Baklava and Bosons From Baghdad

harvest full moon.

لا الليلُ يحضنُ ما في القلبِ من ألمٍ …و لا الصباحُ إذا ما جاء يؤويهِ

It’s not a happy story. It’s like Interstellar. The ending is fucking shit.

It kinda feels good to empty my head. 3 months ago I met someone incredibly special. An instantaneous click, plenty in common, this girl transformed me in an infinite number of ways. Really. I became a better version of me in so many ways. I became more open minded, respectful, religious, caring, calm, happy and appreciative of Allah and the world. I wanted to marry this girl. Before we continue: Alhamdulillah for everything, Allah (swt) has a plan for me, whatever it may be. I seek comfort from this in a time of really terrible pain.

We kept the interactions as halal as possible, and both maintained the same values and boundaries which made things so simple. She became a best friend I hoped to share a future with. And it was such an exciting notion. We spoke 25 hours a day. She was my first and last thoughts between sleep, and she existed in my dreams.

She was the first person I’d ever grown these feelings for. I love my faith and have always maintained I would never get involved with anyone who didn’t share my religious expectations from this stage of a relationship. Upon reflection, it’s fair to say she’s the first girl I ever loved. We talked about the future, we talked about our pasts, and we worried about the present. Life as second gen Muslims in the UK isn’t always straight forward.

The hindrance in this exceptional match came from families and cultures. My family are Sunni, and hers are Shia'a. 2 weeks after meeting her, I knew something was special. I knew it was different. I confessed to my parents that I had met someone, and explained my intention to get to know her better before insha'Allah looking to get engaged. My parents took this beautifully. My father insisted that for any relationship to blossom, it needed 3 blessings. Allah (swt), my parents, and her parents. Unfortunately, we only had 2/3. When she explained to the situation to her mother, it was a no.

I don’t know why I’m writing about this. I felt like in that time we got to know each other, I felt something very special. I’ve never had anyone look at me like that in my life. Ever. It was an unconditional happiness with one another’s presence. I can’t quantify how that made me feel. For someone to be that happy with your presence. Besides my parents and sisters, she became the most important thing in my life. It warmed my heart to make her happy. I loved it. I surprised her in so many ways, and she rewarded me with such warmth and affection.

We knew the odds. We just didn’t want to believe them. We guessed her mum’s chance of coming round was about 1/10. It was low. But she was special. I’d put the chances of someone as wonderful as her existing at about 1/10⁹. You see why we took those odds.

Conversations were precious and heart warming. She appreciated me so much. So fucking much. I’d never felt so loved. I don’t think many people I actually know really read these, but my high school life involved no affection like this at all. This, to me, was unique. It’s true I’ve changed a lot the last few years and perhaps this has lead to people giving myself more attention, but this was different.

Apparently it’s generic. But I really don’t believe that someone will look at me the way she did. Ever. To have someone that beautiful look at you like that, you feel like a billion dollars, it’s magic.

So that’s it. This is one of the most incoherent pieces I’ve ever written. I feel broken. I welcome advice from people who have been through something similar.