mrs. akram salim

Synopsis:

—Miranda didn’t know you could get a concussion just from walking into someone. Then again, Spartan John-117 is such a massive mountain of a man, anything is possible. She’s lucky he didn’t accidentally tackle her like she saw him doing some poor marine on Eridanus II. That surely would have ended her. According to the nurse, Master Chief rushed her here himself, and now he has come to visit. Miranda has been waiting years for John to notice her. While she would have taken literally any other means to get his attention, at least she has it now.

—Ever since removing his emotional regulator pellet, things are somewhat amplified and John has been distracted. Captain Keyes already ordered him to leave the waiting room. Of course the admiral was livid: John walked into his precious daughter enough to knock her back a few feet (what is she, like, 5’3”? About 120lbs at most?). John should have been paying attention, should have caught and stabilized her. He’s been waiting an hour disobey orders and pay Miranda a visit. At least she’s smiling now, which is good, and pretty to look at. Actually, it’s hard to look away from her which... wasn’t the case before.

i wish i was more like you…

Tags:

Halo TV Series fanfiction, Halo TV fanfic, John-117 fanfic

Master Chief Petty Officer John-117 x Doctor Miranda Keyes

John-117/Miranda Keyes

Crushes, fluff, dating, developing relationship

Misunderstandings, hurt & comfort

First kiss, angst, happy ending

No Halsey, Makee, Cortana

Not canon-compliant

No beta we die like Halsey’s flash clones

if your world falls apart, i’d start a riot…

Author’s Note:

I only watched this show because it was on Netflix recently, and I know nothing about it beyond that. This is meant to be a cute fic with some misunderstandings along the way and an eventual happy ending. I’ve omitted Halsey and Cortana. I hope you’ll give this story a chance even if the ship isn’t quite your thing and, if you do, that you’ll enjoy it. Happy reading 🩵

I dress as well as I can in a hurry, and I find Akram waiting patiently for me downstairs. When he opens the door for me, I admire the way the morning light catches his mesmerizing, hazel eyes. I feel like I’m talking too much, laughing too loud maybe, but I can’t help how giddy I am. He cares about me. Platonic as it may be, he cares enough to give me a ride to school, and during the ride he even says with an amused smile that my idea for a salon name is cute.

I like that he feels comfortable speaking to me. Sometimes he switches to Arabic without realizing. I only ever do that in Swahili when I’m super relaxed around someone and feel a sense of closeness to them. He does it again just before dropping me off. I am sure it’s nothing more than a Freudian slip, but he calls me habibti: my love, my dear.

I bite my lip when he realizes, and tries to backtrack, the same way he did earlier when he said I have a radiant smile like his previous wife. I'm unsure how I feel about the comparison. I know he loved that woman, and for him to be reminded of her even a little bit makes me think, again, that maybe Muna is right.

-*-

When I get Akram’s text, I gasp so loudly that Muna grabs my arm and asks what’s wrong. I tell her Akram wants to pick me up. She gasps too, saying it’s the perfect opportunity for her to see him and suss the vibes.

“Then what should I text back?” I ask, freaking out now. “I feel like I can't even type. What do I say?”

“Calm down and give me the phone.” Muna drafts my response. We read it together, then squeal as I hit send.

“Oh my God, he’s really coming here. I need to eat or I’m going to faint when I see him.” We hasten to peruse the food truck options as there is a festival happening. “He might want some of this since it’s halal.”

“Tell him to meet you further up ahead. Leave your stuff with me and I’ll watch you two,” Muna replies. “I have a very good WhatsApp auntie eye. I will immediately be able to let you know how he feels. I mean, he wants to pick you up?! He’s been dropping you all week and now this? Girl, he wants you. Trust.”

I can't help but laugh. “I don’t want to get my hopes up. He’s really nice though. Guys like him are always taken!”

“Why didn’t he remarry?”

I honestly don’t know. Men are so quick with it when their wives die. The woman’s body will barely be cold and they already have a new wife lined up. Meanwhile, Akram still wore his wedding ring up until recently. He’s sentimental, I am guessing, and loyal.

I eat about as much as my nervous excitement will allow, and then I gasp again because Akram texts to say he is here, so I must go get him. Muna stays in position, and she says whatever I do, I should not make eye contact with her until after she’s had a chance to observe us.

I try my best to follow her directions. Akram calls me, a little lost, but I can already see his adorable haircut in the distance. I lift my hand to wave at him and, when he sees me, he hangs up. He’s got so much swagger when he walks, hands in his pockets, head held high. He smiles so rarely — which is a shame considering his beautiful smile — that when he does now as he walks toward me, I feel ridiculously happy.

I almost hug him when he stops before me, but I don't want to make him uncomfortable. He won’t so much as shake my hand without my permission, and if we were not here in the UK, he’d never give me a ride or let me in his home. I show him to my recommendation for food.

“I think I might try the chicken kebab,” he tells me after reviewing the menu for a minute. “Which one did you have?”

“The lamb, but my friend had the chicken and said it’s delicious. What do you want to drink?” I hold out my hand to stop him reaching for his wallet. “It’s on me, I can get it for free anyway.”

“Okay. I’ll have the coke.”

I step up eagerly to put Akram’s order, but before I can open my mouth, the athletic cutie behind the counter says, “Uh oh, she’s back. I knew you would be. You already finish your first helping?”

“Yeah, almost. It’s really good! Can I have the chicken combo this time with a coke, please?”

“Of course, love. I told you you’d be back.” He smirks at me, printing out the order receipt for his associate. “You’re lucky it’s free for you students, but if you come for a third helping I’m charging ya.”

“Charging me what?!” I laugh. “That’s so scammy of you.”

“No, no, hold on. No scam at all, but another serving will definitely cost you… one cup of coffee with me. Maybe after this?”

I open my mouth in mild shock. I've been so wrapped up in talking to Muna about Akram being on his way here, I didn’t realize the halal truck guy was trying to smooth talk me. I look at this name tag: ARTAN. What is that, Albanian? It doesn’t matter, because I’ll never get a chance to answer his advances.

