‘I’ll tell you “wagwan”,’ I respond dramatically. ‘I went for dinner with Hamza.’
‘Omigod! You didn’t! How did it go? Wait, who’s Hamza again?’ I hear her shushing Hasan in the background.
I remind her who he is (the tall guy from the chocolate-making event) and proceed to explain how, although I like him and he ticks a lot of boxes, I don’t think there’s that spark. And I really don’t fancy him. Layla is married to the love of her life, so I expect her to tell me to lock him off and move on. I’m surprised when, after listening carefully, she tells me to give it a go.
‘Relax and see where this goes, Zara. Not everyone experiences fireworks from the get-go. Sometimes things take a while to brew, you know, like a good cup of tea. What have you got to lose?’
‘For starters, I might miss out on more appropriate prospects while I’m exploring this. My family are in the middle of sorting out some people for me to meet.’
‘So? Carry on meeting whoever you want, what’s wrong with that? Hamza has no claim over you.’
‘Isn’t that unethical?’
‘Are you serious?’ she scoffs. ‘You barely know the guy. You don’t even know what his intentions are. I bet he’s still going to meet other women. Why shouldn’t you?’
Anxious for a second opinion, I seek out Yasmin the moment I get home. She’s in her room, typing away on her laptop, when I burst in.
‘Why is it that no one knocks in this flippin’ house?’ she grumbles, closing the lid of her computer.
‘Whatever. I need to talk to you.’
‘What’s happened now? How’s MuslimMate?’
‘Forget about that, I haven’t even checked it yet. I had a date tonight. With Hamza from the chocolate event.’
‘And .?.?.? How was it?’
‘I actually had a really good time,’ I admit reluctantly.
‘So why do you look like you’ve just found your pet hamster, dead, stiff and cold in its cage?’
‘Wtf, Yas? What sort of imagery is that? You’ve been hanging out with Amina for too long.’
Yasmin shrugs unapologetically and I flop down onto her bed and sigh dramatically.
‘He’s a really nice guy and everything. I mean, he paid for the meal, opened doors, booked me a ride home. He’s a proper gentleman.’
‘But .?.?. ?’
‘I don’t fancy him. I really don’t. Surely I would know if I did, right?’
‘Uh, yes. You would know,’ Yasmin says wryly, rolling her eyes. I push her gently but I’m not annoyed. I’m well aware of how ridiculous I sound.
‘But how can I be sure? It’s not like I can trust my instincts. I’ve been so wrong before.’
The smile disappears from her face when I say this, and she leans over and puts her arm around me.
‘Hey. There’s no way you could have known that he would turn out like that. That was so not your fault. But this is separate from you knowing whether you fancy someone or not. This isn’t the same thing.’
That night, I mull over Yasmin’s words as I get ready for bed. She’s right. Just because I was wrong before, doesn’t mean I can’t trust myself at all. My brain knows this. But even so, I go to bed feeling weary and wary, because every time I think I’m over him, over it, something triggers me and the memories all come flooding back.