TWO

Pear Orchards, Ohio

September 1993

Mr. Hawkins’ English class was an unpleasant cacophony of loud voices, boisterous laughter, the scrape of chairs and tables against the linoleum floor, and even music when Hâroon stepped inside on a Monday afternoon after the lunch break, carrying his bag over his shoulder. As was the usual, some stopped in mid-conversation to stare, others snickered, and a few made comments about cross-dressers.

Hâroon was used to it. Since he’d started wearing the thawb more than the usual attire Americans were used to at twelve, even at school, he’d been getting stares, whispers, and laughs at his expense. It didn’t help when he was often one of the only Muslims in the class and usually the only one wearing a thawb. Though his younger brother had started wearing it more when he’d started high school last year—whether it was Ya’qoob’s attempt to show support or if he’d come to the same conclusion that Hâroon had, that it covered the ’awrah better, he wasn’t sure—the brothers shared no classes since Ya’qoob was just a sophomore and Hâroon was a senior, so they were each on their own as they faced non-Muslim classmates’ laughter and ridicule for their choice of attire.

It had been two weeks since school had started, but still most of the students stared, laughed, or made comments. In the English class, Hâroon wasn’t the only Muslim. There was also a Muslim girl, Amînah Hilâl, and guy, Shafîq Bakrî, but neither seemed to stand out as much as he did with his thawb and tâqîyyah. Shafîq wore blue jeans and T-shirts just like every other guy at school, and Amînah, though she wore hijâb, wore a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, so she didn’t stand out that much once people got over the scarf covering her hair. Even with two other Muslims in the class, the attention was usually more on him than them, so he usually felt as if they weren’t there at all.

He ignored the stares, whispers, and snickers as he made his way to his usual seat, beside dark-haired and brown-eyed Diego Álvarez, his junior-year seatmate. He sat down, took out his book, and set aside his bag. Then he waited for the dreaded Mr. Hawkins to arrive. His elder sister Maryam had taken his class when she was in high school, and he was known to have a tendency to target the Muslims in his class subtly, like partnering Muslim girls with guys and vice versa way too often for it to be mere coincidence. He’d done it to Maryam—who had stood out just as much as he did in high school with her ’abâyah and niqâb—every single time there was a class assignment that had required a partner.

As usual, Hâroon and Diego didn’t have anything to say to each other. Diego was one of his more tolerable classmates, but they were just too different to find any common ground for a relationship beyond the classroom, especially since Diego’s major interests were flirting and sneaking alcohol when he could. Diego was flirting with Amy Schaefer, a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl who was seated behind them, completely ignoring Hâroon’s presence. Hâroon opened his textbook and started reading as an attempt to block them out.

Finally, the middle-aged teacher walked into the class just as the final bell was going off, slamming his books on the table to bring the chaotic class to silence. Mr. Hawkins was a tall lean man with thinning, gray hair that had once been brown, a sharp nose, and cold gray eyes hidden behind a pair of thick lenses. He was a sharp-tongued, impatient man that probably should have never gone into teaching. Hâroon counted him as one of his least favorite teachers. Even the kids who weren’t Muslim didn’t like him much.

There was an advantage to his appearance though. The music had stopped. And Diego and Amy had stopped flirting. Everyone raced to their chairs and faced the front. He could be grateful for the peace Mr. Hawkins had brought in with him, even if he didn’t like him.

“Good afternoon,” Mr. Hawkins’ greeted the class in his usual stern, stiff tone. Then, without waiting for a response—maybe he knew any afternoon that the students had to endure him for a full ninety minutes was far from good—he briskly turned to the blackboard behind it and began to scratch out words with a piece of white chalk.

When he finally stepped back, Hâroon read a list of topics that were obviously choices for a class assignment. Mr. Hawkins had listed six.

1 - Can racial balance in business, education, and the military be achieved without policies that promote Affirmative Action

2 - Separation of church and state vs. religion’s contribution to the public good

3 - Investigate differences in rates of injury recovery and overcoming illness based on cultural parameters

4 - Protection of victims vs. freedom of speech/rights of the accused

5 - Animal rights vs medical research

6 - The pros and cons of gun control

“This will be your term project,” Mr. Hawkins announced as he set down the chalk and turned to face the classroom; and just as Hâroon was opening his notebook to note down the choices, he added, “This is not a solo project. You will require a partner.” He added with a smile that looked more like a smirk, “I’ve chosen your partners for you.”

That was a bad sign, Hâroon knew. For sure, Mr. Hawkins would target him, the one who stood out most, just like he’d targeted Maryam and would pair him up with a girl just because it would make Hâroon uncomfortable. Hâroon couldn’t help considering his options. He wondered of his chances of being able to partner with Amînah, a fellow Muslim who was unlikely to either mock him or cross lines of Islâmic propriety. If not her, Samantha Dominic , the quiet bookworm of the class who sat at the back and barely said a word, was preferable over the other girls.

His thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Hawkins’ reading out the assigned partners. “Janet Bell and Samantha Dominic .”

The petite Black American girl, thick, kinky hair pulled back into a ponytail and her dark eyes hidden behind a pair of thick glasses, stood and crossed the classroom to where redheaded, green-eyed Janet sat, and Janet’s seatmate moved to the desk Samantha had just left.

Hâroon tensed, hoping against hope that maybe he was wrong and that he may have been assigned a same-sex partner just like Samantha, though he doubted it. Samantha wasn’t on Mr. Hawkins’ torture list. She was practically invisible most of the time.

Mr. Hawkins read out a few more names, randomizing same-sex and opposite-sex pairs, before he finally reached his first victim. Though it seemed completely random, just like the rest, Hâroon saw a slight smirk as the names were read out loud.

“Amînah Hilâl and Diego Álvarez.”

