ELEVEN MONTHS LATER

The crowds were alive with energy. Excitement buzzed from every single corner of the stadium, and it was infectious, invigorating, and slightly intimidating. There was only thirty seconds left on the clock, if only Freddy could get the ball…

“And Crewe steals the ball, dashes down the court, he’s boxed in, passes the ball to Shaykh, who side steps Woods, and…SCORE! Another amazing show of teamwork between best friends Freddy Crewe and Houssam Shaykh for the game winning point! Another amazing win for the Knicks!”

Houssam jogged down the basketball court, flying into a group hug of his teammates.

“Woot! Shaykh and Crewe! Unbeatable!” Freddy screamed in his ear, and Houssam laughed, before linking his arms around two other members of his team, and jumping up in down with them. Eventually the celebration died down, and they began to walk back to the locker room.

“Man I’m so pumped!” Freddy exclaimed, jumping up in the air, and Houssam shook his head, before punching his friend in the shoulder.

“How can you still have energy?! I’m beat!”

“Well you were on fire tonight!” Freddy said, “It seems every time you play a game, you get better than the last time MashaAllah!”

Houssam smiled to hear his friend say ‘MashaAllah’. Lately he had been using terms like ‘MashaAllah’ and ‘InshaAllah’ and ‘Alhamdulillah’, and had even come to the Masjid for Jumuah prayer with Houssam a couple of times. Houssam was trying not to push his friend, he wanted him to go at his own pace, but he was praying that soon his friend was going to become Muslim.

“So you ready to get some dinner?” Freddy asked, and Houssam grinned.

“For sure. I’m feeling Mexican tonight! I want as many tacos as I can carry!”

Freddy snorted.

“Please bro, like Coach is going to let you eat that many carbs without punishing you at practice later!”

Houssam shrugged.

“I’d take the punishment for some fresh guacamole and chicken tacos! Plus, Coach doesn’t have to know. Harold is taking us and our managing team out so it will be our secret!”

“Score!” Freddy exclaimed, and Houssam laughed, pushing his friend as they approached the locker room doors.

“Houssam! Babe! Beautiful game tonight!” Harold exclaimed as they walked in, and Houssam grinned, peeling his sticky jersey away from his body and slinging a towel over his shoulder.

“Thanks man. Glad you could make it out!”

Harold waved a hand in the air.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Both of my boys were great. You hear that Freddy?” Harold called.

“I hear you boss!”

Harold nodded in satisfaction.

“Now Shaykh, listen, I know you want to hit the showers and get going for dinner, but you have an interview.”

Houssam scowled, and whipped his towel against his locker in annoyance.

“Aw come on Harold! You know I hate post-game interviews! No I won’t do it.”

“Oh I think you will.”

“I will not!”

Harold glared at him, and put a hand on his hip.

“Babe, I have been your manager close to ten years. Have I ever mislead you before?”

Houssam squinted at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I am saying, that I think this interview would be crucial for your life.”

“You mean my career?”

Harold grinned.

“No. I don’t.”

Houssam crossed his arms over his chest.

“What do you have up your sleeve Harold?”

“Just go shower boy, and get your butt in the conference room!” Harold scolded, making a moving motion with his hands, and Houssam listened, heading towards the showers, and showering faster than he usually did just because his curiosity had been piqued. Once he had gotten dressed again, he tossed his uniform in his locker, before heading towards the press room, his hair still dripping down his face.

He entered the room, preparing himself for a barrage of reporters with cameras, but to his surprise there was a lone figure perched on one of the chairs, and as he realized who it was, he almost fell over in shock. The breath was knocked out of him, his knees went weak, and he lost the ability to think, let alone speak.

The silence dragged on between them for what seemed like years, until eventually she stood up, extending a microphone in his direction.

“Hana Ismail. The New York Times.”

“Hana.” He whispered, finally finding his voice, and she smiled, her notebook clutched against her chest.

“Salaam Houssam.”

“W…what are you doing here?” he asked, taking a step forward.

“In New York or here at the stadium?”

“Both?” he asked, and she gave a soft laugh.

“Well I am in New York because I got hired with The New York times about six months ago.”

His eyebrows raised.

“That’s what your interview was for?”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“MashaAllah that’s great.” He gave a low whistle. “The New York Times! Mabrook.”

“Barak Allahu Feek.”

