Wednesday, 12 May 2021
Dad and I go to our local mosque for the Eid prayer, all socially distanced. Everyone puts on their best clothes.
Then drive down to Aylesbury to have breakfast with Ayşegül’s family. Full Turkish breakfast and tea.
Her siblings are down to celebrate. Her sister, without her husband. Her brothers. My parents, Isa, Maryam and me. We all sit at a big long table in their garden. There is a lot of conversation and joy. There is so much love here that it astounds me. Breakfast lasts all morning.
At one point, Ayşegül’s father gets up to refresh the tea pot. Seeing him, I follow after him.
‘Uncle,’ I say, ‘can I talk to you, please?’
‘Of course, Ibrahim,’ he says, smiling at me.
I stop dead, watching as he fills the kettle with water and spoons more tea into the pot.
‘There’s something on your mind?’ he asks when I seem to clam up.
‘Yes.’
‘There’s something on my mind too,’ he says, glancing at me seriously.
‘Really?’ This worries me.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘May I go first?’
‘Sure,’ I mutter, shrinking back.
‘I’m extremely protective of my daughters, Ibrahim,’ he says. ‘My sons? Well, I think they can look after themselves. But my daughters? My eldest, Elif, just got married, a year or so ago. She was twenty-seven when we gave her away. One of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I love my Elif, but in the end I had to let her follow her heart. To this day, I still don’t know if that was the right thing to do. Look out there. Does she look happy? Her husband couldn’t even accompany her to a nice Eid breakfast with her family. Where is he? Perhaps he couldn’t get time off work; who am I to judge? But this isn’t the first time. I worry about my Elif. I worry she’s not happy with that man. I worry she feels she’s been hoodwinked. I worry he’s not the man we thought he was. But the truth is, I knew the man he was because I watched him grow up. His parents and I: we’ve been the closest of friends for well over thirty years. They did everything they could for that boy, but he was never going to walk in their footsteps. He’s bright, that’s for sure, but he was never serious: never wanted to settle down. He was thirty when he finally asked for Elif’s hand. Sometimes I think I should’ve refused, just like the four girls who refused him before us. If he’d made Elif his first choice, perhaps I’d have more love for him. But no, Elif was his last resort, and unfortunately he was ours. I regret that.’
Ayşegül’s father look at me intently.
‘So now I’m thinking of my beloved Ayşegül. What has life got in store for her? Will she find a good husband? How many years must she wait for a good man to come along, to ask for her hand? And when that happens, will she be happy with him? Will that man treasure her and hold her tight? Will he accompany her to family meals? Will he be a God-fearing man who treats her well, who lives with her in kindness, who I never have to worry will knock her about, chastising and bullying her for the slightest misdemeanour. Yes, after Elif, I’m even more protective of my Ayşegül. I won’t make the same mistake twice.’
Now he’s staring at me, and I feel sick inside. I’ve been psyching myself up for days to ask this man for his daughter. And now this. Ayşegül told me it would easy. Just kiss his hand and he’ll say yes. But instead: a long lecture, and I haven’t even asked him yet. This is horrible. If I could, I’d run away right now, far from here. I’ve been a fool, haven’t I? Just day-dreaming. I should’ve known it was all too good to be true.
‘Yes, I worry about my Ayşegül,’ he tells me. ‘I ask myself this question daily: are there any good men out there? Is there anyone I can trust to look after her? In truth, I fear for my beloved daughter. Of all my family friends, people I have known for years: I wouldn’t entrust my daughter to any of their sons. I’ve seen the way they behave towards their own parents. I’ve seen their temper tantrums, the company they keep. They think themselves men, but they behave like petulant little children. Me, me, me. I want, I want, I want. I discounted one young man I long imagined would end up with my daughter the day he raised his voice and fists to his own mother. If he could do that, with no shame, in front of guests, I knew my daughter would never be safe from him. In truth, most of these young men are complete jahils. Culture is too strong for them. They’ve imbibed every bad habit it imposes. For sure, they are everything our culture celebrates in a man: big and strong and fierce, and tough with his woman. Yes, but that’s not the way of rasulullah, salallahu alayhi wasalam. “And live with them in kindness.” This is our way. And this is what I want for my daughter. This is what I want for my Ayşegül.’