When Hâroon glanced over at Amînah, an expression of horror was printed on the golden-toned face, which was completely understandable. If there was one thing Diego was known for, it was for being an absolute flirt with no regards for limits. Unlike the poor Muslim girl who had been saddled with him, his seatmate looked amused as he pulled himself up and crossed the room to where Amînah sat. If Mr. Hawkins’ intention had been to torture the girl and make her as uncomfortable as possible for the rest of the term, he had chosen the perfect partner to carry it out.

“I want a different partner!” Amînah called out as Diego sat beside her, and he just laughed.

“No changes,” Mr. Hawkins said firmly before moving on to the next pair, completely dismissing her.

After that observation, Hâroon had little hope for himself. He uneasily listened as the teacher called out a few more pairs before turning on his next victim. “Amy Schaefer and Shafîq Bakrî.”

“Objection!” Shafîq called out loudly and boldly. Hâroon could imagine Ya’qoob doing the same thing.

“We’re not in a courtroom, Mr. Bakrî,” Mr. Hawkins drawled sarcastically. “No changes. Failure to comply will be part of your grade.”

Shafîq slumped and then finally pulled himself to his feet and dragged himself to the chair beside Amy. At least she wasn’t quite as bad as Diego, though Hâroon had noted she could be a bit on the flirtatious side. Shafîq sat down beside her without a word.

Hâroon knew it wouldn’t be long before Mr. Hawkins turned on him; and he was right. Two pairs later, the teacher announced, “Hâroon Scott and...” Hâroon was certain he saw a very obvious smirk then. “...Lila Kendall.”

Hâroon knew who Lila Kendall was. There was not a person in Pear Orchards High who didn’t. Resident queen bee, the girl every guy wanted and every girl wanted to be, she demanded attention wherever she was. With an almost flawless rosy complexion, long, flowing golden hair,  and sparkling blue eyes, she was a vision of perfection; but Hâroon hadn’t paid her any particular attention before—she was just one of the many girls he’d been attending school with for years.

As was usual in small countryside towns, most everyone had gone to school together since kindergarten, and such was the case with Lila. Hâroon could vaguely recall a little girl with bright blue eyes, blond pigtails, and non-stop chatter from kindergarten and elementary school. Since he had never paid any particular attention to girls, he could recall little more beyond that and had no recollection of what she’d been like as a child. As a young woman, she didn’t seem all that different from any other girl of her group—beautiful and superficial.

It seemed odd to pair someone like her off with Hâroon, a guy far beneath her on the hierarchy of popularity central to high school; and she was the last kind of girl he wanted to be stuck with on a project that would stretch into months. It was akin to a nightmare for him, but he knew better than to argue. Amînah and Shafîq had been ignored, so it would be no different for him and a waste of breath. Instead, he resigned himself to the inevitable as Lila rose from her place at the front of the classroom, where the popular kids sat, brushed strands of her long blond hair out of her face, and then made her way over to take Diego’s abandoned seat.

Hâroon, though confident and self-assured in his own right with his circle of friends and family, came across as introverted and awkward at best, especially with those he didn’t know of the opposite sex; and when he did manage to speak, it usually came out blunt and appeared to be the wrong thing to say. Mr. Hawkins’ attempt to torture him by intentionally pairing him with a girl would very likely torment the girl, too.

As she seated herself beside him—to his absolute dismay—she turned to him with a stunning smile that lit up her entire face and made her eyes sparkle. “Hi.”

The surge of desire and zing of attraction took him aback and he stared at her before remembering himself. Tearing his gaze away, he clenched his fists in his lap and stared straight ahead. He eyed the teacher with resentment, wondering how he was supposed to concentrate and excel on a project if he had to work with someone who was going to be extremely distracting. Maybe that had been the idea—pair him, naive and inexperienced, with a girl too beautiful to be anything but a disadvantage so he wouldn’t do well.

It wasn’t the first time Hâroon had been attracted to a girl. At seventeen, he had finally reached the developmental stage of his life that he no longer reacted to the mention of girls, love, and marriage with shudders of repulsion as he had in his tween and early teen years. He even thought of marriage from time to time in a casual manner and what he thought he’d  want in his future wife—he mostly blamed Ya’qoob for those thoughts since the fifteen-year-old had been talking about marrying his childhood friend Noorah Montez since he was ten. He did notice girls from time to time, but not nearly as much as most young men of his age group.

However, he had never been so strongly attracted to someone before and someone so absolutely wrong for him. Just like the rest of the school, he was privy to what the popular, well-desired Lila Kendall was like—and she definitely wasn’t wife material for a practicing Muslim. Even though she was Christian, and Muslim men could marry Jews and Christians, she certainly wasn’t the kind Islâm allowed as a wife. She was the kind to stay far away from.

Lila had been on the dating scene from a very young age. Hâroon could actually recall that she’d had her first boyfriend when they’d been about ten or eleven—back when he thought girls and romance were the most disgusting thing ever. Since she’d been in his class, he and the rest of his classmates were privy to the news that Lila and Danny were boyfriend and girlfriend. It had only lasted a few months before the first couple had had a falling out over something or another and Lila had gotten herself a new boyfriend.

It had only worsened from there. By the time they’d started high school, everyone had lost count of how many boyfriends she’d had and the boys were boasting who had “scored” first. She was well-known for her fickle nature in relationships and nearly every guy of the senior year had been with her. She was the kind of girl Hâroon had always been able to avoid—until now.

He didn’t reply to the friendly overture. Part of him wasn’t sure why she was even talking to someone like him, considering the fact that she was the most popular girl in school while he was a nobody who was either mocked or ignored; and the other part wanted to avoid encouraging any kind of friendship with her. Without response, he started writing the topics on the board into the notebook to look at later, feeling slightly annoyed that he’d probably have to compromise with Lila on the topic instead of choosing the one that most appealed to him.

His lack of response didn’t seem to deter Lila. She continued talking. “I’m Lila. I suppose you already know that. And you’re Hâroon. Don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.”

