Salamu Alaykum!!! So since my last update, I have noticed that many more readers have joined the wagon of CTBB and it's just so amazing to have all you guys reading this like wow I feel like a celebrity now haha. There's over 40 readers now, and I don't want to be greedy or anything but I should be getting forty votes per chapter, right? Haha just kidding lol

Anyway, this is a VERY long chapter to make up for the VERY long wait you guys had to endure for this update, and I promise you, the wait was worth it ;)

^The video up there inspired me for a lot of this Chapter, the man might be a bit overbearing sometimes but what he says is definitely the truth and very well said too.    

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When we entered the mosque that night before Maghrib, the first thing that hit me was the smells.

"Do you smell that?" I sniffed, nudging Zeinab, who began sniffing too, twitching her nose like a rabbit.

"Yeah, I do," she groaned. "How am I going to concentrate in prayer when there's delicious food wafting about?"

"Well, the Prophet alayhi-salam did say we could eat before we pray," I pointed out as we crossed the carpet to the women's section of the mosque. There was a side room which was usually closed off with the partition wall, however it had been opened back to reveal a table laden with food yet to be unwrapped. Women came in carrying platters of assorted foods from different cultures, placing it on the table as the sun set outside the mosque.

"So can we eat?" Zeinab asked hopefully, eyeing the food like a lion eyes an antelope.

"Only if you are so starving that it will affect your prayer, and you and I both know you had a packet of chips before we left the house," I said, and Zeinab pouted.

I noticed Fatima amongst the women, helping her mum bring in food, so I went over to join her. I had completely forgotten all about tonight's mosque gathering until I came home to find Mama making a large serving of Fattoush. Mama never made Fattoush unless it was for guests or a special occasion, since it took a good half an hour to prepare, so when she told me it was for the Good Friday charity dinner at the mosque, everything clicked. I had invited Damian on the one night that the mosque was open to anyone in the public who needed a meal, and it was also the night that our community came to celebrate our diversity, but most importantly, our religions. Technically tomorrow was Good Friday, and each year on the night before the Mosque held an open night, not to commemorate Jesus' supposed crucifixion as the Christians and Catholics celebrated at Easter, but to give back to the people altruistically and generously, as all this free food was a form of Zakat. It was the only time other than Ramadan and Eid that our mosque served free food for the public, while simultaneously giving da'wa. Honestly, if I were a non-Muslim and I tasted this food served by the Muslims, I would've converted straight away.

The other intention for this dinner was to educate others about Islam, and at the front of the mosque there were mosque staff handing out pamphlets and greeting everyone. There was a line-up of Sheikhs and local Islamic Scholars who would be speaking tonight after the prayer, and I always looked forward to hearing them. To be honest, though, I was looking forward to the food too, and so were the rest of us hundred people here tonight.

"Masha'allah, there is so much food here tonight," I commented to Fatima, who was setting down a pot of biryani beside a platter of samosas.

Fatima turned to me, brown eyes alight. "I know, right? I can't wait until after Maghrib!" she rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

"Other than Eid and Ramadan, this is my favourite night to be at the mosque," I said just before the adhaan rang out through the speakers, and people bustled about the carpet, hurrying to their places for Salah.

"I agree," Fatima whispered. "Hey, where's Yasmine? Isn't she coming tonight?"

"I think she's late," I hissed back as I scanned the crowd of abayas. Other than the traditional black, there were women who wore colourful designs, especially the Somali women with their vibrant patterned clothes. I was just wearing a jungle green gypsy skirt and white blouse, a green ombré hijab to match. Fatima was wearing something similar but in tones of orange and red, and as we lined up for Salah, listening to the pre-recorded adhaan echo around the masjid, I spotted Yasmine at the entrance with her mother, looking stunning in a violet skirt and pink shirt, her hijab a tie-dyed mixture of the two colours, framing her naturally beautiful face. Her eyes found mine and she squeezed through the crowd, dragging her mother with her. As soon as she reached us, I kissed her cheeks, greeting them both.

"Salamu Alaykum, Mariam, Masha'allah you look nice," Samia beamed, turning to Fatima and shaking her hand. They had met before a couple of times, and Samia commented on Fatima's outfit and beauty as the adhaan finished. I could see in the far front Nasr and Zaid standing side by side, with Yasmine's brother Yusuf slipping into the line with his father. I also noticed a smoky barbeque smell drifting in from the patio outside, but I ignored the delicious scent of grilled lamb and raised my hands to begin Salah. "Allahuakbar."

***

Damian's POV

"Where are you going?" Tracey demanded, tapping her foot, eyes scrutinizing me behind her glasses. I told her to get contacts but she wouldn't listen, saying they were bad for your eyes or something. Ever since Aunt Kate had started staying at our house, Tracey had been swinging by every once and a while to hang with my mother and aunt. Since it was the Easter Weekend, Tracey was sleeping over for the next week until she had to return back to her uni classes. She took extra courses and worked two part time jobs, one at the supermarket and one at a shoe store, so she was pretty busy and had no time for days off, but she got time off from work because of the national holiday.