Akram is front of me, not only asking me questions about my day, but ushering me to step aside so others can order. He looks intently at me, as if the details of my mundane exam-filled day are fascinating. I bite back a smile. I don’t need Muna observing anymore.

I can tell for myself Akram does not want other guys randomly flirting with me, especially not when he is right there. It’s cute how playful he is just now, talking about knowing the best Syrian food for studying. There's no such thing, is there? I resist the urge to ask if this means he’s going to help me study by cooking for me.

When we join Muna at the table, she takes one look at him before slowly nodding. She then grabs her backpack, saying she had better get going, and then comes to hug around my neck.

“Girl, wallahi this man will marry you,” she whispers before leaving, turning back with a smirk at me as she heads along.

I start paying closer attention to the way Akram speaks to me, especially during the car ride back. He opens up more easily than before. When we get to our shared building he seems almost disappointed when the elevator opens on my floor. I’m not surprised when he calls my name after I’ve already exited. I could tell he was thinking hard about something, but I don’t realize his true concern until after he admits that he does not wish make me uncomfortable by perhaps suggesting he might like me.

He is being careful, out of respect for me, but also because of how badly the death of his wife broke his heart. I know this, I could always see it in his eyes. I believe he’s been struggling to heal all this time, and as a result, he has not yet allowed himself to like anyone beyond a simple friendship.

And while I can’t say for certain how he feels about me, I do believe he is, maybe, slowly trying to get to a point where he can let himself love again. I realize he's more fragile than I thought. And I want nothing more than to take care of his heart, even for just a little while, so he can talk to me and feel happy again.

The elevator door closes. I go to my place and send him a quick text to thank him for the ride. I like him. This is a transitionary period for him, though. He will emerge on the other side ready to love again, to be with someone again, and while I pray that evening, I find that I would genuinely hate to not be the person he chooses to be with when the day comes.

I tell him about Calvin, my classmate and quasi-stalker. Maybe it's because I'm tired, but I find myself helpless before Akram's large, inquiring eyes. He seems almost offended that I didn’t come to him with my problems sooner. 

Should I have? Could this be the swift solution I prayed for? 

My mom always says "Allah SWT works in mysterious ways". I know better than to question His will, so I agree to Akram’s suggestion. Maybe he can help me after all, even though I’m not exactly sure how. His tone is very reassuring, and try as I might not to, I feel myself growing more attracted to him, for his kind protectiveness. I yearn for the safety his words seem to promise more than anything. I've been feeling so unmoored lately, so alone in the world and afraid, that all I want is to be rescued. I would never say that outlout though, so I only thank Akram for his support.

-*-

Calvin is easy to lure. He’s kind of a bad stalker, but maybe I should be glad that’s all I have to deal with. To be fair, he is a handsome Scottish guy. I wouldn’t expect someone like him to go for me in a million years. I would think I am too foreign for him, that he would prefer someone his own age and background.

I nearly throw myself into Akram's arms with relief when I see him enter the cafe. He sits beside me. Upon seeing the way I shiver, helps me into his coat. It smells like him, clean and with a subtle cologne.

And then he asks me to give them a moment. I am struck by the casual way he tells me where to find his wallet. That I can take it, use cash or one of his cards for our order. I knew he trusted me since I've accompanied his kids home, but still, this gives me pause. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. I just feel like there is something intimate about letting someone have access to your whole wallet.

I go to the counter to order what Akram wants. Then, I settle for a pastry and a hot chocolate. I feel too nervous to really eat much. My stomach is a little tense. First thing I see when I open Akram’s wallet see is his driver’s license. He looks serious as always, with his mustache and round haircut. He's so cute. I find cash easily enough. There’s an adorable picture of Hala and Mina hugging each other. It must be from a few years ago. Hala looks no older than five, maybe six, and Mina is so heart-meltingly tiny.

I turn my head to where Akram sits with Calvin. My classmate’s face is turning red, and he does not look happy, whereas Akram looks so deceptively calm. I’m completely captivated by the interaction… and then turned on.

That realization makes me look away. 

But I don't see how I can help it. He came all the way here from work to help me. He’s shielding me from a guy who was bothering me. And the best part is the huge, respectful distance Akram keeps from me. I believe he wants to do me a favor since I have been helping me. But I don’t believe he likes me in a romantic way or that he is physically attracted to me. It would have been obvious. Men are usually not subtle. Even when they say nothing, their eyes betray them.

I’m kind of glad he is not attracted to me. It’s less pressure, I think, and it does not surprise me. In my experience, Arab Muslim men generally do not take Black Muslim women for partnership. They might lust, sure, but ultimately they prefer to marry their own women. Their families prefer it, grandparents want grandchildren who resemble them, and I think that makes sense and is entirely reasonable.

In any case, I strongly prefer to be single right now and in general anyway. While I desperately yearn to be 'rescued', being single is easier than going through the emotional turmoil of not being someone's preference. The thing I miss the most about living in Tanzania, which has made living abroad so difficult even when I was younger, is that at home, at least, I fall within the beauty standard for women. Sure, I would have a lot more suitors if I gained weight, but overall, I never felt ugly or unwanted back home. No, over there I had far different problems like running as far as I could from polygamists who want as many kids as possible out of you -- even if it will bring you to financial ruin and the death of your career.

I look over again. Calvin is on his way out, rushing and really upset. I can't help but feel relieved. When I shift my gaze to Akram, I find him watching me. He gives me a reassuring smile. Happy little butterflies blip pleasantly my stomach. The nice thing about one-sided attraction? It’s all yours. No one can take it away from you.

“Thank you so much,” I say with a smile as the cafe workers bring out my tray.

