^Like the poster? Made it myself 😎

The lyrics of the song, "Believe" by Mumford & Sons, really speak out to me in the sense of someone who is looking for spiritual guidance and doesn't even know if he believes, or if he wants to believe what's being said to him (in this case, the existence of God), and it reminded me of Damian, so yeah. You don't have to listen to it, but just wanted to put it out there anyway. 😄

(Edited)

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"Has anyone else noticed how moody Damian is lately?" Samantha asked Denise and I, who were beside her once again in Biology. On her other side was Aidan, who had been busy reading his notes until he heard his best friend's name.

"Damian's always moody," Aidan remarked.

"True," Denise whispered on my left to me.

"No, but seriously," Samantha examined the ends of her hair, which were beginning to split – a sign that she wasn't completely perfect like Theo and a lot of the guys believed. I wouldn't have been surprised if Samantha was doubling as a model or something after school. "He doesn't talk to me anymore. He doesn't answer my calls, whenever I try to reach out he ignores me. What's up with him?"

I took this all in silently, knowing the answer but due to my promise I couldn't tell her why Damian was acting different. Some days he would be laughing and smiling, but others I would catch him glum and sullen, as if he were two different people merged into one.

"Now that you mention it, yeah, he has been a bit weird," Aidan agreed. "It's like one moment he's smiling, and then he goes off alone. I was going to ask him about it, but –"

"Do you know what's wrong with Damian?" Samantha asked me directly, blinking at me. She had golden-green eyes, a rare sight, peering at me expectantly as I hesitated.

"I...I don't know," I managed to stammer out.

Sam tilted her head slightly to one side, frowning. "Funny, because I always see you two talking at the lockers."

"Oh, that's because he's the locker below me," I told her, forcing a smile. "Besides, we're not friends or anything. I barely know the guy."

"You had to work with him in physics," Aidan reminded me, much to my displeasure.

Samantha arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow, as if this was news to her. "So you do know him," she deduced.

"Just because I had to work with him doesn't mean anything," I defended. "You're his friends, and I'm not, so I'm the last person you should ask."

Ya Allah, forgive me for all these lies I was telling. It was funny how his friends didn't know anything about his life, whereas I, the Muslim girl who had nothing to do with the popular crowd, had somehow found myself in the middle of it all.

"Okay, then, just checking. He barely speaks to us, so who knows what he's up to?" Sam shrugged, turning back to Aidan. "Should we confront him?"

Aidan nodded at her. "Yeah, let's do that."

"Bad idea," I muttered, mostly to Denise, who was speeding through the questions. She was a focused worker, whereas I was behind thanks to these two on my right distracting me with their concern for Damian. I felt like I had to say something in his defence so that they'd leave him alone, but I decided against it. I would just make things worse.

The bell rang and Denise and I gathered our books, heading out with the rest of the class as Ms Jenson called out the homework for the weekend.

"Great, more homework," I groaned as we headed out to recess. Ah, recess! Short but sweet.

I saw Damian at the lockers before me, so I decided to let him know, "Your friends are going to confront you."

Damian didn't say anything as he shoved his books in, grabbing a red apple from his bag. So he did eat!

"They're worried about you," I added, but Damian was still silent as he clicked his lock, tossing his apple in the air and catching it as he stood up, twisting around to finally face me. I almost did a double take at his appearance – frazzled dark brown hair that didn't look like it had been combed in a couple of days, and bloodshot eyes, which could either be the result of bad sleep or...crying.

"My mum..." he gulped, staring down at his apple, a tendon in his jaw clenching. I couldn't help feeling for him, because he seemed to really care about his mother. I was more of a Daddy's girl, but this guy in front of me, who I had thought of throttling at times from how irritating he got, was a momma's boy. "She's getting surgery tomorrow."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say to that, and I clutched my books awkwardly, moving out of the way for a girl to get to her locker. I had yet to get to mine, however I was in no rush. Yasmine hadn't arrived yet, since she had art in the basement, so it was just me and Damian for now. Until I saw someone approach from the corner of my eye, turning my head to see Samantha, along with Aidan. Here we go.

