Child Brides of India

By C. Stanton Leman

Chapter 5: Introductions and Dinner (rom, Mg)

Under Mom’s calm but firm direction and the extra maid assigned the duties of completing the meal preparations, everything for dinner was practically finished by five pm. We all went our separate ways to begin to get ready. After completing my bathroom ritual, I fervently said my evening prayers asking for guidance and help to see Allah’s will in all of this. After finishing my prayers I began to get dressed. I chose a navy blue pin striped suit with a pale blue shirt and matching tie, then headed downstairs to give any last minute help Mom may need.

I found Mom in the kitchen giving last minute instructions to the staff. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen and simple gazed upon my mother. She had decided to dress the culture. She had on a turquoise colored hand-painted sari with gold trim. Underneath she wore a dark blue petticoat and long choli. Her hair was put up, using the remainder of the pallu as a headscarf. For the first time in my life, I looked at my mother through the eyes of a man and looked at her as a woman. She seemed oblivious to my presence, busy with details, but I looked at her with deep emotion. She stands about 5’ 9” with medium blonde hair like mine. She has light blue eyes and an easy, friendly smile. As I looked at her, I noticed that at forty-two, except for the usual fullness that comes with age, she had a very nice figure and ample breasts. When I looked at her face, I saw that her age had given her a noble, patrician beauty that one would admire in a mature woman. I was broken from my trance when she finally noticed me, stopped and smiled.

Walking over and straightening my tie, she said, “Dad will be down in a minute, he had to wait on me to finish primping. Well, how do I look?”

I said, “Lovely, simply lovely. I love you, Mom.”

“Well, lover boy, are you ready for your date?”

“Mom,” I asked, “why is this all so funny?”

“I think it’s kind of cute that a sixteen year-old girl will have her first ‘date’ with my manly son who appears just a tad bit nervous himself! Besides, why be so serious? You’ve already decided she’s not your cup of tea, so relax and enjoy the conversation, company and this nice dinner your mother ‘slaved’ over, huh?’

“You’re right, Mom, you’re always right.”

“Yeah? Well tell your father that! We’d better head to the living room; it’s almost time.”

With that, we walked arm in arm towards the living room and Mom yelled upstairs, “John, it’s almost time.”

“Just a minute, Honey, I’ll be right down,” was his distant reply.

With all three of us standing in the living room, my dad looked out the window and said, “They’re here; let’s move to the foyer.”

The foyer is rather small for receiving more than two, maybe three people at most, so we all stood in kind of a curved line on the left hand side in the hall where the foyer empties into the hallway. We stood with my mother closest to the wall, me in the middle and my father to my right. The doorbell rang and I took a deep breath. My mother squeezed my hand as Dad moved to answer the door.

My father answered the door, greeting Adib with a handshake and motioning him inside. Adib stepped inside and stepped towards me with outstretched hand. Because of the restricting width of the foyer and his size, I could only get a glimpse of the rest of his family, but all the women appeared to have their heads covered.

I took his hand, shaking it and said, “Assalamu aliakom.”

He replied, “Wa aliakum asslalm.”

I thought he was going to stand and introduce his family, but my father, either out of nervousness or simply having a brain fart, wrapped his arm around Adib’s shoulder and led him to the veranda, speaking lightheartedly to him as they moved.

Then I saw Salima for the first time. It appeared that Sarah was behind her, followed by a younger daughter.

Salima was, to my surprise, a very beautiful woman for having had two children, which would put her, I guess to be about thirty-eight. She is very short: petite rather, no more than five feet tall with a slender build, light chocolate brown complexion, with friendly, brown eyes and medium length black hair. She had high, smallish breasts that were proportional for her frame.

With my hands folded in front of me, I slightly bowed and greeted her by saying, “Assalamu aliakom. I’m Sean and this is my mother, Joan. You must be Salima. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

My mother smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Joan. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you and your daughters, Salima”

Salima replied, “Wa aliakum asslalm. I too have been looking forward to meeting both of you. Please, let me introduce my daughters.” With that, she gently motioned for Sarah to step forward. “This is my eldest daughter, Sarah. Sean, Sarah. Sarah, this is Sean’s mother, Mrs. Michaels.”

With my hands folded in front of me, I slightly bowed, and greeted her by saying, “Assalamu aliakom. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sarah.” My mom then took her hand and greeted her.