-*-

When I get home that evening, I say my prayers, get into the shower, and then I warm up a plate of food. All the while I think about how Akram helped me. The surprised look in his impossibly big eyes when I told him I’m thirty-five. I know I look good for my age despite being stressed, but I did not think I looked twenty-one! It’s now very obvious to me part of the reason he’s been helping is because he thought I was some little college student out here on her own, which makes me admire him even more for not being weird around me. There’s nothing I hate more than an older man making an advance at me because he thinks I’m some immature young girl who can be easily manipulated.

I send a text to Noor to tell her about tonight. How Akram basically rescued me. I then call Muna to tell her about it. She’s just as surprised as I am that I got help simply for the sake of it. Men usually aren’t like that...

“Are you sure he doesn’t like you a little bit?” Muna asks. “I feel like maybe he does but he has not realized it yet.”

“I’m not catching the vibes if he does,” I reply. “There’s a distance there. It's very respectful. Almost paternal. I think he is a caring person and he was shocked to learn I’m in my thirties, but mostly I feel like he’s helping me because I took care of his little one that one time. He was so grateful.”

“Okay. But obviously you like him now,” Muna says with a chuckle. “He was basically your fake boyfriend to get Calvin to back off. You have to invite him to campus so we can see him and get the real tea.”

“I don’t know. He probably wouldn’t come,” I tell her. “Also, you know he’s in his forties, right?”

“So you’ve said but I thought that wasn’t a problem for you.”

“It’s not. I just don’t want you to be surprised if you see him. I started talking about him to Sara. She said some mean things about his age, and low key I felt like she was judging me, so I didn’t feel comfortable opening up more about him. But I do really like him.”

Muna sighs. “Well, my parents have an age gap kinda like that, so I don’t really care. You're my friend and I appreciate you telling me how you feel.”

We leave the subject of Akram at that, speaking on other things until I’m ready for sleep. It’s late, and I think I’ll skip my morning class the next day. It’s one of the easier ones. University has been going better, or rather the fact that I have a little bit more money to pay my bills and eat has helped improve my life a little.

I find myself saying a prayer for him at the mosque that afternoon. May he get a better job, I ask Allah, the best thing for him right now, something that will lead to better opportunities. I know how important having stable work is, especially for an immigrant in a place like Edinburgh. It’s my whole struggle right now since I’m back in school and also hoping for a better opportunity. I pray for myself as well, for this struggle to get easier. It’s getting colder out. I’m alone and miserable, I miss my mom, my friends back home, my old life, and could really catch a break.

God must be listening because things start to slightly improve in the next few days. I get an influx of clients which is almost enough to make me forget about my scammer, but not quite. I haven’t been eating well, so I go stock up on healthy groceries to cook decent meals again. I need to skip class to do it, my fridge is literally empty. Unfortunately, I break my number one rule which is to never go grocery shopping while hungry. Not only do I overspend, these bags are too damn heavy. I should have taken my backpack to the store or purchased one of those buggies to push, but it’s too late now.

Something clatters behind me. I’m too tired to even realize it’s my iPhone until a little tween girl in a school uniform picks it up and hands it to me. She’s kind of pale but I suspect that’s her winter shade. Her nose gives her away as something other than white. Her long black hair is tied in a pony tail with a really cute scrunchie, and she has huge hazel eyes with the longest lashes. I immediately smile at her because she’s saying she likes my tracksuit.

The next thing I know someone is holding the door open for me, which I was struggling to keep propped up with my back. I turn to see Akram. And that’s when I see the resemblance in the first girl. Another littler girl trails absently along. Akram’s youngest daughter is more adorable, with very dark eyes and a face that screams her mother must have been very beautiful.

Hala and Mina, as they are called, reveal to me that Akram is only forty-five years old. I have to bite my lip at that. Not only is he younger than I expected, I should absolutely stop playing myself and remember I’m well into my mid-thirties. He seems kind of flustered, so I chat with the bubbly girls until we get to my floor.

“My gosh,” I mumble to myself as I set down the groceries. “That was… really cute. He’s just a tired girl dad!” Although I’m exhausted and need to catch up on studying, that little interaction kind of made my day. I cook a hearty chicken and pasta meal, and another rice dish so I have a couple of options in the coming days.

I do some studying, and then I start to coordinate with someone I think might be a possible hair client, but something feels wrong about the interaction. When I ask the person how they heard about my services, they send a response that they quickly delete, maybe thinking I didn’t see it: I know everything about you.

Freaked out, I block the number shortly afterwards. Someone else said that to me recently, mostly as a joke, but now I’m not so sure: Calvin, my classmate who helped make the flyer for me. I can’t believe I didn’t just use Canva to do it myself. I must have been so overwhelmed with stress I accepted any help I could. Calvin likes me, I know this. Not only can I tell, he told one of Muna’s friends. I’m not interested in him. I’m not in that headspace right now and he is not my type. And he's too young.

I feel like I’m overthinking the interaction over text but I can’t help it. I seem to think I’ve seen Calvin randomly when I’d be out with friends, and it’s always a surprise. Now I wonder if he might be stalking me, which I know sounds crazy because why would anyone want to stalk me?? But I can’t help but to think like this. Overwhelmed, I turn off my phone and throw it aside. I need to go for a walk. As soon as I get downstairs however, I realize I’m too scared to go out at night alone. What if Calvin randomly turns up somewhere I am? Or worse, what if I get attacked by some drunks, or I get beat up for walking somewhere I shouldn’t have?

“Hi. Waiting for someone?”

The voice breaks me out of my spiraling thoughts. Akram is checking his mail. I breathe out slowly, and then I remember seeing him and his daughters earlier. I hold on to that. It’s a nice distraction, and talking actually helps me calm down. Apparently he found a job which is fantastic news. He says my dua was answered, which is really cute of him. And then he pays me the most beautiful compliment, and I have to stop and really look at him in his red t-shirt and black sweatpants. I can’t believe what he just said, and most importantly, I can’t believe I forgot the endless magnitude of Allah, the Most Loving and Merciful, the Best of Helpers.