I had been so close to sneaking out of the house but of course Tracey had to have been coming down the stairs at that exact time, catching me right in the act. I rolled my eyes at her. "What's it to you?"

"Damian, tomorrow's Good Friday. What could you possibly be up to on a Thursday night?" Tracey knew about my history of partying thanks to my mum always gossiping to Aunt Kate. They were really close as sisters, and with Tracey in the equation I felt outnumbered by women. I was literally a ladies man – a man surrounded by ladies. And with the lack of testosterone, I was starting to miss my Dad, and I never missed him.

"Come on, Trace, it's the holidays now. I'm allowed to have fun, aren't I?" I begged. Trace cocked an eyebrow at me, unimpressed. She may be two years older than me, but she sure acted like a forty five year old half the time.

"You shouldn't be going out anymore, Damian, I thought you had moved on from all of that," Tracey chided. "Plus, it's not safe out there."

I rolled my eyes again. "I'm not some little girl, Trace, I'm eighteen in four weeks! And why is it suddenly your business on my whereabouts? Have you really got nothing else to do but worry about me?"

Tracey's blue eyes softened, and she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She would've been pretty if she ditched the glasses. She used to have braces, but they were removed a couple years back. Though we didn't look that much alike, Tracey was definitely an older sister to me, which she proved when she said, "I care about you, Damian. You're my little bro, basically, and I don't want you getting wasted or into a fight at some stupid party."

"I'm not going to some stupid party," I snapped defensively without thinking. I had already told my mates I wasn't going to Sam's party, which from what I heard was going to be wild because Sam was that popular. People thought I was popular, but I was nothing compared to Sam and her many admirers. I never threw parties, I was just known for going to them and being the 'life of the party.' But lately I had no life inside of me to waste it on partying. Because parties only reminded me of who I used to be – some carefree dude with no worries or fears. Now, I was very worried and very afraid, and it was eating me alive.

"Oh, come on, Damian, if it isn't a party, what else would it be?" Tracey chuckled.

"Church?" I joked. Little did she know it wasn't too far from the truth.

Tracey laughed. "Yeah, as if you would go to church."

"Yeah, as if," I muttered, flicking my eyes to the living room down the hall, where I could hear mum talking with Aunt Kate. They sounded lost in their own conversation, already forgetting about me. I mostly just kept to my room, fiddling with my guitar or doing homework (yeah, I actually did homework, don't look so surprised).

"Anyway, I'm gonna go now," I turned to the front door, which was only centimetres out of my reach, but Tracey stopped me.

"You still haven't told me where you're going," Tracey said sternly.

"I'm just going to hang out with the boys," I lied nonchalantly. I had mastered the art of lying, I was even able to lie to myself.

"Are you catching the bus?" Tracey asked sternly.

I glanced at her over my shoulder. "No, I'm taking the hover board. Of course I'm catching the bus," I replied sarcastically.

"It's dark outside and catching the bus at this hour is dangerous, especially with all the crazy people about. I don't want you getting mugged, or even worse, stabbed," Tracey was starting to sound stricter than my own mum. Mum was chill most of the time, so chill that I forgot she was my mum and talked to her like a friend, but Aunt Kate was a bit stricter, so she raised Tracey to be just like her. Lucky me.

"Then why don't you drive me, if you're so concerned," I shot back.

"Okay," Tracey grabbed the keys from the table, but I stopped her, shaking my head.

"Uh-uh. You're not leaving the house looking like that," Now it was my turn to be the scolding cousin. Tracey frowned, glancing down at her outfit, which consisted of a baggy t-shirt that said, 'Never trust an atom. They make up everything,' and striped leggings ending in blue socks with orange cat faces stamped all over them.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" she asked, looking back up to me.

I snorted. "You look like a geek, Trace. I'll look so uncool with you as my driver."

Tracey scowled. "Damian, you're a dick, you know that?"

"I know," I smirked. "But if you don't want to change, I'm going to leave, so..."

Tracey huffed, "Fine, I'll go change into something less 'geeky' but I really don't see why I should. I'll just be dropping you off."

She disappeared up the stairs, and I dug my phone out of my pocket, checking it. I already had a couple texts from Aidan asking if I was sure I wasn't going to swing by later on at Sam's, and I texted back with, Nah, man, soz. C u Sat for training.

Tracey returned looking less like a geek and more like a nineteen year old, her hair tied up in a ponytail and a red leather jacket thrown over a spotty white top, her dark skinny jeans accentuating her legs. She slipped on her red converse and opened the door, but not before calling out to our mums that we were going out.