"Damian, man, how's it going?" Aidan slapped a hand on Damian's back, a grin pasted on his face as usual, but the grin quickly faded when he saw Damian's appearance. Even his uniform was looking wrinkled and scruffy, and Damian took pride in his appearance. "What's wrong, man?"

Samantha sidled up to Damian, placing a hand on his arm, gazing up at him with concern. "Damian, we're worried about you."

I felt like I was intruding on a private moment, but I just stood there, not knowing whether I should clear my throat and tell them to get out of the way because they were blocking my locker, or try to step in and save Damian from having to spill the beans. But then I realized something – some beans were made to be spilled, and it was about time Damian stopped hiding the truth from his friends.

"I'm fine," Damian muttered, throwing his apple between his hands and looking up bravely at each of his friends. His eyes were still rimmed with red, making the aquamarine depths of his irises stand out.

"You're not fine, stop bullshitting us, Damian," Aidan sounded serious, and he removed his hand from Damian's back, crossing his arms. Samantha imitated his stance, frowning at Damian.

"I don't like when you ignore me, Damian. It's seriously uncool," she said sternly. "Just please, tell us what's going on. We're your friends, so whatever it is, we will support you."

"Yeah, we're here for you," Aidan seconded as Felix came up behind him, sensing the moment as we were all crowded around my locker.

"What's up?" Felix hung his elbow off Aidan's shoulders, squinting at Damian. "Hey, mate, you alright? You look like you've been doing drugs," he chuckled, only to realize soon after that no one was laughing. He glanced at me with my books, cocking his head in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my locker," I replied, and at this, Damian moved out of the way wordlessly, and I thanked him, pulling out my key as they all walked away. My guess was that Damian was going to have some heavy explaining to do, whether he liked it or not.

***

"What's going on over there?" Theo asked, jutting his chin towards the gate of the soccer pitch where a cluster of year twelves seemed to be having a meeting. I noticed one of them being a girl with long blonde hair – Samantha – and another being tall with a mop of blonde hair – Aidan. They parted just a fraction so I could make out Damian leaning against the fence, speaking with a grave expression on his face. There was a round of gasps and shocked cries, confirming my guess. Damian had told them.

"They're probably planning a party or something," Denise shrugged, popping a pretzel in her mouth. I held out my palm and she shook a couple into my hand, an unspoken agreement we had made whenever she had pretzels. I was a sucker for salty snacks.

"They don't look too happy about it," Yasmine frowned.

"I don't think it's a party," Theo decided. "Apparently something's been up with Damian, and they're confronting him."

"Aren't they such nice friends," Denise said sarcastically. "I hate confrontations. If I had a problem, I definitely wouldn't want seven people confronting me."

"You'd have to know seven people first," Theo teased.

"Beside the point," Denise retorted.

I exchanged a look with Yasmine, since we were the only two who knew about his 'problem,' and I shook my head, letting her know we couldn't speak a word of it – yet. Denise and Theo would find out eventually, anyway.

"Don't forget my training session tomorrow at eleven a.m.," Theo didn't fail to remind us every day, us being Denise and I. We sighed, promising that we would be there at the park, which was conveniently not far from my house, and Denise only lived ten minutes from me so it wasn't too difficult to meet up. The only problem was I had my volunteering shift at eight a.m. and it ended at ten thirty so practically straight after I'd have to do the training with Theo, and then finally be able to rest by one o'clock. Saturdays were going to be exhausting for the next couple of months.

***

"So you told them?"

Damian nodded, biting his lip.

"Everything?" I pressed.

Damian let out a stream of air from his lips as I grabbed my physics textbook, balancing it in my left hand while I got my pencil case. "Yeah. Sam, Felix, Aidan and Toby are even going to pay her a visit tomorrow morning before the surgery and wish her luck." From his tone I couldn't tell if he was glad about this or sad. He was one big grey area of emotions.

"I don't know what you were so worried about, your friends seem great," I said cheerfully, hoping to lift the mood.

"They pity me," Damian grumbled.

"Sometimes we need to be pitied," I said wisely. Since when did I get so wise?

Damian arched an eyebrow at this, but didn't comment on it, which was a first. I shut my locker, clicking the lock, and secured my grip on my books and laptop. "Can I ask you a favour?"

"A favour?" I echoed, stepping back from the locker. Yasmine had already left for class, so once again I was alone with Damian in a crowded corridor.