Sarah, to my surprise, was prettier that the picture her father had painted of her. Her height, weight and complexion seemed accurate at 5’ 6’’ and about 120-130 pounds, but she didn’t look ‘full’ to me. She had an average frame for an athletic girl, showed no signs of fat and had a nice figure with ample sized breasts. Although she had respectfully bowed her head slightly, she had a cute face. She looked up at me briefly, smiled a pretty smile, which she shyly covered with her hand and blushingly said to me, “Wa aliakum asslalm. It’s a pleasure to meet you and to be invited into your home.”

My mother said, “Sarah, it’s our pleasure to have you here and your comment was very sweet.” My mother stepped towards her, taking her arm leading her a little ways into the hall to make room for the last of the introductions.

Motioning her forward, Salima said, “And this is our youngest daughter, Priya.”

Again, with my hands folded, I slightly bowed, and greeted her by saying, “Assalamu--“

Everything within me instantly exploded! It felt like a white-hot spear had pierced both of us at the same time, right to our cores.

I gasped “Oh!” I know she did also because I could hear it above my own. Salima had to have heard it, seen it. Did mom — or Sarah?

As she slowly came into view and as I bowed to greet her, our eyes met and I cannot describe what is beyond words to explain, but I was looking directly into the most innocently beautiful, dark and sensuously captivating large black eyes.

The windows to her soul, like pools of molten obsidian: so deep, dark and mysterious… slowly pulling me into the soul I instantly knew I would someday be mated to. I so desperately wanted to slip inside and wrap myself in their warmth forever.

Although our glance lasted but only for a few, brief seconds, time seemed to stand still. When this seemingly endless gaze ended, she slowly began to smile. As her lips parted and widened, her smile seemed to light up her face. Oh, to have that smile in my life every day, I thought. Her color darkened ever so slightly as she raised her hand to cover her mouth. I noticed her tiny hand, her slender fingers and nails, and the pink of her palm…

My six foot frame towered over her like Gulliver and the Lilliputians. She was a young — very young — pixie of a girl at about 4’8 or 9, about 80 to 90 pounds with a pubescent figure. She had a very slender — not skinny — build with the slightest outline of a curve to her hips; but from the front, I didn’t notice any swelling of a breast. Her shiny blue-black hair was pulled back over her tiny ears. She had skin the color of creamy milk chocolate that was absolutely and perfectly flawless.

This entire sequence occurred in a matter of seconds.

She then gracefully covered my incomplete greeting by saying, “Wa aliakum asslalm. I am very pleased to meet you; and you also, Mrs. Michaels.”

As she passed by me to step into the hallway, I could see her light blue covered torso through the fine, white pallu and then caught a glimpse of a hint of her right breast, which appeared to be about the size of a small apricot and through the scarf, her long, waist length black hair was set in a French braid.

I was momentarily stunned, embarrassed and confused… I was lost in another world! I regained myself as quickly and as best I could and looked at Salima. I was expecting to see anger, rage, maybe even disgust, but instead, she gave me a mysterious Mona Lisa-like smile.

Mom broke the gaze by saying, “Please, let’s join the others on the veranda for refreshments and tea.”

For the first time in my life, I felt as if I was ready to emotionally break down. I had never experienced such a strong feeling of a lack of control. I quickly composed myself to continue what was, apparently going to be an arduous night. Me? What about Sarah? Oh God above, what’s come over me”

Needing an additional moment to recover completely, as graciously and innocently as I could, I said, “Let me check on the refreshments.”

As I turned to go to the kitchen, I saw Salima pull up Priya, who was by mom’s side to speak to her. I didn’t see Sarah, so I assumed she continued on to join our fathers. I stepped through the kitchen door and leaned against the wall with my head down.

I shook my head, and mockingly said to myself, “Hummf! The ever-in control super whiz kid! God truly is the great equalizer tonight!”

Just then, my mother walked through the door. She smiled and laying her hand on my cheek said, “Lose something out there, super kid — maybe your heart?” She paused for a moment and finished. “Perhaps I should ask Priya if she’s seen it,” then gave an attempted tension-breaking chuckle.

I turned to look her, and with an unpleasant gaze, looked her in the eye saying nothing.

She then said, “Look, you asked and prayed for Allah, peace be upon Him, to show you His will. Well, He did. What are you going to do about it?”

I said, “What, are you turning Muslim?”

