A Muslim's Romantic Journey

Chapter 5.

Yusuf's POV

I sat in my living room, bored out of my mind. I looked down at my phone, nothing interesting. I flicked through the TV channels, nothing interesting there either. 

"I'm going to Aliya's house now. Tell mum. She knows." Maryam told me. I looked up at my dear sister. She noticed a look of disapproval on my face. Maryam was now 15 but didn't wear a hijab. She was a good girl though, and I trusted her. I understood how it could be hard to wear a hijab in a western society. I decided to help her one step at a time to wearing the hijab. "What's wrong with me now?" She asked with a hint off annoyance in her voice.

"Can you not wear something slightly longer? Your jeans are a bit tight." I always felt guilty when saying things like this to Maryam. After all, she was a lot better than other girls her age, whether they had a hijab or not.

"I'm only going to Aliya's house." She reasoned.

"Okay. Just know I'm saying this for your benefit. Do you want me to drive you?" Maryam was silent; I could tell she was thinking. She then went back upstairs and I put my head in my hands hoping I hadn't just angered her. That wasn't my intent. A little while later, Maryam came down having changed her top into a dress.

"Yes you can drive me." I smiled as I got up. I was glad she listened to me. It made my boring day a little better.

10 minutes later, I was back where I started, sitting on the sofa looking into thin air. My mum came and sat on the other sofa. I wish she had come and sit next to me. I pushed the thought away; I was being such a baby. I had been contemplating on whether I should tell my mum about Safia. Hamza hadn't been talking to me much regarding the Safia topic. Our conversations were mostly on Islamic matters and football. I then decided I should tell my mum. She was my mother, she deserved to know the life decisions I was thinking about making. After building up enough courage, I called her.

"Mum," Mum turned to face me. Swallowing my spit, I continued. "You know Safia, auntie Hajra's daughter...?" My mum raised her eyebrow at me. I'd said this much, not knowing what to say next.

"What about her?" 

"Well, erm... Well, as I’m looking for a wife, I thought it’d be good to get to know her." My mum rolled her eyes.

"I talked to Hajra this morning over the phone. She said there's a proposal for Safia and the family are coming today. She may even get engaged today." I sat up shocked. Why hadn't Hamza told me this? "Besides, she's not exactly someone I want as my daughter in law. I want someone who knows how to dress and look nice. If you ask me, she's a bit-"

"Stop mum. It's not good to speak ill of people." I got up and ran to my room. I was angry. I couldn't say I was heartbroken, that would be irrational and illogical, I barely knew her! But I'd just lost another potential partner. Finding a wife was becoming way too hard. I collapsed on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I knew the reason for all this anger and frustration. I knew what it all came down to.

I was still unsure whether it was paranoia but I felt my mother loved my brother more. She looked at him with such pride. Whenever we had guests around, she'd call Javed to show him off. I wished she would look at me the same way. But Javed was the one with a degree, a good job and he was the handsome one. He dressed according to the latest fashion and always looked good. I, on the other hand, was skinny and tall which made me look lanky, I had a little limp most of the time which was caused by an injury which I didn't treat soon enough, and I had a beard. I didn't think it was that much of an issue; it was the size of my fist, as I had read it was supposed to be Islamically. And I thought I kept it quite neat. But my mum didn't like it. Nor did she like the jubbahs (Arab dresses for men) I wore. But I did so anyway because I wanted to please my Lord. I felt she didn't accept me but I couldn't change because my life was after all for my creator.