Damian looked hesitant, his brow puckered slightly. "Yeah. Just a small one."

I nodded. "Okay, what is it?"

"Can you...send a prayer to your God for my mum? So the surgery goes well?"

Did Damian just ask me to pray for his mother? I blinked at him, and he stared back with pleading eyes. Well, I definitely wasn't dreaming, so Damian really had asked me to pray for him. Wow.

"Sure, I'll...do that," I replied, eyeing him suspiciously. "But I thought you didn't believe in a God?"

"Just in case," Damian shrugged.

I refrained from dropping my jaw to the floor in shock once again. "You do know that the reason for believing in a God and doing good deeds is just in case there is an afterlife, right?" I was sure Yasmine and Zeinab wouldn't mind if I just started our plan a little earlier than planned. We were having the meeting tonight anyway at my house. But judging by how easy Damian was making this...wait a minute, why was Damian making it easy for me?

"Hm," Damian pondered this for a moment, then shook it off in dismissal. "Whatever."

I guess he wasn't making it easy for me after all.

"Well, now that your friends know your secret, you can be as moody as you like and no one will question you," I joked, changing the mood as we walked to physics.

"Moody? Is that what people see me as now?"

I shrugged. "I mean, there are many other words, but I'd rather not list them all, since we'd be here until lunch time."

"Is one of these words 'attractive'?" Damian smirked.

I didn't even try to come up with a retort to that one as I was too caught up in his smirk, which was the closest thing I had seen to a smile in a while.

"What? No witty comeback?" Damian feigned disappointment as we descended the stairs.

"I'm saving it for another day," I smiled – yes, I actually smiled at the demon, what a surprise - because I was glad for him. He was making an effort to at least reach out to his friends and not isolate himself.

As I slid into my seat beside Denise in physics, and Damian slid into his beside Aidan, offering his friend a grin, I realized that during this week of observing Damian, he was just as human as everyone else, despite his cocky nature. And like any human, he needed support from his friends, because like Zaid had said, no one liked to be alone.

***

"Go talk to him," Yasmine hissed.

"You go talk to him," I urged, feeling shy all of a sudden.

Yasmine rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll do the talking – as usual."

I sighed with relief. Until she hooked her arm tightly in mine, leaving me with no escape. "But you're coming with me," she grinned deviously, and I made a face, though I knew I was being ridiculous. I wished I was sitting with Zeinab and Fatima, reading Quran peacefully in the corner along with my parents. Or maybe even outside with Nasr, Zaid and Yusuf, playing soccer. This was for the sake of my hijab, and the sake of Damian, so I mustered up courage as Yasmine dragged us over to the blonde man, wearing a dark grey thobe this time and a white kufi, returning a book on the shelf.

"Excuse me, sir," Yasmine was full of confidence, tightening her hold on my arm as if I would run away any second.

The man turned, his blue eyes distant until he recognized me. "Ah, Salamu Alaykum," he greeted us warmly.

"Wa Alaykumu Salam," I returned in sync with Yasmine, and then she cleared her throat, nudging me.

"Are you a revert?" The question spilled from my lips in a non-subtle manner, and I wished I could have a do-over, but the blonde man didn't seem to mind my question.

"Why, yes, I am, alhamdulillah. Was it that obvious?" his blue eyes twinkled with humour, and I felt more comfortable. This was my idea, after all, so I might as well go all in.

"Well..." Yasmine smiled sheepishly at him. "First of all, what's your name? I'm Yasmine, and this is Mariam."

I raised my eyebrows slightly at her sudden jump into the introductions, but the man just replied, "My name is Hassan, though before my name had been Hans."

"Like the guy from Frozen?" Yasmine asked, and this time I elbowed her sharply. She was going off topic, but Hassan just laughed.

"I guess so. But my name is Hassan now, and I am proud to be a Muslim."

I cracked a smile. This was exactly what I wanted to hear. "If you don't mind us asking, Hassan," I began tentatively, "We were curious about reverts like yourself, and –"

"What made you convert to Islam?" Yasmine blurted out the question before I could get to it, and Hassan didn't appear surprised to hear it.

"Well, to put it simply, Islam saved me," Hassan said with a wistful smile.

"How so?" I asked, intrigued.