I feel a surge of relief in my chest in remembering God, the only thing which has really helped me through this struggle moving to the UK. Akram unknowingly reminds me to remember Allah, and now that I do, my anxieties and overthinking slowly melt away. My little human problems seem so tiny and insignificant all of a sudden. I think of how big the world is, how endless space is, the many galaxies out of there, and that perspective grounds me.

At the end of our conversation, I go back to my flat, still thinking about what Akram said. Allah must love you. I sure hope so, for I certainly love my Lord more than anything. I think of the sincere way Akram said it. He’s a good man. I’ll help him if I can, because he has unknowingly helped me yet again and I’m so very grateful.

The next time I see Akram is completely unexpected. I was waiting for someone to come help me with braiding a client's hair, and we’d split the profits, when I opened my door to find my neighbor there with a tupperware container.

As it turns out, he bakes?! And quite well, I must add, which is both very surprising and kind of comforting. It softens me a great deal because I imagine him baking treats for his cute daughters when they ask.

He is here for them. He needs help, and I can see the worry etched on his brow and in his light eyes. I never really noticed them before but they are hazel and reflect closer to green when the light hits them, as it does now coming through my flat. I’m more than happy to help Akram with his daughters a couple of days a week. I am now pretty sure Calvin is stalking me, and took the money from those people who came yelling at me, so if I take the bus I can go the long way and he won’t follow me home. Or so I hope. I really need to deal with the problem and as much as I would like to pray about it, I’m afraid Allah might actually kill him, so instead I pray for a solution. For the best solution. For now, it seems taking the bus after my classes is the way to go.

I’m glad I agreed to help. Akram looks so relieved, I worry he might cry. On the first day I go get his girls, they both text him selfies of us which I kind of feel a little self-conscious about. The pictures themselves are cute. I guess I didn’t consider having my face all up in his phone like that. I generally text him when the girls get in, and relay any relevant information they might forget to tell him. His responses are only ever “Thank you” or the thumbs up reaction emoji.

And so it comes as a great surprise when a couple of weeks later, I get a random text that reads:

Salam alaykum, sister. My daughters and I would like to invite you for dinner sometime. We’d be much obliged if you could join us. But I will understand if you are too busy.

-Akram Salim.

I don’t know which is more adorable: the fact that he calls me sister, his formal tone, or the way he signs his text messages at the end. As if I know another Akram Salim! I laugh, read the text again, and then I reply:

Hiiii, I would love to! Here are some days I’m free (XX... XX... XX), just lemme know whatever works! And thanks 😀

And that is how I end up getting fed very delicious Syrian food. I’ve never tried it before and I definitely enjoy it. You mean to tell me not only does the man bake, he can cook like this? Honestly, I’m impressed by the life he’s managed to build for him and his kids. The girls are so normal and happy. You’d never think a single dad is behind all this. I watch the way he listens to them when they speak, even when they’re being silly or not making sense. He loves them so much, it’s obvious from the fondness in his eyes. I also think the little one has him wrapped entirely around her finger.

After dinner the girls show me around the flat, around their room, and I look at some of the pictures they have on the walls. Many of them are from when they were littler. Akram has always had that troubled expression, but in the rare few pictures when he smiles, he looks really nice.

“There are others I can show you,” he says, when he sees I am interested, and he brings out an album with somewhat frayed photos. “I almost lost these. This is Hala as a baby. She was very fat.”

“And very cute!” I practically yell, but that’s not why I’m screaming. Her young father was a hunk! “Oh, my God this is so precious.”

I go through some of the other photos. Of course the girls were adorable babies and toddlers, but Akram was so freaking handsome in his late twenties and early thirties too. He used to have a goatee with his mustache, and his hairstyle was different. At one point I look over at him as he scolds one of the girls about something and I realize he is still, actually, a good-looking man. He wears his worries on his face is all. But when he smiles at something cheeky Hala says just then, I find myself marveling at his cheekbones and that impressive jawline.

I don’t know how I missed this… And I quickly realize I should get going, because I had it all wrong when I first met him and saw some grave old man.

“She has a good car. She can pick you up some days,” Akram replies. While Hala marches on ahead toward their building, still arguing, he takes Mina’s hand. She looks up and smiles gaily at him. Akram regrets getting her a tablet; her attention has been suffering. “But maybe I should give her a key so she can check on you at home.”

“No! That’s a terrible idea,” Hala whines. “We’ll be fine on our own. You worry too much!”

Akram watches Hala hasten ahead to someone entering the building, their arms laden with heavy groceries bags. It looks like they dropped something. Hala hands it to them -- a phone.

“Oops. Thanks, sweetie. I didn’t realize it fell…” Although she’s carrying things, the woman props open the door for Hala using her leg. “Go ahead.”

“Here.” Akram goes to hold up the door only to be met with a familiar face. “Oh, hi, sister.”

Jannah is equally surprised to see him. She looks like she has not slept in some time, her lower eyes heavy with bags. She is clad in her signature oversized grey tracksuit. “Hey there. Are these your girls? Aww, so adorable.” She looks smilingly between them all, before focusing on his eldest. “Wow, this one looks just like you! The genes really said ctrl+c, ctrl+v.”

He flushes, for some reason, at that copy/paste remark and says: “That’s Hala, and this is Mina.” It didn’t occur to him they would all meet like this. “They just came from school.”

“That explains the uniforms.” She struggles to balance her groceries as they all walk toward the elevator. “Nice to meet you, girls. I’m Jannah. I live on the third floor.”

That seems to break Mina out of whatever reverie she’s in, and she stares up with a startled frown at their neighbor. “Your name means Heaven in Arabic,” she says.

“It does! You’re really smart. How old are you?”

“Nine,” Mina replies proudly. “Hala is thirteen, and Daddy is almost a hundred like Mrs. Aitken so he’s suuuper old.”

“He’s forty five-” Hala supplies.

“Okay, thank you very much,” Akram interrupts, his cheeks burning. After eyeing his treasonous children, he awkwardly points at Jannah’s groceries. “Let me help you with that.”

