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.

I rolled over to bury my face in my pillow. I'd given up yearning for my mum to love me like she loved Javed. I knew she loved me, and I should have been content and grateful but I couldn't help wanting more. I wanted someone to look at me with pride and joy, not disappointment. I had decided marriage was my best choice the day I bumped into a friend of mine who was out with his wife. She clung to him as if she was afraid of letting him go. She had pulled him down to whisper something in his ear. Then they looked at each other with their eyes twinkling and it hit me. That was what I wanted. If my mother was never going to be happy with whom I was, then maybe my wife will. But who knew who my future wife was and where she was hiding. Only Allah knew. 

A little while after feeling sorry for myself, I picked up my phone to call Hamza. I wanted to know why he hadn't told me about Safia's proposal.

"Asalamu'alaykum." I said as he picked up. I must have sounded as depressed as I felt because he responded,

"Wa'alaykumslaam. Is everything okay?" I felt stupid asking but asked anyway.

"Why didn't you tell me about Safia's possible engagement?" I think I sounded more upset than I actually was.

"Oh, wait a second." I heard some shuffling so I assumed he was moving to the next room where he could give me an explanation without someone overhearing.

"I'm sorry. I only found out about this after you left. She's not getting engaged today; don't know where you got that from. There's just a family over to see her. To be honest, I'm shipping my sister with you. I have a bad feeling about the other guy." This made me smile. 

"We're not in some story that you can 'ship' us." I replied.

"Yeah yeah, you know what I mean."

"Just pray everything goes smooth, in'sha'allah whatever will happen will happen for the best." I was kind of reminding myself too. I had to be patient. My future wife was taking her sweet time getting to me for a reason.

"Hmm, yeah you're right." Before the awkward silence could commence, Hamza changed the topic. "Hey, Sheikh Khalid Yasin's coming to my local Dar Ul-loom (Islamic school) to give a lecture. Wanna come?" Through the magic of texting, Hamza and I became really close, really quick.

"When?"

"Next week, Saturday."

"Sounds good. I'll be there in'sha'allah. By the way, you have stop using me for every question you have related to Islam. There's something called books you know." I added to lighten the mood. I was still a little uncomfortable about the reason for the phone call.

"What books do you recommend?"

"Is that another question?"

"So I should pick up a book to find a book to read?"

"Yeah, they have references to other books. One book can lead you onto a whole library of other books." I then heard that familiar voice in the distance.

"I was so nervous! I was scared I might shout poop or fart cos you know like when you try to stop yourself from doing something so much that you end up doing it anyway..." That made me chuckle. 

"Safia you're not making any sense and I'm on the phone, can't you see?" I heard Safia gasp.

"Please tell me that's not a Maulana or Shaykh!" (A qualified person with a lot of Islamic knowledge)

"Tell her it's a Mufti!" (Another term for a person with Islamic knowledge) I told Hamza. I bit my lip with anticipation of how she would react.

"It's a Mufti." Hamza told her and I heard another gasp.

"A Mufti just heard me say fart and poop?!" She sounded like she was about to cry. By now I was actually laughing.

"He can still hear you." Hamza teased.

"I'm just... I'm just gonna go now." I barely heard that through my laughing.

"I'm kidding Safia! It's Yusuf." I could hear Hamza laughing too.

"That's even worse!" She exclaimed.

"She's gone now, someone was calling her." My laughing died down but there was still a smile etched on my face.

"She's funny." I gathered my thoughts before adding, "Don't take that the wrong way!" Hamza started snickering. 

"You've completed your Alim course, doesn't that make you a Maulana?" Hamza asked curiously.

"I guess so, but I don't want to classify myself as one. I've still got lots more to learn."

"Cool. Do you know-" Hamza suddenly stopped as I began to hear distant shouting through the phone. "What the...? Forget what I was going to say. I have to go. Salaam." He quickly said and hung up before I had the chance to ask what was happening. This worried me. After thinking for a while, I decided to take out my prayer mat and bow down to my Lord and ask for his help. I prayed everything was okay in Safia and Hamza's house. Then I prayed for Allah to help me and make me happy. Then I prayed that I'd get married to a pious woman who I will love, and who will love me back, very soon. Who better to turn to in your time of need than the one who created you?