Hassan took a deep breath. "You really want to know?"

We both nodded eagerly. "Yes, please, do tell us. We're curious to know your journey to Islam."

"It's good to be curious," Hassan smiled, then began to tell his tale. "I suffered through depression during uni, and I didn't know what I wanted to pursue as a career since I wasn't enjoying my courses. I was studying a bachelor of science at the time, but it was getting too stressful and difficult. I was doing it partly for my parents' pleasure, and not for myself. I decided to quit it and take a year off, but this didn't make me feel better. I felt worse, actually. I wanted to travel, so I toured Europe, and then I visited Egypt because I had always been fascinated with the pyramids. At this time I was questioning the meaning of life, and seeing the Egyptians' preserved bodies as an attempt at immortality made me think – what's the point?"

Yasmine and I listened intently as we stood there in the corridor, the only part of the mosque without a carpet. Hearing him describe his experience was mind-opening, because it was almost like peering into Damian's brain, except different. The only thing that was the same was his question – what's the point?

"I was raised a Christian, but I wasn't a very good Christian, admittedly. It was always something my family had forced onto me as a child, and I just accepted it, because kids don't get opinions most of the time. I eventually stopped practising the religion after I graduated high school, since it wasn't doing any good for me, but being in Egypt brought back all these thoughts about life and death and what happens after, because we don't know, do we?"

I shook my head in agreement. Hassan continued, lost on a wavelength of his past, and he seemed intent on sharing it. "Depression hit me hard while in Egypt. I wandered the streets, buying souvenirs from poor but happy people, wondering why they were so happy. How could someone with barely anything be happy? Every morning I would hear the adhaan, and at first it annoyed me – astaghfurullah. But one morning, I was feeling extra depressed, as if all the weight of my parents' expectations came crashing down, and I was really lost then. It was like my vision was darkened, and I couldn't see past this cloud that stopped me from seeing a future for myself. I had this desire to end it all – it was a strong desire, and it scared me. I was on the brink of suicide."

Beside me, Yasmine gasped, and I clenched my brow, amazed that this man in front of me was spilling his story to us.

"Don't worry, I didn't attempt anything," Hassan assured Yasmine with a faint smile. "But I just stood on the balcony for a really long time, staring at the dawn sky as the adhaan called from the nearby mosque. I listened to the adhaan, and something shifted inside me subconsciously. The adhaan I had found to be more of a disturbance when I first came to Egypt was suddenly speaking to me – it was calling me at a time when I was deaf, making me see a light when I was blind. The sun rose, and I didn't jump off that balcony. Instead, I visited the mosque, lingering at the doorway and watching the Muslims pray. They were all so engrossed in the prayer, so at peace and in sync, and I wondered if this was the religion for me. I didn't know much about it except the stuff I had heard on the news, but it was clear to see that these people here praying were nothing like those violent terrorists that had caused so much destruction. These people were happy with nothing, whereas I had everything – or so I thought."

"So you converted?" Yasmine concluded.

"I returned to Melbourne and studied Islam at university, abandoning my science degree. I learned that it was similar to the teachings of Christianity, except there was more truth to it, and it was untouched by the alterations of man. It was pure, and I fell in love," Hassan closed his eyes for a moment, smiling blissfully. "I converted with the help of some Muslim friends from my Islamic Studies class, and since then I couldn't have been happier, alhamdulillah."

"Masha'allah, what an inspiring story," I breathed, exchanging a look with Yasmine. "Jazakallhu khair for sharing it with us."

"Jazakallahu khair for listening," Hassan bowed his head, beaming at us. "I must return home now, so will I see you girls here again next Friday?"

"In Sha Allah," Yasmine replied, waving at him as he strode down the corridor, his tall frame moving languidly as if he were walking on clouds instead of concrete.

Yasmine turned to me, eyes wide with excitement. "That was amazing."

"It was," I agreed, glancing across the mosque to where Mama and Baba were standing up, chatting with Yasmine's parents near the archway. Zeinab and Fatima were nowhere to be seen, until I felt two hands on my shoulders, causing me to jump in fright.

"Boo!" Fatima grinned mischievously at me as I turned to her, scowling.

