Confessions of a Muslim Girl

Chapter 6 - Studious Muslims and Buried Secrets

Ay yo...what's poppin'? <--- me attempting to be virtually ghetto. Is that a fail? Anyway, I am so excited. Here you go...this should explain the Author's Note better. (:

What is love? Love is when one person knows all of your deepest, darkest secrets, yet in the long run, they don't think any less of you. That's love...trust and respect, pure and simple."

Chapter 6

Studious Muslims and Buried Secrets

☼ Maysa Malik ☼

            As we pull up to the masjid, I see people milling in and out of the main prayer hall. It’s like a miniature melting pot, chock full of people of different races, all united by a common faith. The guys are playing soccer in the back field, and clusters of girls are dispersed throughout the main hangout spots for the kids: the game room, the tents, and the pavilions.

            Nazia and I are in the very back seats of the car. I lean over and whisper to Nazia, “It’s like New York here today…a huge melting pot of people.”

            She smirks, and I am reminded of Josh. “Yeah, it is kind of like a melting pot. But I add the spice and the flava!”

            I burst out laughing, though I am trying to contain it. Leave it up to Nazia to take a comment like that and respond in a cocky way.

            I suddenly feel an overwhelming way of affection for her. As much as I love Zakariya with all my heart, I can’t help but feel that his actions have planted a small, ugly seed of resentment in the pit of my stomach. I think about how much anguish he has caused me and Nazia, and our parents and his other friends as well.

            But Zakariya’s change in behavior and defiance has only caused me to cherish my relationship with Nazia even more than I do now. I throw my arms around her and give her a big sideways hug. Her shoulder is digging into the hollow of my neck but right now, I don’t even care.

            She hugs be back with such force that I know in a sense I am filling the emptiness that Zakariya has left in her. “Love you, big sis,” she whispers.

            I need to lighten the mood before we have a contest to see who can bawl the hardest. “Yeah, Nazzy. Cuz darling I would catch a grenade for youuuuu!” I sing, totally off key. I sing the lyrics in a really thick Indian accent, something me and Noha practiced and perfected during study hall last year when we were bored. I sound like one of the old Pakistani uncles from the mosque.

            I pull away and look out the window because I know that Nazia and I ended up looking at each other, we would not be able to contain the laughter. I press my cherry-chapsticked lips together; my facial muscles hurt from suppressing the emotion. Nazia purposefully presses into my side, and I can feel her vibrating while she silently laughs.

                                                                 ☮    ☮    ☮

            After praying Maghrib namaz, I linger behind as people empty out of the praying hall to go eat dinner. My phone vibrates, and I see that it’s a text from Adam. For a second I’m confused.

Ay dork, Noha is helping Sister Noor bring the food out. She says for you to meet her there.