I gave Tracey directions to Felix's house, which wasn't too far from where I was planning to go, and the ride was filled with the low murmur of the radio and the blast of crisp autumn air from the windows. Stars appeared one by one and the moon was full, rising in the east.

Once Tracey dropped me off after I promised to text her to pick me up when I was done, I zipped up my hoodie and began the ten minute walk to the mosque Mariam told me about. My eyes kept glancing up at the moon, entranced by its wholeness and whiteness.

It wasn't hard to find this mosque, because of the large dome and turrets that pierced the deep blue sky. It kind of looked like the Taj Mahal, and I could see it was lit up from the inside, smells of cooked food mingling with the wood smoke of nearby houses. It was a chilly night, and I cursed for deciding to wear a t-shirt under my hoodie – I was freezing my balls off out here, and I stood outside the mosque, inhaling the spicy aromas and craving for warmth.

I closed my eyes for a second, feeling strangely attracted to the mosque, but at the same time reluctant to go in. I wondered how I had got to this point, how I had suddenly started to become curious about this religion, curious about why Mariam was so proud of it, so willing to share its apparent 'truth' and 'hope' because that's what had got me in the first place. The possibility that a religion could give you hope. Blind hope, more like, I added bitterly. Human beings clung to religion blindly, and once I removed myself from all of that I could see things clearly for the first time. But seeing things from the outside also made you wonder about the people inside. I was used to being isolated sometimes, but being an atheist made me realize that once I decided God didn't exist, that meant everything existed by itself, right? Which meant we were alone in this universe, with no purpose...

But that idea scared me more than the idea of hell, that one day we would all cease to exist with no one to remember us, having no significant impact on the world. Where would we go after this life? We couldn't just all disappear into nothing. And I definitely didn't believe in reincarnation or being turned into stardust, though they didn't seem like bad concepts...

I was still undecided, and the reason I came here to this mosque was to come to some kind of decision about the existence of God. After all, that's what these people did – worship a God. Maybe they could tell me more about the big guy, since Christianity had confused the shit out of me when they said that God had a son and a mother and whatnot, which basically meant to me that God was a human. Reading the beginning of the Quran showed that God was One, alone, with no connections to humans, and that made more sense that God would be all high and mighty about his status and not want to associate with us lowly humans. That's of course, if there even was a God, but the more I thought about the possibility of a God, the more it didn't seem that far-fetched. Even science couldn't explain everything, and I wanted to find out before I lost my mum forever. Before I lost myself.

I inched closer to the light that poured from the entrance of the mosque, the voices from inside growing louder and the smells more intense. I was suddenly hungry – I hadn't had dinner yet, and I wondered if Mosques always served food, because that sure was a great way to reel people in.

I entered through the door, and the first thing I noticed was the rows of shelves crowded with shoes. If I didn't know better, I would've thought I had walked straight into a shoe museum. Beyond all the shelves was an archway that led to a brightly lit carpeted room scattered with...people. Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't afraid of speaking to people or anything, in fact, I loved meeting new people because it filled up the void inside of me that I had developed over the years from being an only child, but as I peeked in, I became hesitant. A stubborn, headstrong guy like me never got hesitant, and yet here I was, anxious to enter this foreign world. I was only here because I wanted to meet this guy Mariam mentioned and ask him why the hell he converted to Islam when he could've lived a perfectly happy life without it. But then again, I had to ask myself why the hell I was here when I could've been at home playing blackjack with Trace, or even at Sam's house, getting drunk and partying hard.

"Welcome, welcome!" before I could even register what was going on, a plump man with a thick black beard and a white cap shook my hand, smiling at me. I blinked back at him, a little confused as he introduced himself as, "Abdulrahman Ali."

Before I could reply to this, his eyes travelled down to my vans, and he frowned.

"No shoes, take off now, please," he ordered, so I did as I was told, because he sure was a big man, and I didn't want to get on his beard side – I mean, bad side.

I left my vans in the corner of the doorway and the frown on his face vanished, back to his welcoming vibe. "Come eat!" he dragged me roughly by the arm across the carpet towards a double room crowded with people, men and women alike, eating from paper plates and chatting avidly in different languages. Beyond them I could see a doorway that led to the outside, and I could hear kids shouting and laughing, where more people were gathered. I noticed that there were a few people here who didn't look Muslim at all, in fact, there was a guy with tattoos on his arms and a woman with bright pink hair speaking to a woman in hijab, and there were a few others too who stood out, like me.

"You not Muslim, yes?" the man asked me as he began serving me some rice onto my own paper plate, handing it to me with a fork.

I nodded. "No, I'm not Muslim," I admitted, scooping up some rice and grilled chicken because I was so hungry, and as soon as it hit my taste buds I groaned. "This is amazing!"

"My wife made it," the man beamed proudly. "What your name, young man?"