She said, “No, I’m showing respect for your faith and I expect you to follow it! Listen to me. Allah, Christ, Jehovah, Shiva, Buddha or whoever the hell is on duty tonight, has knocked you on your ass and given your heart to an eleven year-old girl and hers to you. Yes, she’s eleven and a half years old! Now… pick yourself up by the bootstraps and play the hand that’s been dealt you. If this is truly meant to be, we’ll work out the details later. Everyone is beginning to wonder where we are, so follow your heart, trust in your faith and let’s get going!” With that, we both picked up a tray of drinks and headed out the door to the veranda.

Upon entering the veranda, everyone was standing together in light conversation. Mom and I finished serving drinks all around and we began to split up into groups: my dad and Adib, then mom, Salima and Priya, which finally left Sarah and I to begin a one-on-one conversation.

Feeling the age-old insecurities around women resurface, there were shy glances and smiles (covered by a hand on her part) for a few moments, then I began with, “So, it seems that this Muslim courtship thing can be a little awkward, don’t you think? It kinda feels like we’re in a fishbowl with all eyes on us; even if, when you look around, it isn’t really true, doesn’t it?”

She looked around, giggled and said, “Yes, I was thinking the same thing. Excuse me if my English isn’t very good, I’m nervous. This is the first time I’ve been allowed to actually speak alone with a boy — I mean a man, outside of a group setting.”

“Don’t feel too self conscious about it. First meetings are hard for most men and women, even when people around them seem not to notice them.”

She then said, “Thanks for your understanding. I don’t feel so scared now that we’ve begun to talk. Maybe my English will be better. How do you like India?

I told her I very much liked what I’ve seen, which hadn’t been much, but I really did enjoy praying at the Jama Masjiid mosque, and meeting with the Imam had been very enlightening. Even some of the Hindu shrines were very beautiful. As for the culture, I’ve learned very little, only what I’ve obtained by observation.

She went on to explain a little about life in India, and the surprising fact that her family not only spoke English, but also Tamil, Hindu and some Urdu. She also talked about a few of the customs and general topics which she seemed more comfortable talking about, but then she said to me, “I know you and Papa have met and he’s already told you quite a bit about me, but I don’t really know much about you.”

I replied, “Well, to put your mind at ease, actually seeing and meeting you in person is much better than the girl (Did I say girl? I should have said woman) I had pictured in my mind. He didn’t tell me that all of you spoke four languages!”

Smiling, she said, “You’re very kind, but India is a country of many languages. In fact, there are eighteen official languages in India.”

I continued to tell her my age, a little about my interests, hobbies, my educational level and why I came to India. I didn’t think it right to try and describe my personality traits since I wanted her to make those judgments on her own. We had been talking for about ten minutes and I kept trying to discreetly gaze at Priya as often as I felt comfortable doing when Mom announced that dinner was being served in the dinning room.

We all proceeded into the house and into the dining room where Mom announced the seating arrangements.

Because of the unequal numbers in each family, Mom sat Dad at one end of the table with Adib at the other. The side seating arrangements were a 3-2 setting with Salima sitting to Adib’s right, then Sarah, then Priya on the end, next to my dad. On the other side, Mom had split the side into thirds, with her sitting slightly away, but to the right of my father with me to Mom’s right. This placed me in a position as to be able to look almost directly across at Sarah and her mother with Adib to my right.

When we were seated and the first course was being served, Mom, being the gracious hostess, turned diagonally towards Adib and Salima and began the dinner conversation with, “I am so very glad we finally have the opportunity to finally meet each other as families. Although business and friendship are important, families are what’s most important to all of us. I hope everyone enjoys the meal.”

Adib replied, “Mrs. Michaels, you are the consummate hostess, and you have done it again with a fine atmosphere and setting for our families to meet on such a short notice. My hat is off to you.”

Salima added, “Yes, I am quite impressed that even though with short notice, you have been very sensitive to our Muslim faith and culture. I find it enlightening to meet westerners that look upon us in such friendship.”

Mom said, “Well, Sean had a lot to do with that. Loving our son as you do your girls, when Sean converted to Islam, we have honestly tried to understand his faith, even though some if its customs and precepts are so different from our Baptist, Christian faith.”

Although Adib knew pretty much why I converted to Islam from our initial meeting in Washington, I’m sure he’d filled Salima in at some point in time, For the benefit of the girls Salima asked me, “Sean, why did you convert to Islam?”