She of course conveniently forgot that they’d been going to the same schools since kindergarten. Just like most people he knew, she couldn’t pronounce his name. It sounded like she was saying “Heron” instead. The sound of her voice didn’t help his inner struggle—if anything, her soft tones made it even worse.

“It’s the Arabic version of Aaron,” he managed to say, deciding he couldn’t completely ignore her, even if he wished to.

“Well then, I don’t think you’ll mind if I call you Aaron, would you?” she asked brightly. “I think it’s much easier to say and remember.”

Hâroon considered telling her that he very much did mind. Even if Aaron was a version of his name, it wasn’t his name and it seemed wrong to forego the Qur‘ânic pronunciation for the Biblical one. However, to speak up would mean talking to her, and he didn’t wish to talk to her any more than he had to. She was already far too friendly for his comfort. In the end, he shrugged dismissively.

“Great!” she said happily. “That will be much easier.”

Hâroon clasped his hands together in his lap as he silently prayed for protection from the trial she obviously was going to be. Even as he stared ahead and tried to keep his attention on Mr. Hawkins as he called out the remaining names, he couldn’t tamp down the awareness of her right beside him or ignore the flowery scent of her perfume. He couldn’t wait until the project was over.

When Mr. Hawkins had finished assigning partners, he turned to the blackboard and gestured to the six topics he had printed earlier. “These are your choices,” he said. “Choose wisely.”

Hâroon looked down at the notebook, where he’d copied them down, to consider which ones he might be interested enough in doing, but Lila was making it hard to concentrate. As if her presence and perfume wasn’t distracting enough, she was humming to herself, too. His frustration made him tempted to snap at her, but he held his tongue, taking in a deep breath to reign in his temper.

“Mind if I choose our topic?” she asked, sounding a cross between hopeful and excited.

He inwardly sighed, deciding he might as well as allow her the choice since he couldn’t concentrate anyway. “Go ahead,” he mumbled.

“Let’s do the freedom of speech one,” she decided. “That sounds interesting, don’t you think?”

It didn’t to Hâroon, but he didn’t say so. He just shrugged noncommittally and stared at his notebook as he wondered how he was going to even work with her.

🌾

The school halls were rife with chatter, laughter, the sound of footsteps on the linoleum floors, and the slam of locker doors as books were thrown in or taken out. In the chaos of the crowded hallway, Hâroon stood at his locker, turning the dial of the lock until it released.

He ignored the usual din of sounds in the background of the hallway, ranging from the clicks of locks and slams of doors to the loud voices of teenage boys and high-pitched giggles of girls. He yanked open the locker door and pulled out his chemistry textbook as well as notebook. As he dropped them in his bag to carry to the next class, a familiar, almost musical laugh reached his ears and the pull of attraction stabbed him, though he tried to ignore it. He knew whom it was without even turning in the direction it came from—Lila Kendall. He had the sound of her soft-spoken drawl and the musical tilt of her laugh more than memorized and it caught his attention every time, regardless of how much he fought the draw.

Their English project had finally been finished and submitted, but the weeks and months of working on it with Lila had been both frustrating and distracting for Hâroon. They met at the cafeteria, library, or his house to discuss the project; and she did most of the talking. The more he was around her, the more he was attracted to her; and it was frustrating and infuriating because at the same time, more and more, he’d noticed how wrong she was for him.

Though she’d been nice and friendly to him, she was one of those girls who mocked those she thought beneath her notice. She was also an absolute flirt—she flirted with and teased every guy she seemed to cross paths with. She’d tried flirting with him once as well, but his stiff reaction must have discouraged her because she didn’t try again. No matter how he looked at it, there was nothing about her that made her right for him.

He had thankfully found a way for them to work separately for the most part. He delegated her to the research and posters while he worked on the essay. That had only required infrequent meetings to touch base and he was able to actually concentrate on what he was doing. The day he turned in the project had been a day of celebration for him—after school, he generously took his brother and their close-in-age cousins to a favorite restaurant and then to a bowling alley.

He had hoped that after the project was over and he no longer had a reason to be around her that he would soon forget about her or be distracted by a girl that he could actually see himself marrying. Amînah and Shafîq seemed to have bounced back from the project with their undesired partners fairly well. When he did see Amînah and Shafîq talking to someone of the opposite gender, it was only with each other and within limits. They weren’t hung up on someone they couldn’t have.

That hadn’t turned out to be the case for him. It had been weeks since the project, but he couldn’t help noticing Lila. He could barely concentrate in the classes they shared; he found himself staring at her whenever he caught sight of her; and just the sound of her voice distracted him and had him on edge—even Ya’qoob, who was usually too busy playing class clown and driving his teachers crazy with pranks, had noticed that he wasn’t his usual studious self.

He couldn’t even blame her for it. Despite the many shortcomings he’d noted, she didn’t seem to be intentionally trying to tempt him. Except for the one time she’d tried to flirt with him during their English project and he’d shot her down, she’d left him alone. It wasn’t her fault he was struggling so hard against his nafs. She was the fitnah Allâh had placed in his qadr to make him aware of how weak he truly was—affected by the beauty of a woman more than her character.

Even as he closed his locker and clasped the lock back in place, he was fully aware of her presence, his heart hammering in his chest, blood roaring in his ears, and his palms sweating. He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder and turned to head for class, trying not to look in her direction; but his eyes betrayed him, for they sought her out immediately, spotting her at a nearby locker with the three other girls she usually hung around with—Daisy Henley, May Ward, and Julie Woods, all of whom were part of the popular set just like she was.

As was the usual, as soon as he saw her, it was impossible to tear his gaze away. Although Hâroon held himself to strict values and rules when it came to interacting with the opposite sex, he was not any more immune to her appeal than any of the other guys. He’d once thought he was, but he’d been proven wrong. When it came to Lila, Shafîq was the one who seemed to have the self-control. Even now, as Hâroon watched her casually tuck a blond strand of hair behind her ear and smile, his body tensed and his heart pounded. Since that project in English class had brought her to his attention, he hadn’t been able to stop noticing her, even though he knew she was completely wrong for him.

