do love her.
Maybe too much.
Chapter Ten
All through Maghrib prayer a thought keeps beginning to interrupt me before I shut it down repeatedly because I’m praying: If Nuah thinks I’m hard to get, then—
When Haytham, who’s leading us in salat, says salaam to end the prayer, I let the rest of the thought invade: If Nuah thinks I’m hard to get, then who will tell him I’m not?
Well, besides me—but it’s not going to be me. Because the minute I saw him, and his cool, chill self, my brave intention to reveal my feelings to him in person retreated.
Add to that the zoolike conditions around us, with little kids crying over ice cream and a big brother bent on ruining such delicate matters, and there’s no way this is going to turn out well.
I need a new plan. I need someone to help me.
I turn to Sarah beside me. She’s already started making dhikr.
On the other side of her, Khadija, who’d been praying in a chair, has already started sunnah prayer.
I wait until Sarah’s finished her tasbih and then touch her arm. And point to the stairs.
I don’t know if this is a good idea, but maybe Sarah, with her clipboards, can help me out with a new plan.
* * *
“So you’re the one who’s hard to get for Nuah?” Sarah asks, crammed into the cleaning supplies closet in the kitchen with me. It smells like bleach.
I nod. “Because I never show my hand. So I guess he doesn’t know how I feel?”
Sarah cracks up at that for some reason. “Sorry, it’s just funny the way you nodded just now. So solemnly. Like it’s not love we’re talking about.”
“Oh,” I say, wondering how you nod at something that important without being solemn. “I mean, it’s a tricky situation. Maybe that’s why I’m being serious.”
“No, it’s not. It’s beautiful! Nuah, the amazing guy that he is, likes you, Janna! And you, amazing you, like him back. How’s that not the best thing?”
“Sh, keep your voice down!” I hiss at her. I open the closet a crack and see Florence’s back as she wraps up food. She’s got her headphones on like usual—she’s big into podcasts—and seems to be the only one in the kitchen, so I think we’re okay.
“Janna.” Sarah starts giggling again. “It’s so hilarious. Your face.”
“Will you stop, please?”
“Can you lighten up, then? It’s fun that you found out someone you like is into you. It’s not an exam, Janna.”
“He liked me first. And he’d text me wondering if I was ready. But I wasn’t then, and now I feel like I am.”
“Aw, that’s the sweetest.” She stares at me for a minute and then bursts into laughter again.
“What?”
“Your face is that way again. Like you’re facing a firing squad.” She stops laughing suddenly. “I’m sorry. I forgot what it was like to be seventeen and unsure about love.”
“Yeah, especially because you were dating then. And had lots of experience,” I add with my eyebrows raised. I found out a couple of years ago that Sarah, who I used to call Saint Sarah due to her ultra-religiosity, had actually been a different Sarah before she moved to Eastspring and took over the mosque’s youth committee. That’s why I’d opened up to her about the things I was going through back then—and I guess now, too.
“I didn’t have lots of experience, but I did know how to navigate guys and relationships more than you, I guess.” She opens up her arms as much as the confines of the closet allow. “Hug? Along with a promise I’ll help you with this?”
I succumb, and as she envelops me, her shoulders start shaking.
She’s laughing. Again.
“So sorry, Janna! It’s just that I can’t forget the way you leaned over and said that to me so gravely. I’m the girl Nuah thinks is hard to get. You’re so cute, I love it.”
I let go of her. Telling her had not been my best idea. “Can you stop? It’s so easy for you to laugh when these things are simple for you. I’ve never been in a romantic relationship. With anyone, in any way.”
“Janna, it’s never simple. No relationship is. It’s a back-and-forth dance where sometimes you give more, sometimes you take,” she says, her face turning serious.
“Well, I wouldn’t know.” All I know is that I’m comfortable with Nuah. “Like, I get why in Islam it’s the way it is. No dating and stuff. But—”
“What do you mean? Technically, a date is a time you make