“That’s okay, I got it.” They file into the elevator. Hala seems to recall Jannah from the flyer. Jannah compliments Hala’s bracelets, and Mina’s headband. They show off their nails. The girls like her earrings, and the jewelry around her neck. Akram hangs to one side of the elevator like the decrepit fossil he apparently is, staring unseeingly ahead as they talk about girl stuff. The conversation ends with Jannah saying, “You’ll have to ask your dad about that and we’ll coordinate. I don’t do cuts though, you should go to a professional for that. This is my floor… bye for now!”

Akram holds out his arm to keep the elevator from closing. He gives a brief nod as Jannah steps out, then presses the button to close the doors.

“She’s so pretty,” Hala says. “I bet she has so many followers, or gone viral. Oh, no! We forgot to get her TikTok. Can I go down for it?”

“No,” Akram replies more sharply than intended.

“Fine. But I want her to braid my hair. I would look so cute.”

“Me too!” Mina cheers.

On the fifth floor, Akram ushers them into the flat, warms food for them to eat, and instructs Hala to keep an eye on her sister. He needs to get back to work. Mrs. Aitken is around to check on them. Akram briefly chats with the kind, elderly widow before leaving. Work keeps him out until around half past 7.

The girls seem fine when he gets back, their homework is done well enough, and they’ve had their dinner, so Akram cuts them fruit to snack on. When they are ready for bed, he tucks them in and turns out the lights in their room. He returns to the living room for his laptop; there are things he’d like to research for work.

Around midnight, it occurs to him to check the mail. He goes down briefly to do that and finds Jannah pacing in the hallway downstairs. When she sees him, she goes to stand in one corner.

“Waiting for someone?” he asks, turning the key into his box. There are a few envelopes and some junk.

“No. I needed to get out of my flat for a bit, but I’m too nervous to walk outside at this time of the night.”

“Safer in here.” Akram flips through his mail. He hears Jannah resume her pacing and turns to look at her. “Talking helps. Someone you trust.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” She comes to a stop as a light briefly enters her eyes. “Nice to meet your girls today. They have your ears. And those crazy long lashes.”

Akram opens his mouth, but no words come out. His wife said the same thing both times she delivered: the girls have his big ears, and his eyes. But they have her nose. Akram wishes she could see them now. Mina looks more like her mother each day, whereas Hala takes after him.

“Hala wanted to ask for your TikTok,” he eventually manages.

Jannah smiles. “I don’t have one of those, but I should, in order to get more hair clients.”

“Or to go viral.” He grimaces. “I don’t know why they say it like that. It sounds like an infection.”

His neighbor seems to find that amusing. She shifts on her toes. “You must get confused talking to them. How’s work?”

“Better.” He gestures with his mail. “Actually, I was offered a job in a new department.”

“No way!” Jannah gasps. “Oh, my gosh, congratulations! Are you liking it?”

“Very much. It’s more in line with what I used to do back home in Syria. Very interesting and engaging.”

“I’m so glad to hear that!” She praises their Lord in Arabic, and he can’t help but repeat the phrase. “I prayed something would work out in your favor.”

“And I am very grateful. Your dua was answered. Allah must love you.”

For a moment Jannah says nothing. She stands perfectly still, beaming at Akram, as if no one has ever paid her such a compliment in her life; or rather as though it has been a long while since she’s been positively affirmed. Her prior concern from when she was pacing seems to vanish. She looks at him gratefully, almost in admiration.

“I suppose He does love His servants,” she manages timidly, then does some kind of finger-gun gesture. “Well, if you need anything else you can let me know and I’ll take it up with Him.” Akram cracks a smile. She looked almost like Hala just now. “Tell me more about this job! How’s it been going?”

Akram elaborates, speaking more on the department and his erratic new boss. The office space could use some work but he believes he has made it presentable enough. It is still new. He believes it is a step in the right direction. Jannah’s enthusiasm as she listens seems genuine, and that is very nice to see.

“You know what?” she says. “I’m actually in a better mood due to your good news. Thanks for that.”

“Something wrong, sister?” Akram asks, unable to imagine why else she’d be here at this hour.

“No, I came to drop this off before I forget.” Jannah hands him an envelope. “It’s the money you paid those people. I got some new hair clients. Just finished one actually.”

Akram appreciatively raises the envelope. “That’s good. I showed your flyer to my eldest. Perhaps she shared with friends online.”

“I can’t thank you enough for doing that.” She smiles tiredly, and respectfully inclines her head. Her thick black hair is tied back in a bun, somewhat cotton-like in texture. “Sorry to disturb you. Goodnight.”

He works for a while longer on the job application before calling it a night. The week doesn’t go very well in terms of his job search, and it’s a relief when Friday is here. Spending time in prayer and community on the holy day brings him solace, and the sermon often gives him something to reflect on.

To Akram’s surprise, Jannah stands outside the building around the same time as last week. Her blue abaya and white headscarf indicate she is heading to the mosque.

“Hi. Do you need a ride?” he asks.

“I’m all set, my ride should be here soon.” She holds up her phone to show him the rideshare status. “I can’t go every Friday. Didn’t want to make a habit of asking you.”

“I understand. If I didn’t work part time I wouldn’t be able to go as often. I’m looking for a new job.” He frowns, thinking about submitting other applications. It might be time to move on to another place if he can’t land something internal.

“There is another reason I’d rather make my own way,” Jannah says. “One of the neighbors saw you helping me that one time. I ran into her recently; she asked if I’ve spoken to your wife because she never has. I know this isn’t any of my business. But people talk and I don’t want to cause you problems, so we shouldn’t be seen together again.”

Akram sets his jaw. The urge to fiddle with his wedding band is so strong, he starts touching it to make sure it’s still there. It’s been nearly nine years, and he still can’t bring himself to remove it. “My wife died many years ago, back in Syria.” He sighs. “I don’t often volunteer the information but you are a sister. It's just me and my daughters. You won’t cause problems.”