"Damian," I said while shovelling the rice in my mouth. The spicy flavours burst on my tongue and warmed me up as I swallowed, and I was more concentrated on eating than anything else. I almost forgot where I was, and who I was surrounded with.

"Damian, are you wanting to become Muslim?" Abdu-whatever asked me, and for a second I was stumped. So stumped that I choked on my rice.

"No," I coughed, and he began slapping my back so hard I was sure I heard my spine crack.

Abdu just smiled at me, and said, "Good luck, young man," before leaving me to fend for myself. Once he was gone, I missed his fatherly presence. Now I felt awkward, and a few older women in hijab were eyeing me suspiciously, as if I was going to do something bad. I let my eyes wander around to the other people in this room gorging on food, and spotted someone familiar – Yaz.

As soon as I made eye contact with her, she approached me, nibbling on some brown meatball over a napkin. It was still strange to see her wearing a scarf on her head, but I got used to it now, I guess. "Damian! I didn't know you were coming," she winked at me, and I puckered my brow, baffled as to why she was speaking sarcastically. Then I realized that Mariam must have told her what she told me. Those two were always gossiping. Gossiping about me.

"Let me guess, Mariam told you?" I voiced my suspicions, and Yaz's eyes widened.

"No, of course not," Yaz laughed it off. "Okay, maybe she did," she admitted soon after. "But Mission CTBB –" she suddenly cut herself off, smacking a palm to her forehead.

I cocked an eyebrow. "What is Mission CTBB?"

Yaz's cheeks flooded with colour, something that occurred with Mariam earlier today when I told her I could listen to her voice all day. It wasn't a lie, though. "Nothing," she muttered.

I grabbed a pastry from a platter that I had had my eye on, the hunger in my stomach still unsatisfied, and crunched into it, surprised that it was sweet. "What is this?" I asked Yaz, who stood before me, finishing her fried meatball.

"Baklava," Yaz replied casually. "It's an Arab sweet pastry."

"No kidding," I made a face at how sweet it was, but it was really good. In fact, all these foods looked really good. Maybe because I was hungry, but it felt like I was here just for the food, when that wasn't true. Okay, maybe partly true.

"Where's the Virgin Mary?" I loved using Mariam's nickname, especially because it pissed her off. Yaz frowned, but then a spark of mischief appeared in her brown eyes as she replied, "In heaven."

"What?" I didn't understand her joke, or whatever it was, until Yaz burst out laughing. "I was talking about Mariam, not the actual Virgin Mary," I muttered.

"I know that," Yaz chuckled. "Mariam is outside playing soccer," she pointed to the door I had noticed earlier, and I almost thought I had heard her incorrectly. Mariam was playing soccer? Since when did she play any sports at all?

"I was going there anyway, so let's go," Yaz motioned for me to follow, so I grabbed another baklava in my hand and pursued her, passing a couple of brown-skinned girls who giggled at me. At least they had good taste, I thought smugly.

The first thing I saw when I entered the courtyard was a whole mass of little boys and even little girls chasing around a soccer ball, something I had done as a kid when I had been in a club, but now that I had no one to play with there was no point of the game. Amongst these boys and girls were a few older people, a mix of different races and cultures playing together, and from these older people I recognized Mariam, who clapped her hands and encouraged her team mates as she jogged, wearing a long green skirt. Yaz called to her and Mariam immediately locked eyes with me, stopping dead in her tracks and bumping into someone who looked incredibly familiar...

"What did I tell you about being careful?" I overheard the guy say to her, and Mariam apologized, turning back to me with a bewildered expression.

"Oh, Mariam, you are such a klutz," Yaz teased her, and Mariam's face transformed as her eyes slid over to her friend, a mischievous grin on her lips as she approached. She planted a hand on her hip and poked Yaz. "Says the girl who tripped over her skirt not too long ago in front of Hassan when he said Salam to you!"

I felt invisible for a second as I stood a little off to the side, watching them interact. It was almost as if Mariam had forgotten I was there, until her eyes connected with mine again. "Looks like you decided to come," she stated in a completely different tone to what she had used with Yaz. But then again, I wasn't her best friend. Heck, we weren't even acquaintances. She was just some annoying Muslim girl who kept boasting about her religion and getting me curious, because I had to admit whatever method she was using was clearly working if she had managed to get me this far, to a fucking Mosque!

"Yeah, I came, so what? Where's this guy you wanted me to meet?" I reverted to my bitter sarcastic self whenever I felt slightly uncomfortable, and in this case I was very out of my league. I was in terrorist territory, but so far, even though I felt alienated, I didn't feel terrorised at all. The Abdu guy welcomed me, even if he did look like he wanted to cut my head off for wearing shoes in the mosque, and even Yaz, who I remember clearly calling me a jerk face multiple times, had made conversation with me, and other than the strange looks from those older ladies, I had mostly received smiles. These people weren't half bad – so far.