“Jacob Scott! Get up this instant! The hallway is not a place to lay down!”

The shout of Mrs. Travis, head administrator, who had taken to referring to his brother by the Biblical version of his name for easier pronunciation, pulled Hâroon out of his reverie; and he turned his head in the direction of her voice to find his brother stretched out on the floor in the middle of the hallway, arms folded beneath his head as students walked around him to get to their lockers while the middle-aged administrator stood over him, glaring. He even had one of the blue yoga mats from the gym beneath him. Hâroon stared in disbelief.

“But Mrs. Travis...” Ya’qoob whined, sounding closer to a five-year-old kindergartner than a high school sophomore. “I’m tired...”

“If you’re so tired, go lay down in the nurse’s office like a normal person!” she snapped as she brushed a wisp of graying chestnut-brown hair that had escaped her chignon out of steel-gray eyes. “This is unacceptable! This is a school, not your house!”

“Too...far...” Ya’qoob said dramatically in a very convincing imitation of a weak voice, reaching a hand out like a dying man. It was all Hâroon could do not to facepalm himself.

“And yet going all the way to the gym to borrow a mat and bring it here wasn’t too far?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I used...all my...energy...” Ya’qoob moaned. “I thought...it’d be better...if...I was...near my...locker. Then...when I feel...better...I can...get my...books...and go...to...class...” If not for the sparkle in his eyes and the fact that he was known for his pranks and dramatics, Ya’qoob’s acting may have been very convincing; but Hâroon knew better than to fall for it and by the look of absolute disbelief on Mrs. Travis’s face, she knew that as well.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of fourteen-year-old Noorah Montez staring at Ya’qoob, too. Though she’d started wearing niqâb this year, she was still easy to pick out. She was one of the very few daring enough to wear the face veil to school and was also the smallest and slightest girl in school. Though her dress code put off most guys, not so for his brother. Ya’qoob still stared at her longingly from afar and seemed to be even more in love with her for it. In the midst of his dramatics though, he appeared not to notice her attention.

“Jacob Scott! Stop that this instant!” Mrs. Travis said sharply. “Get up. You may go to the nurse’s office to lie down if you wish; but you cannot stay here!”

“If I faint on the way, it’ll be your fault!” Ya’qoob wailed. “Have a heart, Mrs. Travis!”

Mrs. Travis rolled her eyes and then looked away from him, perhaps to compose herself, and paused as she caught Hâroon’s eye. “Aaron Scott.”

Hâroon cringed, knowing she’d expect him to handle his brother. It had been his duty to watch out for and try to control Ya’qoob’s outrageous behavior since he’d started kindergarten. At times, he didn’t mind; and at other times, Ya’qoob was absolutely impossible.

“Do something about this...this...”

Her last words, whatever they were going to be, were interrupted by Ya’qoob. “Help!” he screamed, moaning and thrashing like a man in the midst of a feverish hallucination. “They’re coming! They’re coming! Save me!”

Hâroon and Mrs. Travis stared. So did everyone else in the hallway. Then she sighed and turned back to Hâroon. “Do something about your brother. I don’t have the time or patience for this. And get that mat back to the gym.”

Eying Ya’qoob as he continued to thrash and moan, eyes closed tightly, he sighed and nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Travis.”

With a perfunctory nod, she strode off and left him to deal with the foreign creature otherwise known as his brother. He stared down at him, feeling all eyes on him, and cringed. He winced at the unwanted attention as he decided on what to do. Without much of a thought, he smacked Ya’qoob on the side of his head and then delivered a blow to his side.

“Ow!” Ya’qoob complained, opening his eyes and rubbing his side. “What was that for?”

“Get up, you clown,” Hâroon said, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. Though pulling up someone of Ya’qoob’s above average height and weight was no easy feat, years of physical labor on the farm he’d grown up on made it easier. “I’m going to be late to class because of you!”

The younger boy sighed dramatically. “Can’t a body relax some around here without interference?”

Ignoring him, Hâroon rolled up the borrowed mat and picked it up, tucking it under his arm. His brother was probably going to have some explaining to do to Mr. Hennessy. He doubted the gym teacher had actually allowed him to walk off with an exercise mat willingly.

Then, just as he turned, he caught sight of Lila again and paused. She was watching both him and Ya’qoob—as were her friends, but he didn’t notice them. The expression on her face seemed to be a cross between amusement and curiosity. When she caught his eye, she smiled, and his heart stopped. He froze as he stared at her.

He was only brought out of his stupor when Ya’qoob threw an arm over his shoulders and spoke, his voice dreamy. “She’s going to be an amazing wife. I can’t wait to marry her.”

He stiffened for a moment, until his common sense returned and he realized his brother couldn’t possibly be referring to Lila. He tore his gaze away from her to glance at him and was unsurprised to see his eyes trained on Noorah as she walked away with her friends. As immature as he seemed, he couldn’t have chosen better for a future partner.

“I don’t think Mukhtâr would take kindly to you staring at his little sister so much,” he reminded him.

Ya’qoob sighed and looked away. “Just a few more years,” he mumbled to himself.

“Let’s get this to the gym so I can go to class,” Hâroon said, avoiding looking in Lila’s direction again. “Come on. You probably have some explaining to do to Mr. Hennessy.”

Ya’qoob didn’t appear to be intimidated or bothered by the idea. He never was. Somehow, despite his pranks and mischief, his little brother always seemed to charm his way out of detention or any other kind of punishment.

As they passed Lila and her friends, Hâroon clenched his fists and fought against the urge to take one last glance in her direction. He could feel her eyes on him or at least he imagined he did, but he didn’t dare look at her to confirm it. Instead, he continued on toward the gym, accompanied by his brother.