“I-I’m so sorry to hear that. How sad…” Jannah covers her mouth. “Oh, God: your poor daughters. May Allah grant her paradise.” She then says something in a language Akram does not understand yet knows almost for certain is a prayer.

“Ameen. Thank you,” he replies. Akram clears his throat. He checks his watch for the time, then glances at Jannah's phone screen. The ride is two minutes out. He could go on to his car now, but the fact that she now knows something about him keeps him rooted in place. “How is your hair business?”

“I’m booked all weekend, ‘hamdulillah. I'll manage to pay my rent next month.” She raises her eyes toward him. “How’s the job search?”

“It’s very difficult. I must keep trying. Experience from countries like ours doesn’t count for much here.”

“That’s the reason I’m back in school,” Jannah says with a sigh. “Never envisioned having to start over like this.”

“You are still young. More likely to succeed.”

“Not really, but I appreciate you saying that. My Uber is here.” She goes down the steps and stops for a moment to look back at Akram. “I’ll make dua for you today. Hopefully something works out.”

“Please do. Thank you,” Akram says. He needs all the prayers he can get. “Salam alaykum.”

Jannah waves down a car that pulls up to the curb and climbs into the backseat. Akram watches it head along, then walks the short distance to his vehicle. It’s been a while since he told someone about his wife. He can’t help but appreciate Jannah’s thoughtfulness. She is a stranger, and yet she was nearly moved to tears about someone she hardly knows. And that offer to make dua… Akram believes well-intentioned prayers from one who would gain nothing by its result indicates a sincerity of spirit.

After he leaves the mosque, he takes the girls to their different activities. Sometimes he runs errands while they’re busy, and other times he waits in the car. Mina tends to finish first. It’s about half past four when they make their way to pick up her sister. She sits in the back, singing along to a video on her little tablet while they wait for Hala.

As Akram pulls over, he sees his eldest talking to her friends. His phone rings before he can roll down the window to beckon her. The number is familiar - his place of work - but it’s not a saved contact. He answers after a brief hesitation.

“Akram? It’s Rose. The one who, erm, ate all the sweets you brought?”

“Yes.” Akram looks out the window and makes eye contact with Hala. He tilts his head for her to come along. “How can I help you?”

“There’s a new department being set up. Quite small for now, and D.C.I. Carl Morck will be heading it. He’s going to need an assistant. And guess who convinced the Chief Superintendent you’re the best man for the job?”

Akram switches the phone to his other ear. He’s silent for so long that Rose asks if he’s still there. “I am here.”

“Okay, well, you were supposed to guess, but it’s me who convinced Moira. We don’t really have anyone else and you’re looking for a job with us, so it’s a perfect fit. You'd be Carl’s new assistant. Dunno what that will be like, I mean probably horrible knowing him, but on the bright side: it’s literally a whole job. New department, new team, and it’s yours if you’ll have it.”

This is very unexpected. He thought there was nothing, other than the IT job he found. This position likely isn’t even posted yet. And now he’s getting personally called about it? To Akram, it seems nothing short of a miracle… until he recalls, with goosebumps, his encounter with Jannah earlier.

“That’s great news. I will do it. Is the job full time?”

“Definitely, and you’ll probably work over a lot. You’ll want to check your email for details from Recruitment on Monday. They’ll be putting together the paperwork and salary information. Let me know if you don’t hear anything by noon Monday, and I’ll tell Moira. Sorry, can you start on Monday? Or will you need to wrap things up at your current post?”

“I can start Monday. Thank you, Rose.” Akram breathes out in relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course. Welcome aboard! We’ll see you soon, then.”

The car door opens and Hala jumps into the passenger’s side. “Hi Dad! Woah, you look really happy out of nowhere.”

Akram smiles at her and at his youngest in the back. “I got good news at work. Alhamdulillah. Starting a new job. Who wants burgers?”

“Hello. Is everything okay?”

There’s someone else here. I didn’t hear or see him approach. I don’t know who he is but I feel the need to defend myself to him. Someone has to believe me. I am not trying to dupe these people, I simply want to survive long enough to rebuild my life.

I hardly know what I’m saying to him. The words spill from my mouth in desperation as I show him my phone, and that stupid flyer I’ve been using to attract hair customers. Before I know it, I’m shaking almost uncontrollably. It feels like the world is closing in on me, or like the ground is about to open up and swallow me whole. I need to sit down. For a moment I wish I wasn’t alive right now, mostly so I don’t have to deal with these terrible, painful lows.

I don’t know how much time passes. I am vaguely aware that my now former customers have calmed down. They’ve gotten their deposit back thanks to the stranger, which buys me sometime. I’ll still need to pay him back. He must live in the building otherwise he wouldn’t be here. You can buzz people in, of course, but something tells me he came from upstairs. I wipe my tears, stand up, and manage to ask where he lives. 5B, he tells me. I walk back into my apartment feeling hollow, numb, and strange.

The anxiety attack really took it out of me. I slowly make my way to the bedroom and fall flat on the mattress. I close my eyes, my mind spinning with worries about money and trying to survive here, wondering if I’ll die of starvation or if maybe a car will hit me on the way to university to end my suffering. I would genuinely rather meet Allah right now than deal with all this hardship. I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until I wake up drooling and feeling cold. It’s pitch dark all around me. I wipe my mouth.

“God. I gotta get my life together,” I mumble, searching for the light and then my robe. I hasten to turn on the heat so it’s more comfortable inside. I might get evicted if I can’t pay rent so I might as well be warm until then. As I go look in the fridge for something to eat and remember I barely have anything, I think of the events from earlier and that old guy who stepped in. I can’t even remember thanking him.

I owe him fifty pounds. It might take me a while to get it, but I do have a shift tomorrow at the supermarket and my measly check will be coming in sometime next week so hopefully I can start saving for it.

I dine on bread and butter washed down with water. It’s very much giving peasant, but it’s surprisingly filling. I always buy bread and butter and canned tuna. It isn’t the most exciting to eat but it’s cheap. The nice thing about working at the grocery store is I can get some items discounted, so after my little dinner I make a small list of things I’d like to get tomorrow. I need to ask my mom to send me some money again. I know she doesn’t really have it, but she will always borrow to help me if she can.