Mariam left my gaze for a moment to scan the crowd outside, which was much thicker than the crowd inside, as there were men gathered around small tables talking and eating and even smoking from some giant pipe, and clusters of people having conversations about Islam, as far as I could tell. Some of these people looked like Aussies, which was strange, because this was probably one of the last places you'd find an Aussie to be at.

"I think he's inside," Mariam replied finally, leading Yaz and I back into the warmth of the mosque. As soon as we stepped in again I heard the feedback of a microphone, and an accented voice echo around the walls.

"Now we would like to welcome our speakers for tonight, if you could all gather here before the Isha prayer."

Mariam suddenly stopped walking, and so did Yaz. I glanced around, confused, until I realized that people were swarming back in, and it was quickly becoming claustrophobic. Mariam looked back to me and pointed somewhere, and I followed her gesture to a raised stage with a lectern and a line of men and a few women standing there. One of the men stood out to me the most because he was dressed like the Muslim men, but he was blonde. Most of the Muslims I saw had dark hair, whether they were Asian, African or Arab, but this one was very fair, like a Gold Coast surfer dude.

"That's him, there, the blond one," Mariam told me, and I nodded. The funny thing was that he stood out because of his appearance, and yet he had the biggest smile on his face, like he was proud to be there. Once again, I was noticing a pattern with these Muslims. They were so happy and warm, I wanted to know their secret.

"Sit," Yaz hissed to me, and I obeyed, feeling some outer force pushing me to the floor. Mariam sat cross legged on my right, with Yaz on my left, and I felt surrounded, literally, because people were beginning to sit, people from different walks of life. I swear I saw a man wearing a cross necklace, and a woman with a Bindi dot, even a bloody nun!

"What's going on?" I asked Mariam, because this didn't seem like any typical night at the Mosque.

"Because tomorrow's Good Friday, every year the Mosque opens its doors to the public to inform them about Islam as well as giving free food as a form of charity," Mariam explained without looking at me. "We also do this on Ramadan and Eid."

Those two words sounded vaguely familiar. "Ramadan? Isn't that when you guys starve yourselves for a month?"

Mariam turned to me then, her eyes striking me like a whip as she corrected me. "We don't starve ourselves, we fast, and we don't eat or drink from sunrise to sunset."

"Why do you do that? That's so crazy, couldn't you die from dehydration?" I asked.

Mariam rolled her eyes. "Humans can survive three days without water, and we only go twelve to fourteen hours," she explained. "Plus, there are people in this world who don't even have access to water at all, and so we do this to be grateful for what we have, and empathise with the poor."

I raised my eyebrows, surprised that it actually made sense. I mean, it was still crazy, and I'd never be able to give up food like that, but it was kind of cool. "And you do this every year for a whole month?"

Mariam nodded. "Uh-huh. It's not as bad as it sounds. It's a very spiritually cleansing month."

I scoffed. These people were starting to sound like monks, fasting and worshipping and always being happy. Was that why Mariam was always so happy and hopeful? Because she was "spiritually cleansed." If my spirit was a colour, it would be dark, dark black.

Before I could say anything else, a girl in a hijab joined Mariam and they began talking avidly. And then another girl joined them, and she gave me a strange look, like I didn't belong, which was true, I didn't belong here, but for some reason I stayed.

From my right, Yaz tapped my arm. "You have to sit with the men, this is the female section," she informed me, and when I looked around I noticed it really was the female section, and a lot of women were giving me confused looks. I chuckled under my breath, standing up and moving to the front section where all the men were gathered. I sat down next to some guy who was speaking to another guy beside him, and they looked a little older than me. He turned his head to me, and I did a double take.

"Nasr," I sounded so surprised, and his eyebrows pinched together in a frown until he recognized me.

"Damian, what are you doing here?" Nasr and I had crossed paths a few times back in the day when he was a popular senior and I was a hormonal year ten, hanging with the cool crowd of the older years. Nasr was Mariam's brother, yet they were so different. Nasr was athletic and serious all the time, while Mariam was studious and cheerful, like she didn't have a worry in the world. Of course she didn't, because her mum didn't have fucking cancer!

"Mariam told me to come," I shrugged, and Nasr's eyes darkened, making me realize that maybe I shouldn't have mentioned Mariam at all.

"Mariam speaks to you?" Nasr was outraged, and I held up my hands.

"Well, she is in my class and we're basically locker buddies, so..." Locker buddies? Seriously? It didn't help, though, because Nasr looked even angrier.

"Stay away from my sister, dude," he snarled.

"Why should I?" I asked innocently.

Nasr groaned. "I don't want you messing with her. She's better than that. She doesn't need you to distract her."

