Dating : “I should get to make my own decisions now.”

“Someone reached out to me about my book,” Shahana said.

“What do you mean? Like a publisher?” Afra asked.

Shahana nodded her head. She stared at the glossy brown bar counter in front of her, deep in thought. Then she turned her attention toward a sign taped to the wall across from them.

“All are welcome,” she muttered.

“What?” Afra asked.

“Look at that sign. It’s radical leftist vomit. Everyone’s welcome. Doesn’t matter if you’re Muslim, gay, whatever. Everybody is allowed to be here.”

“It’s a problem that everyone is allowed here?”

“No, that’s clearly not the issue. The issue is that we pretend like all these people with radically different belief systems can coexist peacefully. Drinking is haram in Islam, as is being gay, but we’re supposed to pretend like that’s not an issue. We’re supposed to listen to people who think that an actual practicing Muslim would come have a drink at a gay bar.”

Afra looked around her. “This is a gay bar?” she asked innocently.

“Shut up.”

Shahana turned her body toward Afra. Did I ever tell you about the time I went to Muslim camp.

Afra furrowed her eyebrows. “Muslim camp? That exists?”

“Yeah, of course. There’s a camp for most things.”

“No, you didn’t tell me.”

Shahana cleared her throat. We were forced to wake up bright and early for Fajr prayers. You couldn’t say, “no thank you, not today.” You had to go pray or give your reason. You know,” she covered the side of her mouth with her hand, “periods”.

Afra nodded.

“So, I met this girl during orientation, and I quickly became insanely jealous of her. Her mom seemed really cool. Progressive. The girl also sported a pixie cut, which was uncommon. She told me all these stories about how fun her school dances were. How she had a blast with her boyfriend.”

Afra’s mouth opened in surprise. “She was allowed to attend school dances? She had a boyfriend?”

“Yeah. But, I watched all of that excitement about her life fade away as the camp went on. There was an imam who gave us daily lectures. I swear, Afra, according to him, everything was haram. We were all damned. By the end of that week, she came up to me and asked me if she should feel ashamed about her boyfriend hugging her.”

Afra shook her head.

Shahana continued. “He really got to her. They all really got to her. I forgot her name a long time ago, but I still remember the look in her eyes. She had been injected with shame. That’s what pisses me off. These people touting their whole Ben Affleck philosophy on Islam fail to understand what the religion does to us.”

Afra ran her hand over Shahana’s long braid, trying to comfort her. She wanted to say more but none of the words circling through her mind seemed appropriate.

“I’m terrified of taking the book deal.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid of what will happen if my family reads the story. And, I hate myself for saying this. I’m thirty-four years old. I should get to make my own decisions now.”