I explained that 9-11 had a lot to do with it. I had several devout Muslim friends in college and how they actually wept, as did we over the events, prayed for the survivors and for peace for those lost and their families. I went on to explain how they enlightened me that real Islam is a faith of peace and the desire to live a harmonious life with all of God’s people. That having different beliefs gave no one of any faith a license or sanction to kill other human beings indiscriminately.

I went on to explain that their discussions drove me to start reading the Koran to learn more about the teachings of Allah, and from there, I decided that those teachings were a path I’d like to follow. And so, I converted about two years ago.

I then tried to direct the conversation towards Sarah, so I asked her, “Sarah, I understand you’re several years advanced at school. Have you decided to go to college? If so, what would you like to major in?”

She looked up, and around the table then replied, “I think I’d like to go to medical school and possibly become a pediatrician. There are so many children here in India that doesn’t have basic medical care.”

Dad finally spoke up saying, “That’s a well thought out and noble endeavor to undertake. I applaud you for it. Would you like to go to medical school here or in the U.S.?”

“I haven’t thought too much about it yet.”

Mom, I guess, in an attempt to make this a double ‘introduction,’ first continued my father’s praise by saying, “It hurts all of us the most to see children suffer,” then asked Priya. “And what about you, Priya, what are your educational plans?”

Priya looked up, wide-eyed and surprised. I guess because she’d been called upon, recovered and looked around the table at each of us and said, “I’d like to enroll at the India Institute of Technology and get my degree in computer engineering.”

Dad exclaimed, “Bravo! A girl after my own heart! You’re thinking quite a bit ahead for still being in middle school, aren’t you? What would you like to specialize in?”

Sarah, I assumed, trying to deflect her insecurity because of being academically much slower than her sister, tried to cover it with pride for her and offered the revealing fact by looking at Dad saying, “Oh no, she’s actually in the eleventh grade, one below me.”

After a few pointed looks at Priya, both attempting to deflect any embarrassment to Sarah by her sister’s revelation, and based on the response received from Dad, Priya didn’t miss a beat. She must have intuitively known what button to push with Dad because she quickly interjected, “I’m not sure yet. What types on services does your company design for its clients?”

With that, she coyly indirectly looked over at me, then at Mom and definitely darkened slightly (is that how a chocolate girl blushes?), and then looked again to my father. I felt my face flush a little also.

Jackpot! Dad then went into a ten-minute diatribe about the services we engineer for all acumens of computer engineering design and research and advanced and specialized programming, such as nano technologies, robotics, medical R & D and cutting edge medical procedures.

Priya again glanced at me, gave me another ‘chocolate blush,’ and returned to her plate. I looked at Sarah, who quickly turned her sight to her plate, taking a bite of food; then to Adib, who had a shit-eating grin on his face, and Salima, still with that same Mona Lisa smile.

In a way, I felt ashamed: ashamed at the fact that I was supposed to be so mature and adept, ashamed because I felt Sarah was being hurt: both by my insecurity and what I was now feeling for Priya, Priya’s obvious superiority over Sarah — and this evening, over me. It was beginning to become obvious to everyone who was ‘stealing the show’ and what was being said between the lines with body language and gestures. I felt uncannily outclassed by my newfound, eleven year-old heartthrob.

I think Sarah sensed this in me, and deflected the conversation back upon me by asking, “Sean, how do you feel about taking over your father’s company here in India?”

I did indeed now feel humble and replied, “I’m looking forward to the challenge, hoping to make some changes for the better, especially for the employees, and to working closely with your father. Having been here only a short while, I have found India to be interesting, and very revealing.”

Salima looked at me and her smile changed from the mysterious to one of coy acknowledgement and replied, “Yes… India can be a sensuously mysterious land.”

My mom, not hesitating a moment, agreed saying, “Yes it can. Indeed… it surely can.”

Adib, momentarily caught off guard by the obvious double entendré made by his wife then quickly said, “I am looking forward to it also. In just the short time you’ve been here, Sean, you have convinced me that you are your father’s son.”

Dad nodded his appreciation to Adib from across the table and said, “I really appreciate the compliment, especially from a friend as close as you,” and raised his glass to him.

Salima spoke again in the direction of my mother saying, “I also am very pleased that our husbands’ friendship has now been increased to include both of our families.”

Mom, I guess, not to be outdone in the double entendré department said, “And I’m sure our friendship will become even closer over time.”