"Hey, you can't control who your sister talks to, Nasr," I said. "And before you go threatening me, I actually came here to learn something, so..."

Nasr looked surprised. "Are you interested in Islam or something?"

"Not really," I joked. "I just came here for the free food."

Though if we were being technical, Mariam never mentioned there being any free food here when she invited me. The whole reason I came was standing at the lectern clearing his throat in the microphone as the entire mosque fell silent. Nasr turned away from me, shaking his head in disbelief, so I fixed my attention to the blond guy in a long white dress. Seriously, a lot of these guys here had big beards and dresses. Was that what Muslim men were supposed to wear?

"Assalamu Alaykum fellow brothers and sisters," the blond guy spoke, his voice bouncing off the walls. There was a murmur of words I didn't understand that sounded similar to what he opened with, and I realized that it was some sort of greeting.

"My name is Hassan, and I've been coming here for the last two years ever since I converted to Islam, alhamdulillah," the man said. "And I gotta say, Islam is the most welcoming and friendly religion I have ever come across, and I couldn't have felt any more welcomed when I first accepted Islam."

People applauded, and I didn't partake in this applause, because I was a mere spectator, waiting for him to get to the point. Even if he did have a point that they were very welcoming. Welcoming enough to let outsiders like me into their holy house.

"I stand here today in front of all of you to tell you my story of how I came to Islam, because believe it or not, Islam saved me from doing something no human should have to face in their life," Hassan continued after the applause died down. "I went through a dark period in my life where I questioned my beliefs, my purpose and my worth. I had depression while in uni, studying my degree in science which I never completed, by the way. My depression was mostly caused by the expectations to pursue science as a career from my parents, who are both doctors. I thought if I pushed myself I would enjoy the subject eventually, but I never got to that point and I started to realize that this wasn't what I wanted in my life.

"Now, as a side note, I know a lot of Muslim parents want their children to be successful, but successful is mostly mistaken for a doctor, lawyer or businessman. Don't forget that although all these careers are high in pay, it's what the child wants that should be prioritized. If the child wants to be a bus driver, let him be that! No problem. If the child wants to be, say, a professional chef, let them be that, because then they'll cook you great food –" a chorus of laughter erupted around the mosque, and I found myself laughing too as Hassan smiled.

"Anyway, I suffered under this pressure of becoming something great, something that paid well, because who doesn't want a little extra money in their pocket? My parents, as doctors, were also Christian, and I grew up believing that Jesus was the son of God and he died for all our sins, all that jazz. But as I entered university, I abandoned all of this because to me it was easier to live without God. I always thought man made up a God for some kind of comfort, like a crutch that you use until you can walk again. I was learning science, and though I was struggling in it, I started to believe in it. To me, back then, science made sense. The big bang, evolution, natural selection – it sounded more truthful than some invisible force no one has ever seen sending us down to Earth to suffer until we die."

Funny, that's exactly what I thought too. I found myself hooked on this guy's every words as he spoke of his dealing with depression, describing how he couldn't imagine his future and living everyday was becoming harder when he felt so useless and worthless. I guess I was slightly depressed when mum was diagnosed with lung cancer, but I was also really angry. Angry at her, in a way, for smoking, angry at my dad for being so careless, angry at myself, but mostly angry at God. I knew people went through shit in their lives and some had it worse off than others, but at the hospital the only question I had was why. Why did this shit happen? Why wasn't everything perfect? There were so many flaws in this world, why couldn't we fix them all? And why were humans so weak, so vulnerable, yet so dangerous at the same time? All these questions, and if there was someone I could blame it on, it had to be God. I might not believe in Him, but it felt good to dump all my problems on His shoulders, at least for a little while, and pretend to move on.

"Egypt is rich in history. We all know the story of Musa, or Moses, Alayhi-salam, right?" Hassan addressed the audience, and there were murmurs of yes. I sort of knew the story, at least from the movie the prince of Egypt that was on the TV one day. But I always thought he was a Christian prophet, so I was a little surprised when I heard a Muslim guy speak about him.

"Moses lived in Egypt with the pharaoh, who considered himself a god, commanding the people and making his slaves worship him. And we all remember when Moses parted the red sea, crossing it and drowning the Pharaoh and his army. Well, of course, we weren't there, but we know this was one of the biggest signs from Allah, because parting a sea is basically impossible," Hassan laughed. I always thought the parting the red sea bit was a myth, but this guy spoke of it like it actually happened. Maybe it did, nobody knows.

"And there is even evidence of the Pharaoh that drowned because his body is on display in the pyramids for everyone to see. And this was where I went after I quit uni. I went to see the pharaohs and the ancient Egyptian monuments, since I had always been fascinated by them. I saw the mummies, I saw their treasures, and this was when I began questioning life after death, and all the beliefs I was taught growing up. I had rejected God, I had rejected religion, so here I was, an atheist on vacation, in a city of Muslims, wondering about the meaning of life. I guess for those of you born Muslim it was easy for you. You already knew the meaning of life, but for me, I had to learn the hard way.

