*Shezana’s Diary* *Garments for Each Other ©* *Friday 7th February 2025*  Dear Diary, The entire day passes in restless anticipation. Rehana and I exchange glances every time Ammi and Abbu sit together, hoping—praying—that they will finally tell us what is going on. But they don’t. By late afternoon, impatience gets the better of us. We tiptoe towards the living room, trying to catch snippets of their conversation. “…he’s a pious boy.” “…works for an engineering firm…” “…earns well, stable…” That is all we manage to hear before Ammi’s voice rises, sharp with frustration. “…but he’s from a different culture! How can we even consider this? It’s impossible!” Rehana and I look at each other, startled. A different culture? My stomach tightens. I have no idea what to expect. We creep back to our room, minds racing. Rehana sits cross-legged on the bed and turns to me. “Sis, do you think you’re ready to consider a proposal?” I swallow hard. “I don’t know… maybe. It’s too soon, but at the same time, I feel like I need to prove to the world that there’s nothing wrong with me.” Rehana frowns. “That’s crazy, Sis. You don’t have to prove anything.” I sigh. “I know. But you don’t understand how it feels… the stares, the whispers, the pity. It’s suffocating.” Rehana doesn’t reply. Instead, she gets up and stretches. “Come on, let’s take our coffee outside. The air might do you some good.” We take our mugs and a plate of warm cinnabons, stepping into the garden. The evening breeze is cool, carrying the faint scent of roses and freshly dampened soil. The sky is painted in hues of soft pink and lavender, and the chirping of birds blends harmoniously with the rustling leaves. Sipping my coffee, I feel some of the tension melt away. The bitterness of the brew mixes perfectly with the sweet, cinnamon-spiced buns. For a moment, I allow myself to savor the simple pleasure of warm coffee on a crisp evening. But then, just as I am about to take another sip, Ammi’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Girls, Abbu is calling you.” Rehana and I exchange a glance—half curiosity, half apprehension. Without a word, we stand up and follow her inside. As we enter Ammi’s room, Abbu is seated on the bed, a book open in his hands. He doesn’t look up immediately. His forehead is creased, his expression tense. Slowly, he places the book aside and looks at us. After a bit of formal conversation, he says, “Beta, we have a bit of a dilemma here.” I straighten. “Jee, Abbu. How can we help?” He exhales deeply, glancing down for a moment before speaking. “There’s a proposal. The boy is good—well-settled, responsible. The family is respectable, and we know them well. All feedback about him has been excellent. But…” He pauses. I lean in, heart pounding. “But what, Abbu?” Before Abbu can speak, Ammi’s voice breaks in, sharp with emotion. “But he’s Moroccan! His family is completely different from ours. How will Shezana ever cope in a household with a different language, culture, and traditions? This is madness! Someday they will go back to their country!” My heart thuds against my ribs. A Moroccan boy? My mind immediately jumps to Salim Qasim from the end of the street. How did that happen? So there was probably a pity party on my behalf and someone decided to feel sorry me!! Abbu’s jaw tightens. “We are all Muslims, and we’ve known this family for years. The boy has literally grown up in front of our eyes. Just because he’s from a different country doesn’t mean he’s not suitable.” Ammi folds her arms, her eyes flashing with frustration. “Cultural barriers destroy marriages, you know that. The way they eat, the way they dress, the way they do things—it’s all different from us. Their language is different… How can you expect my daughter to adjust to all that?” Abbu sighs, rubbing his temples. “I met with some scholars, and they said that if the proposal is good, she should consider it. Islam does not put restrictions on marriage based on race or culture. If his deen and character are good, we shouldn’t reject him over this.” I sit frozen, my hands clenched in my lap. This isn’t just about a proposal anymore. This is a battle—a battle between what is familiar and what is foreign, between logic and emotion, between fear and faith. Ammi turns to me, her voice gentler now. “Beta, you don’t have to agree to this. But you must understand—marriage isn’t just about the individual, it’s about two families coming together. It’s about lifelong understanding. And I fear that no matter how good this boy is, life in a Moroccan household will be too difficult for you.” I swallow hard. “Ammi… I don’t even know what to think.” Ammi’s frustration rises again. Her voice shakes with emotion. “It’s like we are showing the world how desperate we are… We will just settle for whatever comes!!” Abbu places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “There is no pressure, beta. I want you to do Istikhara for a week and then let us know your thoughts.” Dear Diary, Do you feel the weight in my words as I write? Do you sense the burden pressing on my heart? Just when I think I am healing, I am moving forward… now, I feel like I am slipping again, back into that dark pit of uncertainty. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel. And most of all—I don’t know what is written for me in my taqdeer. Ya Allah, guide me. *Shezana*