The three males looked at the women and I think we were all of one mind in thinking When did we lose control? The women, both young and old, are the ones directing this show!

There is an observation in business management that states “He who speaks last in an exchange, leaves with the power.” My mom showed she was no slouch when it came to exchanges, and not wanting Salima to rebut, quickly followed her remark with, “Well, it looks like we’re all about finished with dinner.; dessert anyone?”

The men, desperately looking for a change of scenery, quickly indicated full stomachs and we all agreed to adjourn.

Standing, Mom said, “Since no one is in the mood for a heavy dessert, we’ll serve tea and cakes in the living room.” With that, we all rose filed out to the living room.

Once in the living room, everyone was standing, more or less in a loose crowd exchanging pleasantries about how good the meal was, how nice an evening it had turned out to be, then we drifted back into small groups: again Dad and Adib, Mom, Salima and Priya, and as if by some conspiracy, Sarah and I.

Sarah was facing me with her back turned to the other women and the women were standing such that Priya had her back to me, with Mom and Salina facing me. Dad and Adib had retired to the study.

We were talking about what life was like in America in comparison to India when I noticed Priya again. I tried to be discreet, but I had the repeated urge to look at her, even if only her back. I was doing quite well at glancing without Sarah’s (apparent) knowledge, and I saw that Priya had slipped her right foot from her slipper. She had her foot curled back so that the top front of her arch and toes were resting on the carpet. For a quick moment (or so I thought), I stared at her lovely foot. It was tiny like the rest of her. Like her palms, the underside was a lovely shade of pink. She had a little heel, with a slender arch that was slightly wrinkled due to the curvature of her foot. Her little toes all in a row against the carpet like a string of tiny, round, pink pearls…

When I broke my gaze to look at my mom, both she and Salima smiled at me. Priya was unaware that she was even being watched. I thought to myself, Boy, you’ve been a complete ass all night!

We had been talking for about ten minutes, when Dad and Adib returned to the living room. Sarah and I were finishing our topic of discussion, when she said, “Excuse me, Sean, I’d like to speak to my father a moment.”

“Sure.” I replied and watched her take a few steps toward her dad. I overheard her ask him, “Papa? May I speak to Sean in the dining room for a minute? You can see us from here, okay?”

He looked at me then asked her, “Is everything okay?

“Yes Papa, everything’s fine. I’d just like to talk privately for a moment. I’ll explain in a few minutes, alright?”

“Okay Sarah, if everything is fine. Just sit where I can see you.”

“Yes, Papa, I will. Thanks.”

She turned and stepped towards me and said “Can we speak quietly in the dining room for a moment?”

“Sure,” I said, and we walked to the corner of the table that was visible in Adib’s view and sat with my back to her father with her facing towards him.

She slightly bowed her head and then slowly raised it as she began to speak. “Please, don’t say anything until I’m finished, will you promise me?”

“Yes, I promise. What’s wrong?”

”Nothing’s wrong, Sean. In fact, everything is finally right. For the first time in my life, I feel certain that everything is right. I have been very nervous and anxious about marriage, meeting you, whether I’d measure up to the expectations of others: Papa, Momma, Priya, and you and your family. I have fervently prayed for Allah to quiet my heart and speak to me about you, me, marriage — everything.”

She sighed, took a breath and continued “And He has.” Then, a single tear dropped onto her cheek, which she didn’t wipe away. I assume that at that point, Adib had seen her tears and started towards us because Sarah raised her hand as if to motion him to stop. I wanted so much to dry away that tear, but knowing it was forbidden to touch, held back.

She continued… “You and I, and everyone present tonight know that it’s not Allah’s will, peace be unto Him, that we are meant to be.”

I said, “I’m so sorry Sarah, the last thing I ever wanted to do was to hurt you. I feel so terrible about what you’ve been through tonight. It really breaks my heart to see your tears, tears that I’ve caused --“

She cut me off by saying, “Oh no! You don’t understand. These aren’t tears of sadness, they’re tears of joy! For the first time in my life, I’ve heard and felt the will of God and I feel an incredible peace — a peace I cannot understand. It wasn’t the will of Allah to come here tonight with my family on my behalf, but for Priya’s. It was so that you and Priya would meet! Don’t you see? You and she are super smart, confident, so sure of who and what you are. The two of you are a perfect match. From the moment both of your eyes met, He ordained it!