"Egypt has poor and rich suburbs, like all countries. I was staying in the more urban areas, next to a Mosque. Every morning the mosque's adhaan would echo across the city, and it was extremely annoying for me then. Little did I know this adhaan would save my life," Hassan paused for effect, and there was a few whispers. I didn't know what an 'adhaan' was so I nudged Nasr and asked him, to which he replied, "It's the call for prayer."

"Oh," I nodded, thanking him as Hassan continued with his story.

"There I was, standing on the edge of the balcony, watching the sun rise ironically on what I perceived to be the day I would end it all. In a way, I was sick of life. I was sick of all the responsibilities, I thought there was no point anymore. Don't forget, I was severely depressed too, and I stood on that balcony for a very long time. The moment I lifted my leg, the adhaan stopped me in my act. That loud call of Allahuakbar – God is Great – hindered my attempted suicide. I was five floors up, and if I jumped, I would've fallen into the street below, breaking my neck or cracking my skull open. Not a pretty way to die," Hassan chuckled. 

"But alhamdulillah, the adhaan was my saving grace, and I climbed back down from the ledge and listened to the adhaan until it ended. There was more than one adhaan playing at the same time from different mosques in Cairo and all together it was some beautiful melody that sounded so sweet, so raw, so passionate, I had to know where it came from. And later that day, I went to one of the mosques and I saw the Muslims praying so devotedly and I just knew this was my chance to find out my purpose, the meaning of life, the thing that would make me want to keep living. I returned to Melbourne and studied the religion in depth, and through all the new Muslim friends I made, they all helped me to convert to the worshipper I am today. I found my solace in Islam, and I live simply for the pleasure of Allah subhana wa ta'ala. I live for Him, and Him only, and In Sha Allah, we will all be granted Paradise. Thank you."

His speech ended with the burst of applause, and this time I did clap my hands together. His story was touching, in a way. Maybe because I could relate to this guy. I wanted to find solace, but I didn't know how. Or maybe I did know, but I wasn't ready. Or maybe I was ready, but I just didn't think I deserved it. Or maybe I deserved it, but I didn't believe yet.

So I went up to Hassan after all the speeches ended and I asked him, "Why do you believe in God?"

And with a smile, Hassan replied to me with, "Because without Him, I would be nothing. We all would be nothing. In fact, we would never exist without God. He created us all, and to Him is our return."

"Okay, cool," I nodded. "But, like, what if God hates me?"

Hassan laughed amusingly. "God only dislikes those who disbelieve in Him," he said patiently. "However, as soon as you turn to Him, He is surely the Most Forgiving and Most Merciful."

It seemed that everyone kept telling me this, that God was forgiving and merciful and all that. But that in no way lessened my grudge against Him.

"Well, I'm definitely not one of God's biggest fans, especially since now that my mum has cancer. When she was diagnosed, it was as if God was playing some sick joke on me, and I couldn't help hating Him for that," I said bitterly. "In fact, I don't even believe in a God."

"I'm sorry to hear that about your mother," Hassan said sympathetically. "But let me tell you something...?"

"Damian," I supplied, and Hassan smiled.

"Okay, Damian, let me tell you something. But first, you say you don't believe in a God, yet you hated Him?"

I shrugged. "It was easier to hate Him and blame Him for it rather than face the pain alone."

"Well, you may not like God or believe in Him at all, but He hasn't given up on you. Even when I had given up on Him, He never gave up on me. And that's the beauty of God, Damian. He doesn't completely abandon you, even when you have abandoned Him," Hassan philosophised. "You don't believe in God, yet somehow He has led you here, to this mosque. May I ask what brought you here?"

"A...friend," I replied. "She's been telling me about Islam, and she told me to come and meet you."

Hassan smiled. "I think I know who you're talking about." His gaze went beyond mine, and I followed it to find Mariam and Yaz with a couple other girls by the exits as everyone began to leave. It was probably past nine p.m. by now, and I should be getting home soon, but first I had to chat to this guy.

"Can you tell me something, before I go, that will convince me that a God really does exist?" I asked him, since I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, knowing it would be Tracey.

Hassan fixed his blue eyes on mine, only a few inches taller than me, and spoke. "I can tell you, but I can't guarantee it will convince you unless you open your mind, Damian."

Easier said than done. My mind was like a vault, but lately, it was being chipped away piece by piece as I learned more about religion. This entire past year I had denied it because God was this burden that I felt was easier to shake off, and once the burden was gone, I was free. So why did I constantly feel like He was trying to tell me something, ever since mum was diagnosed?

"Just tell me, and I will decide whether to open my mind or not," I said finally, and Hassan nodded, his face solemn as he formed the words in his head.