“She’s not good for you, you know,” Ya’qoob said after several moments of silence.

Hâroon feigned ignorance. He had been trying his hardest not to make his interest and attraction obvious, but it seemed as if he’d failed to fool his brother. “Who?”

“Lila,” he said casually. “She’s not good for anyone, I don’t think. I get a really bad feeling when I walk past her. She seems okay—not any different from any of those other girls; but there’s just something...”

Hâroon knew Ya’qoob’s “feelings” couldn’t be ignored. He’d always had a sixth sense about people and he’d never been wrong. “I know she’s not right for me,” he said. “Don’t worry, Qoob. I’m not going to do anything stupid just because I think she’s pretty.”

“Good,” he said but still sounded concerned.

Hâroon pushed all thoughts of Lila Kendall to the back of his mind. She would never be right for him and he had to remember that.

🌾

The cafeteria was a mixed cacophony of chaos with tables full of students from different years, filling the space with their voices and laughter. Conversations melded into each other around Hâroon as he lifted his food—a tray of a cheese and turkey sandwich, carton of milk, and a small bowl of custard—off the serving counter. He turned and scanned the cafeteria, his eyes glancing off the tables where the athletes and cheerleaders usually sat, as well as the popular kids.

Almost instinctively, his eyes were drawn to the familiar sight of Lila seated among them, talking to the dark-haired, blue-eyed Daisy. Lila was neither a cheerleader nor an athlete, though her three friends were, but she was just as popular and was often seated with them during breaks. For a moment, he felt frozen in time as he stared at her.

Just then, Lila glanced up and their eyes connected. In one of those ridiculously sappy romances that he’d noticed most girls liked, it would be where the hero and heroine would both feel the connection and knew they were destined for each other. He felt a connection certainly, but he knew better than to be fanciful. Lila could not be his destiny.

As she smiled, one that any guy in his shoes would have definitely read as encouragement, he realized what he was doing and forced his gaze away. Without daring to look back in her direction, he looked around until he finally spotted the table he usually sat at with his brother and cousin. Both Ya’qoob and same-aged Dawood Paisley were already there and eating along with Jacob Drew, one of their classmates and mutual friends, a quiet boy who often followed them around. None of the boys were looking in his direction. He hoped that meant they hadn’t noticed his slip-up. It was humiliating enough that he knew.

He made his way toward them with his tray and set it down as settled himself across from them. “Assalâmu ’alaykum.”

“Wa’alaykumus salâm,” Ya’qoob and Dawood replied as they looked up from their food.

“Hi, Jacob,” Hâroon greeted the other boy.

Jacob grinned. “Hey.”

Hâroon said bismillâh and started to eat. The three sophomores returned to their food, and, as usual, Dawood and Ya’qoob shoved and jibed at each other, while Jacob laughed at them. As Hâroon watched his brother and cousin, he thought of how he was going to miss them when he went on to college next year.

The three of them were the last of their circle of close-in-age male cousins to attend the high school before the younger boys of the family reached high school age. ’Itbân, the eldest of the group and two years older than Hâroon, had graduated and gone on to college last year. He would at least still be there when Hâroon started freshman year to make up for Ya’qoob and Dawood being left behind.

He looked away from them as he continued to eat, and his eyes casually scanned the cafeteria. It wasn’t until Lila entered his line of vision as she stood up from her table that he realized he’d actually been looking for her. Shame and guilt stabbed him. In less than an hour, he’d committed the same mistake twice. He was supposed to lower his gaze and avoid looking at and interacting with women not mahram to him beyond necessity; but instead, he was continuously allowing his eyes to stray and watching Lila without excuse. After eighteen years of life of managing to mostly obey what was expected of him, he was allowing his desires to take over.

Then she turned in his direction and smiled. Mortified that she’d caught him watching her for the second time since he’d entered the cafeteria, which made the sin even worse, he quickly tore his gaze away and stared at his food instead. His only comfort was that Ya’qoob and Dawood hadn’t seemed to notice his behavior, for if they had, he was certain his brother would have spoken up, but the two cousins were still bantering back and forth. He returned to his sandwich, not daring to look around a second time.

Then the wholly unexpected happened. Lila’s voice spoke up, interrupting his inner shame, sounding far too close for comfort. “Aaron?”

The familiar sound of her voice made his heart stop. He hadn’t even heard her approach, though that was to be expected in the loud din of the cafeteria. As he raised his head, he noticed her standing by his chair, definitely far too close—and he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

The whole cafeteria suddenly went eerily quiet as everyone seemed to realize that Lila Kendall, one of the most popular girls of the school, was at his table and talking to him. Dawood and Ya’qoob had stopped talking and were staring at her in disbelief, and so were fifteen-year-old Hâdirah Paisley, one of his female cousins, and Noorah, seated at a nearby table.

Hâroon had never been put in such a position that he was the absolute center of attention before, and he didn’t like it. Instead of responding, he looked away and finished off his sandwich, hoping she’d walk off if he ignored her—but she didn’t.

“Aaron?” she repeated, her voice slightly louder this time.

“His name is not Aaron,” Ya’qoob finally said after a long, tense silence, his voice a contrast from his usual friendly, teasing tone. In that moment, it was quite obvious that his brother, who liked almost everyone, did not like Lila at all.

“It’s close enough, isn’t it?” Lila replied. “The name is too hard. Aaron is easier.”

“If you can’t be bothered to use his actual name, then why are you here?” Ya’qoob asked coldly. Hâroon had never heard him speak that way to anyone. “In case you’ve forgotten, that English project is over.”

“Stay out of this, Clown,” she said, anger starting to creep into her voice. “This is between me and your brother.”

“Make me, Queen Bee,” he shot back. “Whatever concerns my brother concerns me, too.”

Jacob was now staring at the two with an expression of discomfort, and Dawood observed quietly with a worried frown. Neither said a word—not that they needed to. Ya’qoob seemed to have the situation well in hand.