The man looks at me sternly. His gaze seems to be like a laser beam, burning me up inside. I now know it is hopeless me even asking him. I suppose I must just return home and reconcile myself to the fact I’ll always be a loser. Perhaps Mo was right after all. Maybe I was moving too fast, believing in everything Ayşegül told me without thinking it through.
‘So, Ibrahim,’ he says, staring at me, ‘there’s something I need to ask you.’
Oh no, he’s about to ask me if something’s going on between us. Have I really messed everything up already? Maybe I am a lost cause, just as everyone says I am.
‘I need you to be honest with me,’ he says, ‘This is a serious matter.’
‘Okay,’ I mutter.
‘Do you know the story of lady Khadijah, radi allahu anha, Ibrahim?’
‘A little, I suppose.’
‘Oh, you must have heard the story many times. She was a wealthy business woman, who employed a young man she saw was full of mercy. He never hit a woman or child, and he walked humbly on earth, freeing slaves and shunning injustice. You know the story, yes?’
‘About her marriage?’
‘What was special about it, Ibrahim?’
‘I don’t know, I suppose…’
‘Well I think she was one of the greatest women who ever lived. She was the first to believe in rasulullah, salallahu alayhi wasalam. She was the first to believe in him and support him, before anyone else did. But then she believed in him long before that. Indeed, she believed in him so much that after observing his behaviour and conduct, and the way he traded on her behalf, she asked for his hand in marriage. And what a beautiful marriage that was: they lived together in mutual support and cooperation until she passed away.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s quite… amazing.’
‘Do you know what I take from this story, Ibrahim?’
‘No, I don’t know, really.’
‘I take from it that my beloved daughter, Ayşegül, is perfectly justified in asking me to pursue a question on her behalf.’ He looks at me seriously, then smiles. ‘Yes, for my daughter has asked me to ask you if you would take her hand in marriage.’ I gaze back at him, stunned. ‘So would you? Would you like to?’
‘Would you allow me to?’ I ask.
He continues staring at me.
‘If you are everything she says you are… and you seem to be. And if you promise you will never raise your hand to her… you will never hit her, nor hurt her in anyway…’
‘Of course, I’d never…’
‘And if you promise to be faithful to her, to treat her with love and respect, and allow her to pursue her dreams… then, yes… yes, I would.’
‘But I have no job just yet… and I’m still studying.’
‘I’ve never feared poverty, Ibrahim. Your rizq is from Allah. All I care about is your heart. If that’s sound, everything else will fall into place.’
‘But, still, I must provide for her…’
‘No Ibrahim, it’s Allah that provides, always. He is not just al-khaliq, but also al-khalaq. You, I… all of us… our job is to have tawakkul… to recall the virtue of rida. We rely on Allah, not on ourselves. And, in truth, I believe Allah will open up doors for you. Door you haven’t even imagined could possibly exist. Perhaps Allah has already opened such a door for you. Don’t you think?’
‘You mean…’
‘Ayşegül’s proposal. Yes.’
‘Do you think I’m ready?’
‘Do you think you’re ready?’
‘I want to be.’
‘What does your heart say?’
‘It says she’s the one.’
‘I think she’s the one too,’ he says, ‘but then I’m biased.’ He smiles at me. ‘So what do you say, Ibrahim? What answer would you like me to take back to my daughter.’
‘Would I take her hand in marriage? Yes, yes I would. Inshallah. If she wants to take mine.’
‘Then I’ll tell her the answer is yes,’ he says. ‘Alhamdulilah.’
He busies himself with a job in the kitchen. Then he suddenly stops and looks back at me.
‘Oh,’ he says, ‘there was something you wanted to talk about too.’