"What's easier to do, deny or accept?" Hassan asked, and I wondered if this was what he was going to tell me.

"Um...deny?" I answered uncertainly.

Hassan shook his head. "Think about this: when we deny something, we are usually lying to ourselves, right? We are actively using energy to push away something that is there, and even after it is gone we feel the shadow of its presence, the remnants left over.

"However, when we accept something, we don't use any energy, in fact, it is less stress on the body for we take it in like air and there's no shadows or burden – only light flooding into our heart."

I had to admit, this guy had a way with words. He was very poetic, and for someone who hated reading, I would definitely read one of his works if he wrote stories.

"Okay, but what's that got to do with my question?" I asked.

"Everything," Hassan replied with a grin. "God was always there, but it was man that pushed him away and denied his existence. Man was trying to come up with all these reasons why He doesn't exist, when it was easier to say He did exist, because then they wouldn't have to try so hard to deny the truth. Once one accepts God, they don't have to try and prove themselves right, because the answers are already there for him. You are still in school, right?"

'Yeah, I am, it's my last year, though," I said.

"So do you accept everything you learn at school?" Hassan asked.

"Well, yeah, I guess," I replied.

"Do you ever try to oppose the teacher's teachings and prove them wrong?" Hassan questioned.

I chuckled. "Sometimes, but the teachers know more than I do."

"So it's easier to agree with the teacher, right?" Hassan asked, and I shrugged.

"I mean, I like a good debate with the teacher, but all in good fun, of course," I said humorously.

"Oh, so you're a bit of a trouble maker, huh?" Hassan's eyes had an amused twinkle in them, and up close I realized he couldn't have been any older than twenty seven, which was ten years in the future for me. Just thinking about the future made me think of Mum, and if she'd still be alive by then.

"I like to think so," I said. "But most of the time, I just accept the lesson, because who am I to oppose everything?"

"Yes, exactly, who are you to oppose everything," Hassan said with a knowing smile. "This is what I want to tell you, and I'm going to stop beating around the bush now and tell you straight up. The truth is there is a God, Allah – The Worshipped One. He created us all with our own free will, and this free will allows us to either deny or accept Him. How could a God who created Man to worship Him give them the choice of not worshipping Him? He could've made us all worship Him, right?"

"Right, I guess," I said.

"But he didn't, and there's a reason for that, as well as the reason some of us are good, some bad, some poor and rich, some happy or sad," Hassan explained. "And that is because He wants to see which ones will let Him in and accept Him, because that's what we were meant to do in the first place. The ones who denied Him, though, those are the ones that went against the truth, what we were all inclined to do. That's why I believe we were all born Muslim – submitting to the will of God."

"Wait, so are you saying I was born a Muslim? Even though I was christened as a Christian?" I scoffed at this idea, though what he had said before made perfect sense.

Hassan nodded. "Muslim means submitting to the will of God, it doesn't mean you were literally a follower of Islam, the religion. As babies, we are brought into this world without being taught about the existence of God or anything. We just rely on instincts, yeah? We cry, we eat, we drink, we laugh - no one taught us how to do that, so we are under the will of God, because it was He who gave us life. Until puberty, a child is a Muslim, and if they die before then, they are immediately granted paradise."

"Really?" In Christianity they said the same sort of thing, about all kids going to heaven, but I never took it seriously, mainly because I didn't want to die as a kid, even if it did grant me "heaven." Back then, heaven to me was watching the Simpsons while eating straight out of a tub of chocolate ice cream, or going to a live footy game and getting to meet my favourite players.

"Yes, and after that, the child becomes whatever religion they were brought up with, because that's when their minds begin to develop and question and process everything, when we are all held accountable for our own deeds and decisions," Hassan responded. "So originally, we were all supposed to submit to the will of God, and going against that just puts you on the opposite end of the spectrum, the people who basically go against the purpose of their own creation. And as an ex-atheist, I could understand why you wouldn't want to believe in a God, but really, there's no harm in believing, is there? What have you got to lose?"

"My reputation," I answered without hesitation, surprised that I voiced my thoughts so quickly. Hassan didn't seem surprised at my words, in fact he seemed to understand very well.

"Yes, there's that, but reputation is only for this life. What about the next?" Hassan said.

"What if there's no next life, Hassan?" I retorted.

Hassan just smiled. "But Damian, what if there is? Would you be prepared?"

"Probably not," I said.

"Well, then, that's why you should believe in God," Hassan concluded. "Because one day, you might meet Him. And you need to be prepared."

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This is the LONGEST CHAPTER I have ever written in my life more than 8200 words whoa! Lots of important things happen in this chapter, and this is another stepping stone in Damian's journey to Islam which I promise is getting closer!

Until my next update, ma'a salama! And thank you for your patience 😃