It was obvious that Ya’qoob was probably trying to protect him. Since it would keep Hâroon from needing to speak to her, he saw no need to interfere. He took a sip from his milk carton and started on his custard, pretending not to notice, while the rest of the school appeared to be watching the confrontation.

“Listen, twerp...” Lila hissed. “I can make high school very difficult for you... Don’t test me.”

A part of Hâroon thought he should probably speak up as the elder brother, but Ya’qoob had always known how to hold his own against bullies; and he had no desire to speak with her and bring her attention back to him. He did wonder what she thought she’d achieve by insulting and threatening his brother in front of him though.

Ya’qoob smirked. “And I can make your last few months here a trial of patience. No one knows better than my mother.”

Lila, apparently deciding she couldn’t intimidate the younger boy as she could other kids, turned to Hâroon instead. “Would you like to go to a movie with me?”

He froze, and so did everyone else within earshot. How he had caught that kind of interest from her he had no idea, but he knew better than to encourage it. Thankfully, before he could figure out how to respond, Ya’qoob spoke up for him. “No, he would not.”

Someone else may have been annoyed by his brother’s interference, but Hâroon only felt grateful. Ya’qoob was making it possible for him to avoid speaking to her. After all, if he did speak, he feared his attraction to her might make him say the wrong thing.

“Did I ask you?” she snapped.  “What are you, his bodyguard?”

“From you, yes.” Ya’qoob grinned. “It’s an honor. What do you want with my brother? Go to the movies with your friends.”

Lila turned back to Hâroon. “I know you like me,” she declared to his absolute mortification. “I’m not seeing Freddie anymore. We can go out. There’s a movie I want to see. Let’s go.”

Ya’qoob jumped up, fury flashing in his eyes. “My brother is not going to be one of the many boyfriends you throw aside after you get bored of them! Scat! Go find someone else to throw yourself at!”

“Aaron...” she said in a soft, almost seductive tone, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The contact brought on a surge of desire, but he quickly shook her off and inched his chair away from her. “No. Leave me alone.”

He could feel her stare of disbelief, but he didn’t look up. Though his heart was pounding, he feigned a confidence and self-assurance he didn’t feel, ignoring her and continuing to eat as if her behavior and invitation hadn’t shaken him.

“You don’t mean that...” she said slowly. “You like me—I know you do!”

Hâroon felt embarrassed and humiliated, but before he could snap at her, Ya’qoob spoke up again. “He means it. You’re wasting your time here. Ever heard of him having a girlfriend? No, right? He’s not going to go out with you. Leave my brother alone.”

“This isn’t over,” she finally said after several moments of tense silence. “I know he wants to. I’ll be back.”

Hâroon heard her stalk off and breathed a sigh of relief. He lifted his head, watching as Ya’qoob settled back in his chair.

“Roon, you alright?” Ya’qoob asked, looking concerned. “I didn’t expect that.”

He shrugged one broad shoulder. “I’ll be fine...”

“Well, that’s not good,” Dawood commented, his tone giving away his worry. “She doesn’t seem like the type to take no for an answer, does she? Best be careful, Roon.”

He nodded. “I know.”

Jacob said nothing at all. Instead, he kept his attention completely on his food.

Hâroon was unsurprised when Hâdirah came over to them. “What happened?”

“She wants to add Hâroon to her collection of toys,” Ya’qoob said bluntly in disgust.

Hâdirah’s eyes widened. “You mean...”

“She asked him out,” Dawood confirmed.

“We managed to chase her off, but she’s not going to give up easily,” Ya’qoob commented. “Fancy a temporary engagement for the rest of the year, Hâdirah? It might help.”

Jacob’s eyes widened.

“Temporary engagement?” Hâdirah echoed.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe she’ll give up and find someone else if she thinks Hâroon is engaged. I doubt she knows you’re our cousin.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea...” Hâdirah said slowly. “And I’m quite sure Dad wouldn’t like it.”

“No,” Hâroon said firmly, though tempted at an easy way out of his current predicament. “We’re not going to pretend to be engaged. That’s lying, Ya’qoob. And if Uncle Arqam hears it, we’ll definitely get it. She’ll give up eventually, I’m sure.”

His brother shrugged. “Thought it would get her off your back faster.”

Hâroon sighed. As tempting as it was, he couldn’t stoop to deceit to protect himself, and his uncle would probably have a fit if he used his cousin that way. As he finished his custard and drained the milk carton, he scanned the cafeteria. He found Lila seated among her friends, but she was staring at him. When she caught his eye, she smirked. He inwardly cringed. He was really going to have to avoid her now.

🌾

The first warning bell for the next class echoed through the school halls as Hâroon eyed another love letter tucked into an heart-printed envelope staring back at him from inside his locker. It was accompanied by a boxed and gift-wrapped item. The girl had actually gotten into his locker. A letter was easily slipped through the cracks, but she’d had to have figured out his lock code in order to place the box there—something that only his brother knew.

Lila’s behavior was becoming disturbing. For the following days and weeks, she had made an absolute nuisance of herself in her pursuit of him. There were love notes in his locker on an almost daily basis, which he trashed without looking at; she cornered him whenever he was alone, having probably learned that approaching him when his protective younger brother was around wouldn’t go well; and in classes that she happened to sit behind him—World History and Calculus—she was always trying to touch him.

The worst of it was that he was still attracted to her—still tempted by her offers. It was hard not to be. He was a young man with no real experience with girls who was being offered a chance with the most beautiful girl of the school. It was impossible not to be affected.

But stronger than his desire was his fear of the consequences of following his own whims. His life had always revolved around obeying Allâh in all matters of life and pleasing Him to the point he frequently engaged in nâfil acts of worship, such as waking for Tahajjud and fasting outside of Ramadhân; and what he desired would be more than mere disobedience—it would eventually lead him to a major sin that could ultimately destroy his deen completely.