“When did you move here?”

“About two months ago.”

“And you’re here at the stadium today for an interview?”

She nodded.

“Yes. They sent me to cover your latest good deed.”

“Aw man. I wouldn’t call it a good deed.” He said with a blush, and she smiled.

“Highest paid NBA player in history gives two years’ of his salary away to Syrian refugees? That’s a pretty huge accomplishment.”

He shrugged uncomfortably.

“Really it’s not. I tried to keep it quiet, but you know my life is on public display.”

She nodded.

“I know.”

He ran a hand nervously through his hair.

“How is your family doing over there?”

She shrugged.

“They aren’t in good shape, but Alhamdulillah they have the morale and the hope. Just keep praying for them, and all of the other Muslims around the world.”

“May Allah swt reward them, give them patience, protect them, keep them safe, let the tyrants fall, and give them victory.”

“Ameen.” She said gently, and as their eyes locked, the room around them seemed as if it was buzzing with electricity. They both were trying to pretend they weren’t looking the other person over, trying to see what differences had happened in the past year. But it was hard to gather just from a glance beyond the fact that Houssam’s hair was long again, and that Hana seemed to have grown a few more inches. But other than that, they were a mystery to one another.

Eventually the intensity got too much, and Hana looked away.

“Well we just need a quote from you if that’s okay.” She said with a smile, and he just continued to stare at her face, reveling in the fact that he hadn’t seen her in close to a year. They hadn’t spoken with each other either, and part of him was wondering if this was a dream. No but it couldn’t be. All of the dreams he had of her consisted of her being closer to him than she was now.

“Houssam?” she asked after another few seconds of silence, and he shook his head, smiling at her.

“Um, okay. A quote. Alright. Umm. I don’t know Hana!” he said after a few seconds of contemplation. “I do not deserve recognition for my donation! I mean it’s not like I did it because I wanted coverage, but because it is like my duty as a human being to help out! As long as Allah swt has blessed me with the money, I need to spread the blessings!”

Hana smiled, scribbling down on the notepad.

“That was beautiful.”

“Uh what?”

“What you just said.” She said with a laugh, and he smiled.

“Um, remind me again what I said?”

She grinned, and looked back down at her paper.

“When asked about his donation, Houssam became a bit flustered at the praise, claiming, ‘I do not deserve recognition for my donation, because it is my duty as a human being to help out! As long as God has blessed me with the money, I need to spread the blessings!’”

She paused for a second before looking up at him.

“I said that?” he asked, and she smiled.

“You said that.”

 “You’re brilliant. That’s why you’re the writer.”

She smiled, and self-consciously repined her scarf.

“How are things back at home?” he asked, and she smiled.

“Everyone is doing well. They miss you. You know Ilham and Hisham are expecting again right?”

“No!” Houssam exclaimed with a laugh, “MashaAllah that’s great! Boy or girl?”

“Girl InshaAllah.”

“MashaAllah. They will have their hands full. How were Yusra and the babies when you left?”

Hana laughed.

“They are a spirited bunch I’ll tell you that! Kareem’s new favorite thing is to run around the house and scream at the top of his lungs, and Ayyoub likes to throw things.”

Houssam chuckled thinking about his nephews, before he looked back down at Hana.

“It’s amazing seeing you.” He whispered, and she nodded.

“You too.”

“Hey Shaykh are you comin… oh hi!”

Both of them turned around as Freddy came into the room, and Hana smiled.

“Hello. I’m Hana Ismail, The New York Times.”

Freddy grinned, and pushed the hair back from his face.

“I’m Freddy Crewe. It’s nice to meet you Hana! I’m sorry to interrupt, Harold is waiting in the car and said to hurry so he can get the fiesta platter.”

Both Houssam and Hana laughed.

“No worries Freddy, we were practically done.” Houssam turned back to Hana with a smile. “I’d love to catch up some time.”

She nodded.

“Yeah for sure.” She shouldered her purse, and turned towards the doorway. “It was nice to meet you Freddy.”

He gave her a mock salute.

“Back at you Hana!”

“Salaam Houssam.”

Houssam smiled.

“Salaam Hana.”

Freddy waited until they could no longer hear the click of Hana’s heels, before turning towards Houssam.

“That’s the girl you’re in love with?”

Houssam flushed, and nodded.

“Yeah.”

“I like her.”

“Me too.”