bother hugging me," he brushed me off. "I don't have anything nice to say to you."

"Do you ever?"

"I wanted you to get out of here."

"I just got here."

"There is no reason for you to be here. Go, and take your friend with you."

"She's not my friend."

"I'm not going to say girlfriend," he spat. "I don't allow that, and you know our faith doesn't. I can't believe you would embarrass me like that and bring her here without my permission."

"She will be more very soon," I added, "and grandma was the one that invited us—not you. So, I'm going to wait to see if she will kick us out."

His mouth twisted in anger, "I want you out of this house now."

The right of his shoulder was my stepmother, dressed in purple. She looked flustered, smiling at the guests that had the nerve to stick their nose in our family matter.

"You want me to get married so bad, but don't want to see the first person I've picked on my own," I snorted, "that's ridiculous. I do everything you want for my future with no questions asked. I take the classes you tell me to, I do the work you ask for me, and still that is not enough!"

"Do not speak to me like that."

"I can't even speak to you anymore because you haven't answered my calls for the last three days!" I threw my hands in the air. "Am I your son or am I not?"

"No, you are not my son. I wish I wasn't your father," he said, stunning me with his next set of words. "If you don't leave this house now, then I will no longer pay for any of your classes. Matter of fact, I'll make sure to ask for that investment back. I want to reverse my generosity. I have been too easy on you, Ziyan. Too easy. But not anymore."