Holding himself back and turning her down was one of the hardest struggles he had ever faced in his eighteen years of life; but his faith and love for Allâh was stronger than his desire for what promised to be nothing more than another fling for Lila Kendall—and he knew that was exactly what she intended, for none of her boyfriends had lasted long in any of her past relationships; and he knew not to expect to be treated any differently.

The locker break-in felt like a warning sign that she was becoming reckless and bolder. He couldn’t even understand her interest in him. When it came to girls and women, he had never attracted more than a glance. It had been blond and charismatic Ya’qoob who had attracted the attention, though he’d been too busy thinking and dreaming of Noorah to ever notice it.

Even during his childhood, when female classmates had started looking at boys as more than germ-carrying nuisances, between the ages of nine and twelve, carrot-topped and freckled Hâroon had never been one of those who had caught their attention. He was the one girls asked for help with homework, but he wasn’t the boy who would be asked to play or invited anywhere. He’d never minded since he hadn’t been interested in them either, but it was a fact he’d long ago noticed and acknowledged—he wasn’t attractive to most of the female gender.

Lila’s pursuit was a mystery and didn’t make sense. Hâroon had seen the kind of guys she dated and was acquainted with most of her ex-boyfriends. They were all good-looking, popular, and charismatic—the type of people who drew attention when they walked into a room. They were also usually members of a sports team or athlete club. They were nothing like him at all. If not for his attire, Hâroon would have melted into the background; and he’d never played sports competitively. From a young age, he’d always walked directly home from school to help on the farm instead of taking part in any of the afterschool programs and activities. His passion was the farm and animals, not sports or any other pastimes that most boys had.

It was in the back of his mind that she was playing a game with him. He wasn’t as naive as to be unaware that sometimes the popular set liked to target one of the unpopular kids with a prank, making the victim believe the unlikely—that he or she had a chance with the best-looking and most popular girl or guy in school only to realize it had been a malicious trick. That had happened to Samantha Dominic last year. Wesley Brooks, star quarterback of the football team, had relentlessly pursued her until she’d fallen for him only to have him humiliate her in front of the entire school by stating quite loudly and clearly that he’d never be interested in someone like her and that it had been a bet. Hâroon wouldn’t put it past Lila to do something of similar nature.

With a sigh, he pulled out the letter and dropped it into the nearest trash can without looking at it, just as he always did. Then he removed the wrapped gift box, looking around the hall as he wondered what to do with it. He certainly wasn’t keeping it, and if he had it in his possession for any length of time, he might allow temptation and curiosity overcome his common sense. As Black American Zack Lewis, one of his classmates in Chemistry, passed by, an idea hit him.

“Hey, Zack!” The young man glanced in his direction with inquiring dark eyes. “Catch!” he called to him and tossed the box.

“With quick reflexes, Zack caught it and then looked down at it curiously. “What is it?”

“No idea,” Hâroon said as he removed his World History textbook from his locker and closed it. “But you might like it. Who knows?”

“I never turn down free gifts,” Zack said with a grin. “Thanks, Scott.” He turned to walk away, but then glanced over his shoulder with an amused smirk. “Let me know if you get any more inconvenient gifts. I’ll be more than happy to take them off your hands.”

Hâroon laughed. “I think I will.”

As Zack walked away, Hâroon tucked his textbook into his bag and then set off for class. He was relieved to see no sign of Lila in the halls, which meant she’d probably already gone to class, he hoped. The closer he moved toward the classroom though, the more tense he felt; and the more dread sparked and spread—for it was one of those classes he had the misfortune of having Lila sit right behind him.

At the beginning of the year, when he had selected World History as his Social Studies course, he had loved Mrs. Roberts’ class. Not only did he have an interest in the subject in general, but the teacher had a talent for making the topics interesting with detailed stories and anecdotes she always brought to class as supplementary material to the topic of the class. His feelings had changed drastically since Lila had started her pursuit—which was more like harassment—and he’d become far too aware of her place behind him because of her constant need to touch him or try to talk to him.

When he entered the class, Mrs. Robert, a Black American woman of short stature and ample girth, was already seated behind her desk looking at the papers she’d brought in with her. She wasn’t the one who arrested his attention though—Lila was. The blue-eyed blond was seated in her place, already staring at him with an inviting, come-hither smile that made him extremely uncomfortable. He felt as if he was living the story of Yûsuf—but he was no prophet and he didn’t have the moral strength and character of one.

He tore his gaze away from her and reluctantly dragged himself to his assigned seat beside his seat mate, Asian American Tom Chang, who appeared to be finishing an overdue assignment, writing quickly into his notebook and not even acknowledging Hâroon’s arrival. Hâroon removed his textbook and notebook from his bag to prepare for the class, though the final bell hadn’t rung yet. He kept his focus straight ahead, completely ignoring the girl behind him—even when she poked him.

“Did you like my gift?” she finally asked, leaning too close for comfort.

He leaned forward to put as much space between them as possible in the circumstances. “I gave it away.”

“You what?” she hissed, starting to show the mean girl colors he knew she possessed. “Do you know how much I paid?”

“No, and I never told you to,” he replied bluntly. “I don’t want your gifts. Leave me alone.”

Thankfully, she fell silent—but it wasn’t for long, and she was doing much more than talking the next time her voice broke the silence.

“Aaron...” she said softly into his ear, crossing the space he’d put between them and making it harder to battle his desires. “Won’t you come bowling with me this Saturday? Just me and you? It’ll be fun...” She placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing slow, light circles that made it even harder to resist.

He knocked her hand away. “No. Knock it off. I don’t want to go out with you.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said confidently. “You want to.” She placed a hand on his shoulder again, leaning in and dropping her voice to a whisper. “We can do whatever you want...”

He felt a mixture of disgust at her hints and temptation to give in. He knew he needed to move to save himself, so his eyes quickly scanned the room for a chair that wasn’t taken and was far away from Lila. Finally, it settled on the empty chair beside Samantha at the back of the classroom. He recalled she didn’t have a seat mate in World History.

