“His name is Salim. Salim Meer,” Laiba said, smiling at her daughter. They were sitting across from each other in the living room, sipping tea and sharing a bowl of popcorn. “I met his Mother at the community center, at one of the weekly Islamic lectures. Apparently, she’s been attending them for quite a while now, though I personally had never met her until a couple of weeks ago myself. Anyway, she approached me after a lecture one day, as I was getting ready to leave, and asked me if I was related to you. And, of course, you can only imagine how surprised and confused I was hearing your name coming from the mouth of a complete stranger.”
Sabah frowned and shook her head. “How did she know who I was?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows and shoveling another handful of popcorn into her mouth. Laiba gave her a chastising look, making her giggle nervously.
“Anyways,” she said, taking another sip of tea. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by a girl who still hasn’t learned to eat properly…she asked me about you and I was surprised because, much like you, Sabah, I couldn’t understand how she knew who you were. So I asked her and—”
“What did she say?” Sabah asked excitedly, smiling in anticipation at her Mother. Laiba glared at her again.
“Child, if you interrupt me one more time, I’m not telling you,” she said sharply. Sabah winced.
“Okay, okay sorry. Just please keep going,” she said, giving her a sweet smile. Laiba’s lips curled into one of her own and she shook her head.
“Oh, Sabah,” she said, sighing. “What are we gonna do with you. Or better yet, what is your susraal going to do with you?”
Sabah giggled, feeling her chest expand in excitement at the word. She couldn’t believe someone had actually shown interest in her. Now she felt silly at ever having been so reluctant at getting married. If she had known how exciting all of it would be, she would have agreed to it much earlier.
“Mama!” she whined, bouncing up and down on the couch. “Please! Just keep going!”
Laiba winced as the bowl of popcorn swayed between them, threatening to topple over onto the freshly vacuumed carpet. “Okay, okay,” she said, steadying the bowl and shooting her daughter yet another heated glare. Nevertheless, she gave a heavy sigh and continued. “So I asked her how she knew who you were and she told me that she had seen you around the center more than once, playing and working with the kids, helping them with their arts and crafts activities or cleaning with the other volunteers. She said she thought you were a beautiful girl and that your commitment to the community center, the children and people there, was truly inspiring. She said you’d make a wonderful wife for her son.”
Sabah felt her breath catch in her throat. “Really?” she whispered, her eyes widening. “She—she thinks I’d make a wonderful wife?”
Laiba laughed. “You’re missing the important part, silly. She said you’d make a wonderful wife for her son.”
Sabah’s smile widened and she let out a giddy squeal. “I’m so excited!” she cried, throwing her arms around her Mother. “I’m getting married! And I’m going to make a wonderful wife!”
Laiba laughed again, more loudly this time. “Calm down. Not so fast. We’ve only just started to talk. Though, Hafsa did mention she wanted to have the wedding as soon as possible,” she said, her eyes clouding over with thought. “Maybe I should call her and ask what date would work best for her. That way we could—”
Sabah sighed exasperatedly. “Mama!” she cried. “Tell me more. What did she say about…you know…about her son?” She felt her face burn at the simple thought of the person she may be spending the rest of her life with. “What’s he like?”
Laiba gave a soft laugh. “That,” she said, gathering the empty tea cups and bowl of popcorn and standing. “Is something you should ask your possible mother-in-law.”
Sabah giggled shyly. “Not possible, Mama,” she said, following her out of the room. “Soon-to-be.”
Laiba gasped. “Sabah!” she said, smiling. “Besharam.” Sabah laughed and skipped into the kitchen behind her Mom.
“Mama, seriously,” she moaned, throwing her head back in frustration. “Can’t you just tell me one teensy tiny little thing about him? Hafsa Auntie had to have told you something about him. Please?”
“Nope,” Laiba said, shaking her head as she set the dirty tea cups and bowl into the sink and began rinsing them out. “Sorry.”
Sabah groaned. “But—”
“Listen,” Laiba said, interrupting her daughter. “I arranged for your…soon-to-be…mother-in-law to come pick you up tomorrow at one. She said she wanted to take you out for lunch and get to know you a little before anything else, so she could settle for sure whether or not you’d make a good match for her son. So you can ask her anything you’d like about him then. And, if everything goes well inshallah, we’ll begin talking about the wedding. Okay?”
Sabah frowned, trying to ignore the blush that crept into her cheeks at the thought of asking her prospective mother-in-law anything about her son—or should she say—her possible future husband. “Sh-she’s coming to pick me up?” she asked, confused. “Why? Can’t she just come here? That way she could discuss any possible wedding plans with you, as well.”
Laiba shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, her eyebrows furrowing. “I found it a little strange, too. But, I guess she just wants to spend some time alone with you first. Who knows? Maybe she wants to discuss some…private things with you.”
Sabah gasped, her face heating. “Mama!” she cried, burying her face in her hands. “That’s so bad! No!’
Laiba laughed, looking on delightfully as her daughter fled the room, squealing loudly in equal parts humiliation and excitement. She raced upstairs and out of her Mother’s view, her heart racing with adrenaline and joy as she collapsed on her bed, a wide smile on her face. She didn’t think she’d ever been so thrilled in her life. She could barely contain herself. She felt as if she was going to burst with impatience at her impending wedding and, of course, the thought of finally meeting her possible husband.
His name echoed in her mind, sending excited shivers through her. Salim. Salim Meer. The name sounded almost familiar. Did she know him? Had they met before? And if they had, why couldn’t she remember what he looked like? Had he been handsome? How tall had he been? Had he even been attracted to her, or had he looked straight past her? Would he find her pretty?
Questions swarmed Sabah’s mind in a torrent, making her head spin. She rolled over in bed and squealed into her pillow, unable to suppress the smile on her face. Regardless of the face, person, or personality attached to it, the name was a good one. A smart one. One that, in her opinion, went well with her own. She laughed, trying out her future identity on her tongue, her skin heating at the thought of the man who would make it possible.
Salim Meer.
Sabah Meer.
Mr. Salim and Mrs. Sabah Meer.
She smiled, shaking her head at her silliness. Though, even she couldn’t help but think it all sounded perfect.
YOU ARE READING
His Sabah
Romance"You are not--and never will be--my wife." Salim Meer. He smokes, he drinks, he parties, and he couldn't care less about his religion. He struggles to keep his painful past that way--in the past--and often turns to violence and danger to keep his mi...