"Fatima, that's not funny," but her laughter was contagious, even more so mixed with Zeinab's and Yasmine's, so I joined in, linking arms with my two best friends, my sister on the end.

"How did the talk go?" Fatima asked us as we approached the exit. Her parents were in the shoe room near the exit along with mine and Yasmine's parents, so as we got our sandals, Yasmine and I filled Zeinab and Fatima on all the details.

"Masha'allah," Fatima remarked. "It's stories like these that make me grateful I was born Muslim."

"Allah made us Muslim because he wants to see us in Jannah," Zeinab quoted. "All we have to do is prove that we're worthy of this."

"Easier said than done," Yasmine chuckled. "Though I love coming to this mosque with you guys. I feel like a reborn Muslima."

"We're glad you come here now," I squeezed her to my side with an arm around her waist. "Maghrib on Fridays just isn't the same without you."

Yasmine smiled, and it was true that religion made a person glow, for she looked happier now that she was back to praying regularly and wearing hijab. "Nothing's the same without me," she joked.

"Typical Yaz," Fatima rolled her eyes.

Immi came up to us, frowning. "Where's Nasr? We have to go now."

"He's playing soccer out the back with the other boys," I informed her.

"Soccer?" Mama clearly had no knowledge about this, for her brows knitted together even more as she tutted, "Ya Allah, that boy..."

"We can go get him for you, Ms Barakat," Fatima offered, sounding way too eager. Did she seriously still have a crush on my brother? The thought of it made me shudder. How could someone like Nasr, who drools every night and talks with his mouth full? It was beyond me.

"Yasmine, you must leave too, Samia and Hameed are calling for you," Mama told Yasmine, who nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'll go get Yusuf."

"Don't tell me he's with Nasr?" Mama sounded disappointed in Yusuf, as if she expected better from him. Then I remembered the conversation our mothers were having in the dining room when they had thought no one could hear them, about setting up Nasr and Yasmine.

"They always play soccer, Ms Barakat. Didn't you know?" Yasmine smirked.

Mama just threw her hands up, muttering in Arabic as she walked back to my father, who was deep in conversation with Yasmine's parents. The shoe room seemed to be the place where everyone chatted, I was seriously thinking of suggesting to the head of the mosque to open a café here if that was the case.

"Come on, let's go fetch our brothers," Yasmine sighed, linking my arm with hers.

Fatima clung onto my sister, saying, "I'll come with you guys."

So the four of us went to fetch two men who were so mature for their age, hanging out with the little kids and kicking a ball around. There were no girls in sight, which wasn't surprising considering their reluctance to let their sisters join last time. It was the usual crowd every Friday, so seeing all these familiar faces made me feel at home whenever I came to the mosque. It was a nice feeling.

"Yusuf, Yallah, we're going," Yasmine called, cupping her hands around her mouth. Yusuf, who was busy high-fiving Zaid after they scored a goal, looked to our direction.

"Okay," I was surprised at how quickly he agreed, abandoning the game and waving at his mates. "Ma'a salama, dudes."

The younger boys waved ecstatically at him as they fielded. I watched Nasr run up and down the field, which was half concrete, half grass, with two chairs acting as goals on one side and on the other was the fence.

"Nasr!" I called his name, and he didn't respond until Yusuf gained his attention with a piercing whistle of his fingers in his mouth.

"Hey, Nasr, your sister's calling you," Yusuf shouted.

Nasr looked up, scowling at the sight of me, but his gaze panned slightly to my right, where Yasmine stood, and he cracked a smile. What?

"What do you want?" Nasr asked, the smile fading and his voice demanding as usual.

"I want you to come with us, we have to go home now," I replied patiently.

Nasr nodded, holding up his index finger. "One second." He dribbled the ball, passing it to a little boy, and then the little boy scored between the chairs, half of the players cheering.

"We win!" Nasr fist-pumped the little boy, who I recognized as Zaid's little brother Ismail, and Zaid clapped for them in sportsmanship.

"Okay, boys, Nasr has to go now," Zaid told the guys who were slapping Nasr's palms in celebration.

"Can't he stay?" Ismail whined.

"Sorry, little guy, I gotta go," Nasr ruffled his black hair, identical to Zaid's, and walked up to us. "Okay, let's go now."