Hâroon had his reservations about sitting next to a girl, but sitting next to Samantha was far better than sitting in front of Lila. It had been said that women were the greatest source of fitnah for men, and Hâroon had never fully comprehended that statement until now. Without a word he grabbed the books he’d set in front of him and his bag and then stood up just as the final bell rang.

“Where are you going?” Lila asked in surprise. “Class is about to start.”

Hâroon didn’t bother replying. Thankfully, Mrs. Robert didn’t say a word when he crossed the class to the back. If she noticed his movement, perhaps she knew how much he needed to get away from Lila. She’d made no secret of her aggressive pursuit.

When he reached the vacant chair by Samantha, he paused. “Is this seat free?” It seemed to be the right thing to ask since he wouldn’t have particularly liked some random female classmate sitting beside him without his consent.

“You know it is.” Samantha’s tone was completely neutral, neither welcoming him to sit down nor warning him to back off. She didn’t even look at him.

“May I sit here then?”

“I guess.”

Hâroon doubted he was going to get a better or more welcoming answer than that. Since the humiliating incident last year, Samantha had withdrawn into herself and was the most antisocial of his classmates. She hid herself behind books and homework and rarely spoke unless spoken to.

He set down his books and bag and seated himself. He didn’t dare glance across the classroom at where he’d left Lila. She was probably still staring at him, but at least he was safe from her wandering hands.

“You got one, too, huh?” she spoke up to his surprise, nodding in Lila’s direction. “At least you’re smarter than I was.”

Hâroon didn’t know what to say to that. He felt sorry for her, but there was nothing he could do about what had happened to her last year. So he only nodded in acknowledgement of her statement and then opened his textbook.

As soon as he’d finished his assignment and before the bell even rang, Hâroon was ready to leave. Though he felt safe from Lila at his new seat, he had no desire to dally and afford her the chance to corner him when he could escape. So he raised his hand to be excused and then left to prepare for his next class, completely ignoring Lila’s stare as he walked out the door.

It wasn't a particular surprise to find his brother out of class as well. Ya’qoob regularly left classes as soon as his assignments were done; and if he didn’t, the teachers strongly hinted he should since he tended to be disruptive and annoying to the others when he had nothing left to do.

Ya’qoob was seated American Indian style on the floor in front of his own locker, calmly blowing bubbles as if it was a usual occurrence to sit in the middle of the school hallway and do so.

Hâroon stopped short and stared. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Ya’qoob asked, raising a blond eyebrow. “I’m blowing bubbles of course.”

“Why?” Hâroon asked. “And why in the middle of the hall?”

“It relaxes me,” Ya’qoob said with a shrug.

Hâroon studied his brother and noticed he wasn’t his usual cheerful self. Something was wrong. “What’s wrong, Qoob?”

Ya’qoob shrugged and sighed. “Those new friends of Noorah’s, they say awful stuff about me. I hear them and she never stops them.” He looked up with pain-filled leaf-green eyes—the one feature they had in common. “Why is she friends with them? Am I so awful? I thought she liked me, but I don’t think she does anymore...”

Ya’qoob wasn’t the first to complain about the friends Noorah had made since starting high school. ’Itbân had mentioned Hâdirah’s dislike for them, too, and her brother Mukhtâr and her parents weren’t too fond about what they’d been hearing about them either. Since he, Mukhtâr, and ’Itbân were close, the boys had discussed it between themselves a few times.

It was rather shocking to hear that Noorah would allow her friends to badmouth Ya’qoob in her presence though. She and his brother were practically engaged and had had an understanding since the ages of ten and eleven. It seemed as if Noorah was starting to change and not for the better. He suddenly feared that his brother might have attached his heart to a future that was starting to rip apart and that soft, tender-hearted Ya’qoob might not recover.

He didn’t voice his fears and doubts. He was certain his brother had his own to contend with without adding to them. Hoping he was wrong and that Noorah was just going through a growing phase, he dropped his bag and seated himself beside his brother, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Qoob—other than the fact you drive most people up the wall.” As the younger boy grinned, he continued, “Noorah is growing up and she’s probably going to make mistakes here and there about who she trusts and who she’s friends with. Her brother doesn’t like her new friends very much either. She’ll figure it out, but you’ll have to be patient in the meantime.”

Ya’qoob sighed and nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

Hâroon hoped so, too. If Noorah broke Ya’qoob’s heart, he had no idea how he and his parents would put it back together. Noorah wasn’t just some passing fancy to his brother like Lila was to him. She’d been a major part of his childhood since they were five and six, and he’d been set on marrying her before he’d even reached the age of eleven. He’d been waiting out their separation patiently for when she was old enough and ready to marry. If she suddenly changed her mind, it would break his brother.

Ya’qoob blew another bubble, watching it float away down the hall, and then he cast Hâroon a curious glance. “What has you out of class so early?”

Hâroon sighed. “Guess.”

“Queen Bee hasn’t given up yet, huh?” Ya’qoob commented. He shuddered. “I don’t envy you, Roon. What are you going to do about her?”

“Nothing,” he said simply. Except maybe put in a complaint for sexual harassment to the administration, he thought to himself. “She’s got to give up eventually. She’ll get bored after a while. There are better-looking guys than me.”

“Hope so,” Ya’qoob said, blowing another bubble, though he sounded as uncertain as Hâroon felt. “At least you’ll be graduating soon. It won’t be as easy for her to stalk you in college if you end up in the same one.”

He winced at the thought. He was going to have to find out which one she was going to just to make sure they didn’t end up in the same one. He didn’t want her stalking him in college, too.

He watched his brother blow several more bubbles. Against his common sense, he spoke up, “May I have a turn?”

Ya’qoob beamed, handing over the container and blower. “Thought you’d never ask.”