He says: I’m Muslim. As he brings the double shot of rum to his lips. I imagine the way it burns as it slides down his throat. He winces, then smashes the glass against table. Everyone turns and cheers, then they go back to their conversations. He says it again — I swear. I say: I know. He looks at me with sad eyes. Wallahi - he says, still trying to convince me. I say: I know. I watch his eyes turn to glass as he downs another. I swear I am Muslim - he slurs I say: I know. No— he says— you’re judging me, look and he holds his hands over his ears and he begins to recite. And I put my hand over his as people begin to stare. And I say: I know. And he begins to cry, and his tears look ancient, and his face contorts, and his mouth is open but there is no sound, and his body shudders. And he tries again and again, never getting past Bismillah. He keeps on saying “No you don’t understand I am Muslim, I am Muslim, I am Muslim, I am Muslim” I know, I say. And he holds the bottle to his mouth and he almost swallows it whole, and he says “marry me Aasiyah, I am a good man, my father is a hafiz of Quran, it is just this Dunya, it is this world that has killed me” I know, I say I know.