‘Yes, yes there was,’ I smile, ‘but…’
‘Go on.’
‘I was just going to ask you if I could marry your daughter,’ I laugh. ‘But your way was better.’
‘Subhanullah,’ he chuckles back.
‘But maybe… maybe I should still ask…’
‘What’s that?’
‘May I propose to her now? Would that be okay?’
‘Yes, Ibrahim,’ he says, patting me on my back, ‘I think that would definitely be okay. Devam et…’
When we return to the table, we sit down quietly for a while. Conversations are animated, but I doubt we’ll get a word in edgeways. Ayşegül’s father looks on patiently, but finally takes his glass tea cup and strikes it with his spoon, like it’s a bell. Hearing this, all conversations cease and everyone looks at him.
‘Ayşegül,’ he says, ‘come and sit beside me.’
She leaves her conversation with my mum and sits down on his right, opposite me. He turns towards her and say, just loud enough for everyone to hear:
‘Ibrahim here has something he’d like to ask you.’
I admit that just now, I’m feeling pretty queasy. I’ve been mulling over what to say for weeks now, but even now I’m not really sure. Slowly I get to my feet. I can’t help glancing down the length of the table at all the faces looking back at me. My mum and dad. Maryam. Elif. I’ve never done anything like this before. How to start? I had some kind of speech written in my head, but now it’s gone, completely. Shyly, my eyes fall on Ayşegül’s face, and she just beams back at me so serenely and makes me feel totally at ease.
‘Ayşegül…’
‘Yes?’ she says keenly.
‘I remember the first time I encountered you. It was on my first day at college. I was sitting on my own in the lobby. I knew nobody and felt completely out of place. I felt so self-conscious and awkward, wondering what I’d done, leaving grammar school to go there. Everyone else seemed so cool, coming in through the doors with their mates, laughing and joking, effing and blinding. I just thought to myself: what on earth am I doing here? And I was just about to get up, to go back to the station and get the bus home, and tell my mum I’d made a serious mistake… that I’d changed my mind… I’d go back to my old school after all… Yes, I was just about to do that when you walked past me, so graceful and refined, with this big smile on your face, and you sat down two chairs along from me. And then you really made me laugh.’
I glance along the table at all the faces looking back at me. And I mimic exactly what she did that day, holding my palm up in front of my mouth, like I’m holding an invisible smartphone.
‘She goes: “Captain’s log, 3 Muharram 1441: I have surveyed all corners of this alien planet. Preliminary findings. So far, no signs of intelligent life, but the search goes on.” And in my head, I’m just saying, “Yes, she’s right.” I realised I wasn’t the only person feeling completely out of place. It reassured me and so I told myself, just be patient. Just give it time.’
I gaze across at that smart young woman sitting opposite me.
‘Ayşegül…’
‘Yes?’ she says.
‘We encountered one another a lot after that. You were in two of my classes. I’d see you at lunchtime, sitting with those friends who always, always made fun of me, every single day of the week. But mostly I encountered you in the library. You were always there when I was there, sitting near me, your head down, studying hard. Every day, I witnessed the kind of person you were. Happy. Kind. Polite. Confident. Gentle. Smart. Inspiring. Yes, for weeks and weeks I sat there in the same study space as you. And that’s when I wrote this poem.’ I reach into my pocket, and pull out my folded piece of paper. ‘It’s funny. I always dreamed of sharing this with you, but I had never mustered the courage to. I suppose now is as good a time as any.’
Have you ever read the polished floor?
I read it every day
When I see you.
Is admiration wrong?
Because I admire,
Though it is nothing more.
There are words on the polished floor,
Invisible to your eye,
But I read them.
Beyond a hidden world,
There’s something there.
And I wish I could share it,
But the words on the floor say, ‘No.’
I say, ‘It’s not fair.’
The floor says, ‘Life’s not fair.’
I say, ‘Well I don’t care.’
The floor says, ‘You’re reading me,
Of course you care.’
