Finding Mr Perfectly Fine

‘Does your mum wear it? Would you expect your wife to?’

‘My mom and sister wear it,’ he replies with a shrug. ‘But what my wife does or doesn’t wear is her business. It’s between her and God, not her and me.’

As the night progresses, I manage to elicit more answers from Hamza. He has no intentions of living with his parents after he gets married. In fact, he already owns a flat in South London that he’s planning to move in to. He also says that he wouldn’t mind moving to North London, so long as he can commute into work easily.

He tells me more about his family and how his younger sister Hiba was engaged once but it didn’t work out. I’m interested to know why, but I decide not to ask, it’s not my business. Besides, she’s around the same age as me and he’s probably sick of the stick she gets about being unmarried, like I am.

His answers are textbook perfect. But then, isn’t that how all men are at the beginning, when they’re still wooing you? I know too many women who thought they were marrying kind, considerate and generous men, but the moment they moved in together, they learnt the hard way that it was all a farce. Sometimes I wish it was acceptable in our culture to try before we had to buy.

I have one more question, and I don’t know how to sugar coat it, so while we wait for dessert I blurt it out as nonchalantly as possible.

‘Would you want your future wife to stop working?’

He looks a bit surprised, but then shrugs. ‘Uh, it’s up to you. I mean, her. Islamically, I have to provide for her – financially I mean. So, I’d pay for the mortgage, bills, food and her own expenses. But if she wanted to work anyway, I wouldn’t mind. I mean, what else is she supposed to do all day?’

‘What if I wanted to go for coffees and brunches all day?’

‘I thought we were speaking hypothetically?’ He laughs. ‘As long as we can afford it, why not? If I could brunch all day, I would.’

We both laugh at this, and I feel the tension pulling at my neck start to ease.

‘And what about after kids?’ I remember to add, before I get too comfortable. There’s still time for him to make a wrong move.

‘If you wanted to work after kids, we’d find a way to make it happen. There are nurseries and childminders for a reason.’

‘OK .?.?.’ I say slowly after a short silence. ‘So what exactly are your expectations of a wife? It doesn’t sound like you’re fussed about anything. Where’s the catch?’

‘Look, Zara, the way I see it, marriage isn’t about having kids and living together. I want a life partner. Someone I can laugh with and have fun with when things are good, but someone who will help pick me up when things are bad. I don’t expect you to cook and clean for me all day, but if you weren’t working, then honestly, it would be nice to come home to a cooked dinner. But I don’t see it as it being your duty as a woman. I want to take care of you, and I’d hope you’d also do what you could to take care of me. And we’d take care of the kids together, you know?’

‘Makes sense,’ I say pensively. There’s no way for me to be certain that his answers are genuine, but I get the feeling that they are. He’s given me no reason to think otherwise. Sure, he can be pushy at times, but I don’t think he’s a liar.

‘So do you mind me asking what would be completely unacceptable to you in a marriage?’

‘Lying,’ he says without hesitation. ‘Honesty and trust are everything.’

That night, as I ride my Uber home, I mull over Hamza’s responses to my not-so-subtle questions, and I feel at peace. If things continue the way they’re going, maybe I won’t feel this unsure for long.

Those were some pretty intense questions, Hamza texts me when I’m home and tucked up in bed.

I know,I reply. Thanks for humouring me. And you know you can ask me anything you want, right?

His response comes through as I’m about to drift into slumber. I already know what I want.