“I feel joy! Joy for Priya, joy for you, and the joy of feeling that I have been used by Allah to fulfill His will! And I have peace: a peace in knowing that Allah is watching over me. It’s not my time; it’s Priya’s. Mine will surely come and Allah will choose it for me just as He’s done for Priya and for you.

“Don’t feel sad or sorry for me, I have been an instrument of God. I will always remember this night in my heart and never doubt God’s love for me. Okay?

“Let’s return now, there’s one last thing to do to bring the will of Allah to fruition.” With that, she rose and smiled; and walking side by side, we entered the living room.

While walking back, I couldn’t help but remember my words to Adib yesterday about Sarah, realizing how prophetic they were. She had been moved by God and is demonstrating a newfound maturity, grace and conviction to act in such a decisive manner, but it wasn’t to attract me. It was to bring the events of the evening out into the open.

Once inside, folks were arranged in the room differently. Mom sat on the far end of the couch, Priya in the middle, with Salima on the near end. Dad was sitting on the arm of the sofa, next to mom and Adib likewise next to Salima.

Sarah stepped up to face her father and began, “Papa, I know that you have sought the will of Allah in searching for a pious and righteous husband for me, and you did it out of love. You hoped to bring your daughter here tonight as a potential bride and you have: but it wasn’t me… it was Priya!

“Oh, Papa! I have heard His almighty voice in my heart and am filled with joy and peace: joy for being His instrument, joy for Priya and joy for Momma.

“Just look at her, Papa, look at Priya. See how she shines? She’s been given a heart and surrendered her own, can’t you see that?” Looking around at all in the room continuing, “Can’t you all see that? I am so happy I could just dance! Everyone present has tried all evening to avoid what is common knowledge for my sake. We have seen the hand of God! Can’t all of you see? We’ve all been part of a miracle! A miracle of love; what greater gift can we hope for from our God?”

Adib, with tears in his eyes, lovingly enfolded his daughter in his arms and wept. Salima held her face in her hands sobbing. Priya, with tears on her cheeks, looked me straight in the eye and never looked away.

I felt that she was looking for affirmation of the love her sister openly extolled, but up to now, was openly unacknowledged. I looked at her with all that I felt in my heart, gently smiled and mouthed the words “I love you.” She gave me another chocolate blush and looked to her mother for affirmation and then to her father.

Mom was sobbing as if Sarah were her daughter. Dad looked at me, then looked at Priya and simply sighed, threw up his hands and shaking his head.

When everyone seemed to be getting control of themselves, Salima went into a prayer of praise to Allah:

“O Allah, you have heard the painful cries of a mother for her child! You have sought to lift up my brown-shinned daughter and carry her above all the indignities and pain of her life! You have brought her a love: a love that covers her shame! Praise and glory be yours forever!”

Priya sat, with hands folded in her lap and silently cried as her mother’s prayer brought back the memories of society’s indifference and indignity her complexion had heaped upon her.

Things quieted down and Dad stood up and asked Adib, “May I speak to your daughter directly?”

Adib replied, “Yes, John, you may.”

Dad looked at me and said, “Son, is this really what your heart desires? Do you wish to seek Priya’s hand in marriage?”

“Yes Dad, I do.”

He then turned to Adib and said, “Adib, do you agree for Sean to seek Priya’s hand?”

“I do, John, if that is her desire.”

He lastly turned to Priya and said, “Priya, is it your desire to begin a courtship with Sean?”

“With my father’s consent, I desire nothing more.”

Dad stepped back for a moment, then began to address everyone by saying “First, Adib, I suggest that you take your family home, I’m sure you have a lot to discuss, as do we. Because of Priya’s age, there are issues — legal issues — to be addressed and dealt with.

“I suggest that we all meet here on tomorrow evening, say about seven? After having time to discuss things with our families separately, we can then decide how we will proceed. Sean, Priya, this doesn’t mean that you two will be able to proceed toward a marriage, but it doesn’t prevent it either. We just need to be absolutely positive and clear about any decisions we make. Do we all agree?”

Everyone nodded and said, “Yes.”

With that, everyone rose to get ready to part company for the evening. After saying our praises to Allah and the obligatory farewells, I stood at the door and watched as they left. Priya, walking next to Salima, turned and gently smiled before turning to get in the car. I closed the door, quietly whispered to her and myself, I love you, Priya and then headed to the living room, anticipating my father’s uncontrolled sentiments on how he really felt.