Converting the Bad Boy ✔

Chapter 17

Picture above of Yasmine in her beautiful turquoise hijab ❤

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"Ahlan wasahlan!" Samia's joyful exclamation of welcome as she opened the door startled me, but I quickly got over it, stepping into her warm house and kissing her cheeks.

"Salamu Alaykum, Samia, kifik?" I greeted her as she moved onto Zeinab, followed by my mother, brother and father.

"Wa alaiku musalam, Mariam. I am good, Alhamdulillah," Samia replied with a beaming smile. She greeted Baba and Nasr as well, commenting on Nasr's height, even if she just saw him last week at the mosque.

I had just slipped off my shoes when Yasmine bound up to me looking beautiful in a turquoise green hijab and a black dress that nipped her waist and flowed down to her ankles. "Salam, Mariam!" she wrapped me into a tight hug, and I inhaled her familiar perfume.

"Salam, Yasmine," I held her at arm's length, admiring her hijab. "I love your scarf, where did you get it from?"

Yasmine grinned. "It was a gift from Immi. Does it suit me?"

"Everything suits you, Yasmine," I complimented as we entered the heart of the house – a.k.a. the kitchen, where aromas of falafels, fatayer and warak aneb wafted from. The sitting room was situated next door, and though I was starving, we had to pray Maghrib first.

The sitting room had a space of carpet enough for all of us to line up, with the men in the front row and the women behind. Yusuf and Nasr stood beside Hameed and my father, Ali, while I was squeezed between Zeinab and Yasmine. This was our second time praying together, and it felt good to be beside my best friend, worshipping Allah. Now this was what true friends should be like, in Islam anyway.

After prayer, we practically ran down the hall to the dining room, which wasn't anything fancy, just a room with an eight seat oak table and an oak cabinet filled with glasses and plates. We had something like that at home, except we never touched the china in there, only when we had guests over. My mother and Samia went to serve the food, since us kids would probably drop the plates onto the carpet because of how hungry we were.

"Samia cooked us a real feast tonight," Hameed told us with a wide grin as my mother returned holding a bowl of –

"Falafels!" Zeinab exclaimed, licking her lips and eyeing it like a lion eyes its prey. I almost felt bad for the falafels, however we had to wait for everyone to sit down before we could dig in.

Soon the table was laden with all sorts of my favourite Lebanese cuisine, such as chicken shawarma, spicy kibbeh, spinach and cheese fatayer, a whole platter of warak aneb (stuffed grape leaves), as well as plenty of pita bread to dip into the bowls of hummus.

"I am going to murder this food!" Nasr bellowed, and instead of getting told off my mother smiled, because Samia was smiling.

"In Sha Allah," she said, making us chuckle. We read the du'aa before a meal, the long version instead of just muttering, "Bismillah" like I usually did, and then it was finally time to murder the food.

"This is the best hummus I've ever had," Zeinab groaned.

Mama frowned. "Better than mine?" she asked teasingly.

Zeinab nodded without a second thought, chewing her food passionately. Samia was all smiles as she watched us eat, occasionally nibbling on her own food.

"I am so glad you like it," she said. "I was worried."

"Well, worry no more, habibti," Hameed said kindly to his wife. "You cook masha'allah food."