I don’t sleep that night after my long nap of exhaustion. I say my prayers then shower at a weird time. I study a little. And then I try to figure out who the hell is taking deposits in my name. Not many people know I’m trying to do hair on the side, so it shouldn’t be too hard to guess, but I can’t imagine it’s either Noor or Muna, because they’re my friends and they live with their parents so they don’t really need money like I do.

As a result of my all nighter I manage to line up another hair client. This one is absolutely clear that their hair must be clean before they come to my flat. I call them in the morning to verbally confirm and we settle on the price. I should be able to get more groceries with that money.

~

I decide to go to Jummah that Friday. At this point, my faith is the only thing that keeps me going. I seriously want to give up on so many occasions. Sometimes it’s over something big like the last altercation at my place, and other times it’s over small things like this damn Uber driver who just canceled my ride last minute. Great. Now I’m going to be late for the mosque.

I call Muna to see if she might be able to come pick me up. I know it’d be out of her way but maybe she won’t mind. Someone is coming from upstairs as I talk to her and they go out the building. Muna is already at the mosque. If I try to get there by bus I’ll definitely be late, in which case I might as well just pray at home.

With a sigh, I look up at the unexpected sound of someone talking to me. He just came back from outside. It takes me a second to place his face. It’s the old man from a few days ago. Gravely, he tells me he’s headed to the mosque, if I need a ride. I didn’t realize he’s Muslim. He has an accent like those of native Arabic speakers.

I can see a ring on his finger, which I pray means he won’t hit on me, or better yet that his wife is on her way down too. I wish she was the one who had asked me. I don’t want to get caught talking to him, even though he’s the one who started it. I don’t need to get yelled at anymore this week.

But as it turns out he is going alone to the mosque and doesn’t push. The free ride is up to me if I’ll take it. While I feel slightly weird about accepting, I really want to go to the mosque. Muna and I want to hang out after. I need to be out of my apartment, and I really need to pray.

Mr. Akram Salim from Syria makes the same face every Muslim and their moms make when they hear my name. Pleasantly surprised and slightly thrown off. It always makes me smile, even if I’m having a bad day, especially because I haven’t even told him the full version. People usually lose it (in a good way) when I tell them. Shoutout to my parents for that.

But that’s not the only reason I smile. He leads us to the most Dad car I’ve ever seen. I have to remove a french fry from the seat before climbing in.

I vaguely wonder how many kids he and his wife have. They must be little. I probably won’t have to ask. Parents tend to volunteer that information in conversation, and although I don’t get a number, I eventually learn he has daughters. He agrees to take one of my terrible flyers. Honestly, I’d do his kids’ hair for free if he asked, just because he helped me before, and is now giving me a ride. He’s soft spoken and seems nice. He calls me Sister, which I appreciate. I wonder what his wife is like. I could use more female Muslim friends.

Aside from the maintenance, new people have been moving in. Some mornings, Akram sees furniture getting unloaded from trucks as he takes the girls to school; in the afternoons, strange faces outside the building for a smoke frown at him, sometimes making him uneasy. It’s a good neighborhood, and some people a few doors down know his family, but Akram struggles to reconcile the fact that he’ll need to work longer hours to make a better living, with his girls having to be alone more often as a result.

Then again, he doesn’t have to worry about that now. The nice redhead in the police department gets to enjoy his pastries while he petitions for a job more suited to his skills, and so far he hasn’t gotten anywhere. He won’t be able to try again for a couple of days, as he has work to do at his actual admin job which at least has one perk: he can sometimes finish from home. That is what Akram intends to do this afternoon when he sees the time.

He collects his messenger bag and heads for the afterschool pick up. The girls are with friends, on their phones, seeming to practice some kind of dance when he pulls over. Mina, his youngest, sees him first and runs along, alerting her sister as she does.

“How was school?” Akram watches her toss her bag aside and settle in the backseat. He keeps an eye on her until her seatbelt is buckled.

“Good. I’m really hungry.” Mina kicks her feet. Her shoes blink different colors. “Did you watch the Sister Minnie video from yesterday?”

“Yes. She’s a very modest cat.” His eldest, Hala, gets into the passenger side beside him. “How was your day?”

“All right. I have so much homework,” Hala says with a whine. “Can we get burgers?”

“We have food at home.” Akram drives off to the sound of both girls pleading for fast food. “Fine. But you’re coming to the store with me after.”

“I thought there was food at home,” Mina says.

“Enough for today and probably tomorrow. It’s better if we go now. Less people shopping.” The girls seem happy enough as long as they’ll get their fast food. His car smells like french fries and grease before long. They stop by Tesco where he vaguely regrets not going home first to make a list. It tends to save them some money.

Since they’ve had their fill of sugary drinks, the girls are more apt to help carry some of the groceries by the time they reach the car park at home. Akram gives his youngest the lightest bag, and Hala takes something more suitable for her size. He carries the rest while they wait by the elevator.

The girls suggest racing up the stairs, debating who would win. Apparently, he would most certainly lose. Akram is only half listening. There is commotion upstairs again. Shouting, as usual, and maybe some crying. Akram looks up the stairwell but he can’t see much.

The girls file in once the elevator is here. By the time it opens on the fifth floor where they live, Akram can hear bits more of the argument, now below them. He can hear a man, a lady, and another young-sounding woman in distress. “Hala, do you have your key?”

In answer his eldest proceeds to open the door to let her sister inside. He sets the groceries just past the doorway and tells his girls to lock the door behind him.

“Where are you going?” Mina asks.

Akram stops to look at them both, flashing a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back. Close the door,” he says, and the locks click in his wake.

The argument is in the hallway on the third floor, outside one of the renovated flats. Some of the neighbors above have poked their heads out in curiosity, but no one is stepping in. Akram takes the stairs down. He can see one woman just outside a flat, pacing back and forth, visibly troubled as she grasps her head.

