Mr. Perfect on Paper Lover
“Where have you been?” Malik asked. “I heard you had an internship in NYC.” What I said, “Yea.” What I thought, “Yes, you idiot! I got this incredible internship in the city you moved to right after we stopped talking.” (Keyword: “talking.” Muslim for “dating without sleeping together and probably not even so little as kissing under the intention of marriage”). My mental rant continued, “and I couldn’t tell you or anyone you knew cause I was scared that the world would think I was following you, and I wasn’t. Though I would have! I loved you, you know. I really loved you and you hurt me so bad! Why are you here now that I am gone?”
I slowly swirled my ice cream into a puddle as we sat in our home town, I never really have been good at expressing my emotions.
“Why didn’t you call me or let me know, Elle?”
“I was busy.” I replied with eyes that told much more. Generally boisterous, I was quiet. Generally dominant, he was soft spoken. There we were, broken, sitting in front of each other two months after things were over. He had to return something that he had borrowed from me. No matter how many times I asked him to give it to my brother, he insisted on returning it to me personally. Like a sucker, I met him up. You must be curious at this point. Malik was Mr. Perfect on Paper. My parents were elated to know that such a fine, young Muslim gentleman had taken interest in their daughter. Studying something fancy, and with an Arabic tongue better than a native, my parents loved Malik. For a minute. Until they told me to turn and run. Malik was my first real “potential” lover.
Malik pursued me 8 months prior to that point. And he pursued me hard. So far from the typically hyper-reserved, semi-geeky, and pretentiously too-cool boys that typically appeal to me, Malik made sense. I wasn’t attracted to him, but he was attractive. I gave him a shot. “Dals, this boy has 6 months. If he doesn’t try to put a ring on it by June I am dumping his sorry a—“
“You’re kinda crazy, you know? You are totally Millionaire Matchmaker’s Patti Stanger.” My best friend replied.
“I am serious! I am not going to end up like you in a pseudo-relationship with a guy I love for years only to find out he isn’t ready for marriage!” Easy to say for somebody emotionally uninvolved, right? Well I gave Malik a chance, and I fell…hard. He appealed to the cultural side of me. He opened doors and paid for dinner. We worked out together and his mother invited me to lunch.
After months of daily conversation, my mom decided she would make a career change to a psychic. “He doesn’t want to marry you, you know. You are too easy going. Now he is comfortable, and thinks you are in love and he can have you forever.” she warned. Deep down, I wondered if she was right. “He wanted to see if he could get a girl like you. If he hasn’t said anything by now, he isn’t ready to settle. Just please, habibti, be warned.”
“No, mom—who says I am ready to settle anyways?” I was lying to myself, I knew it. My mom has never been wrong. Later that week, Mom scoffed as Malik picked me up from my house and took me out. As he picked me up one late night, Malik shook my father’s hand.
As months passed, I began to see him in secret as my mother grew more wary. “Where were you?” My mom would ask as she would notice apples in my car. I ignored the apple tree we have for years, until I dated Malik. Upon finding out how much he loved those wretched little fruits, I always had them in stock for him.
“Mumble mumble mumble mumble.”
“Huh?”
“Fine! Malik’s mom invited me to lunch! How could I say no and not be rude?!”
“You are making a mistake. This is not the way the culture works.”
