“I wouldn’t use the wordhappy. How long did you guys talk?”
Heat rose in my cheeks, shame prickling under my skin. “Six months,” I admitted.
His eyes widened. “Six months? Why would he talk to you for that long and then not want to marry you?”
I let out a hollow laugh, scowling as I turned away. “Exactly the reasons you listed out when we first met. I’m rude, arrogant, and unfit to be anyone’s wife.”
The truth sat there, uninvited and unshakable, bubbling with the kind of burn that only came from being real.
“Those weren’t the words he used, though,” I continued, tucking my knees up to my chest in a useless attempt to make myself smaller. “After not answering a single text or call, I finally saw him at school the next day, and he said,‘You’re not the type of girl to settle down with, Lilly. You’re only good for a fun time.’” The words tasted just as poisonous now as they had then, curdling on my tongue. I hesitated, my fingers playing with the sequins on my skirt. “He never wanted me to tell my dad. He wanted to...skip that step, and...do things. I said no, obviously. But instead of dumping his disgusting ass right then, I told my dad anyway, thinking,stupidly, that maybe it would make him change his mind.” A dry scoff escaped me. “I’m clearly only intellectually gifted when it comes to medicine.”
I could still remember that day with horrifying clarity, like it was yesterday instead of ten years ago. I woke up at five in the morning, too anxious to sleep. I showered, redid my makeup twice, ironed every microscopic wrinkle out of the wildly out-of-budget dress I’d bought just for the occasion, as if perfection could guarantee permanence.
He said he’d arrive at 11:30.
I was perched on the couch an hour before that, posture perfect, ankles crossed.
11:30 came and went.
So did 12. And 1. And 4.
I just kept waiting, smiling every time headlights passed the house, making an excuse every time the doorbell didn’t ring.
At 10 p.m., my mother finally snapped and told me to go to my room, that I was embarrassing myself.
I peeled my body off the couch like I’d been glued there and walked upstairs. I sobbed in the shower, then took the dress—the careful seams, the hopeful stitching, the version of me who thought she was about to begin her new life—and burned it to ashes.
But the worst part wasn’t even being stood up in front of my entire family.
It was watching my mother’s smug smile, creeping wider with every minute that passed where he didn’t show up, like she’d predicted this, like she’d beenwaitingfor it, like my humiliation was proof of something she’d always believed about me.
That I wasn’t the kind of girl people wanted.
That I wasn’t the kind of girl peoplechose.
The silence stretched, so suffocating I almost wished he’d just laugh at me, call me pathetic, confirm every awful thing I already told myself.
“Six months,” he said finally. “That’s not a fling. That’s...commitment. Even if it was the wrong kind.”
I rolled my eyes. “Commitment to wasting my time, maybe.”
Khalifa’s brow furrowed slightly, his voice lower now. “Is he the reason you wanted a marriage arrangement without...feelings?”
“Among other things.” My stomach twisted. “Anyway,” I said, forcing a chuckle that didn’t quite sound like me, “it serves me right for dabbling in a semi-haram relationship.”
His stare sharpened. “Haram?”
“I talked to a guy for six months before telling my parents. I mean, I never crossed any lines, there were no ‘I love yous,’ and we only ever saw each other at school, but still.” My shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “I always felt a little guilty.”
“That’s on him, though,” he said. “He led you to believe he wanted to marry you. There was no way you could’ve known he had a corrupt secret agenda.”
I looked down. “I’m not naive, Khalifa. Some part of me knew.”
He inched closer, subtle tenderness flickering in his voice. “Still, God knows your intentions. You’re not a bad person for...developing feelings for someone.”
But I felt like one sometimes—a bad person, a badMuslimfor letting some whitewashed guy who shortened his name toMalbecauseMaliksounded too exotic make me dance along the lines of my morals. For letting him twist affection into compromise, guilt into confusion. For letting him make me question what I already knew was right and wrong.
“Do you still have feelings for him?”