Is my longing for friendship wrong?
Because I long,
Though I know it’s an empty desire.
Words on the polished floor:
‘Your isolation is your due,
Beyond this space, less of you,
Care and admire even more,
But the polished floor, never ignore.’
‘Ayşegül… this was me for months and months. I was your silent, secret admirer, lowering my gaze whenever you walked past. But you were my guide. You awakened my heart. Seeing you: it cemented my faith. You made it alive for me. Of course, I never thought I could be with you, though I wanted that so much. I thought I was way out of your league. I thought you thought I was a moron like all your friends did. And maybe I was. But, still, yes, I prayed. Yes, I made dua that Allah would open some kind of door for me. I made that dua on the 9th of March. That week we came back after lockdown. I don’t know if I’ve ever prayed as sincerely as that in my life. No, maybe I prayed like that on the night my parents were angry with me. That was something else. No, but the prayer I made that week: well, it’s between me and my Lord. But, yes, I truly believe a door opened for me that week. It was Friday. Jummah. The 12th of March. An opening.’
I glance along the table again.
‘To all of you: you’d just think: “So what?” It’s nothing. Just stupid. Nothing of significance at all. But to me it meant the world. Just three words: “Salamun alaikum, Ibrahim.” You were with that Sikh friend of yours, Neha. You smiled at me so graciously when you said these words that it melted my heart. And as you walked away, I heard Neha whisper in your ear: “You did it, Ayşe.” And then she said: “This is the start of something beautiful.” And my heart skipped hearing that. That’s the first time I believed I had a slither of hope. And, yeah, I was buzzing that day.’
Now my eyes settle on my dad.
‘But when I got home in the evening, something was different. Something was wrong. I found my mum on edge, crying. And she gathered all of us together in the living room. Mayram, Isa and me. She told us dad’s not feeling well and we should give him some space. Of course, I’m not going to go into all of that now. I just want to say that over the past couple of months I’ve really come to appreciate my parents like I never have before. I regret taking them for granted. The love I see between my mum and dad: I want a love like that. They’re so beautiful, my mum and dad. I never saw that before. But look at them: still so madly in love after all these years, utterly devoted to one another. And that’s what I want. I want to be like those two beautiful soulmates. I want to love and cherish my beloved, to still walk hand in hand with her when my hair is turning grey. I want to say to her every single day, “I love you.” I want to rest my head on her shoulder; I want her to rest hers on mine. I want to take her hand in mine. I want to share my whole life with my own soulmate, to become one, just like that beautiful couple sitting there.’
I glance back at Ayşegül now.
‘So Ayşegül,’ I say, ‘will you…’
‘Yes! Yes, yes, yes.’
‘I haven’t asked you yet.’
‘The answer’s yes already, you daft romantic. Beam me up, Scotty. Mission accomplished.’
‘Don’t you want to see the diamond ring I got you?’
‘You got me a diamond ring?’
‘Well, if you’d just have let me finish…’ I laugh at her. ‘No, it doesn’t matter. I’ve changed my mind.’
‘There’s no ring, is there?’
‘No, but do you still want me?’
‘Of course, I want you.’
Maybe this interlude was necessary. I wander around to her side of the table and get down on one knee at her side.
‘Ayşegül,’ I say, smiling at her, ‘would you marry me?’
She looks down on me, her face so radiant and bright.
‘What took you so long to ask?’ she says.
‘Hmm, let me think. Fear of my parents. Fear of your parents. Fear of your friends. Fear of you…’
‘Okay, okay, that was rhetorical question.’
‘So?’ I ask.
‘Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Ibrahim.’
Hearing this everyone claps and cheers.
‘Captain’s log, supplemental, 1 Shawwal 1442: two months on from lowering shields as a gesture of goodwill, and twenty-one months on from preliminary overtures, I am happy to report… our alliance is imminent. Bridge, stand by. Prepare for warp.’
Oh my goodness. What have I done?