“This won’t work. Please leave,” she says. “I don’t take male customers. And I don’t work on unwashed hair. I’ve already told you I don’t do these things.”

When Akram gets closer he sees two people inside the flat: a portly woman in a brightly printed dress and matching head tie, with her arms crossed on her chest, and a slender young man with a wild mane of hair. For a moment he can’t tell who is the tenant. All three of them look in surprise at him.

“Hello. Is everything okay?” Akram asks.

“No, everything is not okay,” the woman inside shouts in a familiar, Nigerian accent. She points at the nervous young lady. “This deceitful girl accepted the deposit to do our hair but now she says she will not do it. We came all this way for nothing. She must refund us or do the work, else we are not leaving!”

“I did no such thing. I don’t even have a website,” the accused replies through a sigh, as if not for the first time. Her cheeks are stained with tears when she turns to Akram. “I have a flyer, and it’s not even that good. Please, can I just show it to you?” She pulls a phone from her back pocket with trembling hands. Unlike her visitors, her neutral accent is almost certainly American. “It says here no deposit is necessary. Then here it says no male clients. And here, it says the hair must be clean. I’ve begged them to leave but they won’t.”

“Then give us our money back! Someone made us pay to get an appointment with you. You are running a shady business here!”

That’s when Akram understands why they’re still here. He watches the accused shift away, her hands on her hips. She slides down the wall to sit on the ground. She looks increasingly unwell. Perhaps the shouting is triggering her, or the confrontation.

“How much was the deposit?” Akram asks the clients, and then pulls fifty pounds from his wallet. While he wasn’t expecting to part with this much cash today, it does not seem right to stand by and do nothing. “She has asked you to leave. Several times, I believe. You should do that now. Read the fine print next time you want something done.”

They don’t seem happy but they do vacate the premises. Akram peers down at the young woman. He figures she is no older than twenty-one. She’s been silently crying. Now she seems far away behind the eyes, as if she wouldn’t hear anything said to her.

“Are you okay, miss?” Akram tries anyway, and when she does not reply, he glances fleetingly into her flat. It’s a decent looking space. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

She takes a deep breath then wipes her face with a backhand. She gets to her feet, starting to walk past him when suddenly she stops. “Uh, which unit are you?” she croaks, without making eye contact.

“5B with my family,” he says.

“I’ll pay you back when I get the money. I need to figure out who’s taking deposits in my name.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary-” Akram begins, but she has already vanished into her flat and shut the door behind her. At length, one of the neighbors asks Akram what the commotion was about. He tells them it was just a misunderstanding.

The rest of the day is thankfully quiet. His current troubles push the incident entirely from his mind in the next few days. Friday comes around, which he always looks forward to. Not only does he have that day off, it’s the holy day of the week, and he routinely goes to the mosque before getting the girls to their activities. He may have to give that up once he gets a better position.

Akram can hear a voice as he takes the stairs down. It sounds like they’re on the phone.

“I’m kinda running late because the Uber canceled. Can you pick me up? … Oh, you’re already there. Okay, never mind, I’ll figure something out. Yeah, no I’m sure. Bye.”

Akram reaches the ground floor. The stranger looks up at the sound of his footsteps. He nearly doesn’t recognize the young lady from a few days ago. She wears a long beige gown and a hijab neatly tucked under chin.

“Salam alaykum,” Akram says in greeting. Her response is automatic, her attention already back on her phone. She likely does not recognize him either. Akram didn’t realize she is Muslim. He goes out the door, taking one step down before pausing. His hands slide in his pockets to feel for his car keys. Before long, he turns back into the building. “Hi. I’m going now for Jummah at the Central Mosque… If that’s where you’re headed.”

“Oh, well, yes actually. I was trying to see if my friend could pick me up.” She frowns for a moment. “You’re that guy from the last time. Didn’t know you’re Muslim.”

Akram smooths a hand over shirt and nods. “I am.”

She scrutinizes his fingers then looks up the staircase as if waiting for someone. “If your wife doesn't mind, I’d really appreciate a ride.”

“I’m going alone, sister. I will understand if you’re not comfortable with that.”

She considers for a moment then scoffs, seemingly at herself. “I’d be alone in the Uber with a stranger anyway. At least I know where your family lives. Thank you so much.” She follows him outside. “That’s twice now you’ve been to my rescue. Hopefully there won’t be a third, Mr. -- ?”

“Akram Salim. From Syria.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jannah.” When she sees him pause and turn with raised brows, she adds: “Yeah, Muslims always make that face I introduce myself. Never gets old.”

“It is very auspicious. Where are you from? You sound American.”

“Born and raised in Tanzania,” Jannah says. “I went to international schools in South Africa and Germany through scholarships. Studied a little in the US as well. You could say I was an overachiever.”

They get in his car and Akram gets them on their way. “Are you here with your family?” He sees her head shake in his periphery. “The unit you are renting was renovated. They must be charging you a lot of money.”

“My university helped me find it, but yeah, it’s not cheap. I had a flatmate who bailed last minute. That’s why I need to do hair, even though that’s not going well. I have a part time job that is not enough.”

Akram doesn’t know much about the hair business. But work is work. He suggests advertising in different places. “My daughter tells me everything happens on social media.”

“She’s right. I’m still trying to get the hang of that. I was hoping to hand out flyers at the mosque today.” She hesitates. “Do you mind if I give you one?”

“Not at all. My girls might be interested. I will take them if they want.”

Jannah says she wouldn’t charge him. Not after he helped her that time, and again today.

“By the way I can’t give you a ride back,” Akram says. “I have to take my daughters to their activities.”

“It’s fine, I have it figured out. But seriously, thank you.” Jannah turns to him. “I owe you big time and I promise to pay you back. I’ll bake you all a cake or something.”

Akram wants to tell her not to worry about it. People unused to kindness will feel indebted either way. At the mosque, they go their separate ways through different entrances. That is the last Akram sees of his neighbor.