"I didn't know you were so good with kids, Nasr," Fatima remarked as we entered the masjid, all six of us. Before I could fully step in again, I heard my name being called, and turned to see Zaid jogging up to me, leaving the game.

"Salam, Mariam, how are you?" Zaid was a little out of breath, which was amusing.

"I'm good, alhamdulillah," I puffed out, copying his state. "And you?"

"Don't tease me, I've been playing soccer," Zaid frowned, but he was failing, so it soon spread into a grin. "And I'm good too, alhamdulillah."

"That's...good," I didn't know why Zaid had decided to talk to me, but I knew I had to leave now, so... "I gotta go. I'll see you next Wednesday?"

Zaid nodded, his grin never-fading. "Yeah. In Sha Allah."

I spun on my heel and re-entered the mosque, the bright light stinging my eyes since it was darker outside, except for the floodlight, of course. I found my family in the carpark, waiting for me. It seemed like whenever we came here, I always kept them waiting, and it was always because of Zaid.

"Mariam, wait!" I heard Yasmine's footsteps crunching in the gravel as she ran up to me while on my way to my car. Yasmine's car was parked on the opposite end of the carpark, however Fatima's was only four spaces away. She sent me a wave before slipping into the blue sedan, the light outside the entrance of the mosque illuminating her face.

"Why?" I asked teasingly, crossing my arms at her. Zeinab was telling me to get in the car, but I held up a hand, saying to wait. For now, Yasmine was more important.

"Do I have to have a reason?" Yasmine said cheekily, wrapping me in a hug. "I just wanted to say a proper goodbye to you."

"You make it sound like we're not going to see each other for years," I chuckled into her hijab, inhaling her perfume mixed with the cold air of the night.

"Sometimes it feels that way," Yasmine said softly, though I could tell she was just joking from the lilt in her voice. "Anyway, we need to talk more about the plan. Since I can't come over tonight, I was wondering if I could come over tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" A lot was happening tomorrow, and Yasmine coming over would just make it all the more overwhelming. "I guess you could swing by in the afternoon."

Yasmine nodded. "Good. And invite Fatima too, since she's in on our plan now."

When I had told Fatima about the bet, she reacted in the same way Yasmine had. She didn't approve of it at first, but after explaining to her how it was important to spread the message of Islam, and that Damian was in a vulnerable time of his life and if Fatima could help then there'd be less chance of me losing the bet, she eventually agreed to offer her assistance.

"Only because you need me, Mariam," she had joked.

"Yeah, of course. We're going to need all the help we can get. And after hearing Hassan's story...hey do you think we could get him to speak to Damian?" the idea suddenly came to me, and Yasmine shrugged.

"We'll talk more about it tomorrow. Right now, my bed is calling me," Yasmine yawned, stepping away. "Ma'a salama."

I waved, slipping into the backseat next to Zeinab. "What was that all about?" she whispered as Baba pulled us out of the carpark.

"We're having the meeting tomorrow, and Fatima is also coming," I informed her.

"What meeting?" Nasr overheard me from Zeinab's right side, however my parents were busy talking about paying the bills (and other boring adult stuff) so there was practically a partition between the kids (Nasr was basically a kid at twenty) and the parents.

"Oh, you know, the meeting we have where us girls talk about...girl stuff," Zeinab answered casually. I had to give it to her – she was a smooth liar. I just wished we didn't have to hide it from Nasr, but for our own safety, we kind of did.

"Do you talk about me in these meetings?" Nasr pried.

"Especially you, Nasr," I said jokingly. "We talk about ways to torture you."

"Torture? What are you talking about Mariam?" Unfortunately Baba overheard me at the worst time. Great.

"Um...medieval history?" I tried, but Baba wasn't convinced. Neither was I.

"Mariam, don't talk about those kinds of things, otherwise you will be medieval history," Baba threatened, but his threat only made us laugh.

"Good one, Baba," Zeinab giggled.

_________________

We finally know the name of the blonde convert! And wow, his past sure is dark, but as we can see, Islam really is the religion that brings hope and happiness. I hope we all can realize this sooner rather than later and cling onto our religion. Writing this story makes me want to be a better muslim myself - I'm not perfect, but I'm striving to be.

No one can be as perfect as the Creator Himself - Allah Azza Wajjal, of course.