Sajdaa Taha

I sighed as I stared at the clock. The familiar smell of coffee filled the room. I felt my stomach grumble. I'm starving. As soon as I woke up, Malik requested that we meet early in the morning. I came here an hour after Fajr (morning prayer). The Chief Officer led me to Malik's office.

Of course, he didn't let go of his racist commentary when he saw me. That prick. Since then I'd been waiting for Malik, who was taking his sweet time to be here. 

I heard the door creak and I instantly jolted upright. When I turned around in my seat I was faced with Malik holding a warm cup of coffee in one hand and a glazed doughnut in the other hand. I felt my mouth water at the sight of food. 

Malik seemed to notice as he smirked, "I know I'm hot but you don't have to drool over me."

"That doughnut is more attractive than you," I said, not letting my gaze waver from the delicious doughnut.

He scowled and walked over to sit behind his desk. His navy blue police uniform tucked under his belt. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he reached for his notepad and pen. The doughnut was placed on the desk in front of me. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"I swear it's not poisoned," he rolled his eyes.

I quickly grabbed it and stuffed my mouth. The glaze melted on my tongue as the sweet dough underneath overwhelmed my taste buds. I closed my eyes at the sweet taste. When I opened them again, I saw Malik staring at me with a brow raised. 

"I was hungry," I shrugged.

"Thanks for stating the obvious," he replied, dryly. He turned on his desktop computer as he sipped his coffee. I continued eating my doughnut. He put the coffee cup down. "Where's your friend?" he asked, scanning the room.

"She said she was coming."

He nodded, "Okay, let's just start without her." He scribbled something on his notepad. "I haven't gotten the full details from the forensics team, but I should get those by the end of today."

"Alisha and I took a video of the crime scene."

He looked surprised as he asked, "Why?"

"I thought the killer was still lurking around and might try something."

His eyebrows furrowed. "So you thought a video would help you because..."

I face palmed. Does no one in this world understand the importance of technology? 

"I told her to record because if someone tried to kill or hurt us, we'd have the video to prove it and the cops would know who the culprit looked like," I started, crossing my arms over my chest. "Honestly, we record everything else in our lives. Why not record the things that matter like oh I don't know, my life?" I retorted. 

He ran his fingers through his tousled brown locks. "Why must you always pick fights with me?" he sighed.

"I don't. You just always assume I do."

"Are you sure I'm assuming? To me it looks like you get a kick out of bruising my ego," he countered.

I laughed, bitterly, "Trust me, by the time I'm done your ego will deflate to the size of Hawaii."

"You're not funny," he glared.

"You're right," I paused, "I'm freaking hilarious."

He lightly banged his head on the desk. "God, please show me mercy from her," he mumbled to himself.

I snorted, "Nice duaa."

He looked up. "Is that what it's called?"

"Yeah, you made a small prayer didn't you?"

He nodded.

"In Islam that's called a duaa. Didn't you know that?" I asked, confused. He was born from a religious household. I know he wasn't religious but I thought he knew the basics.

"I told you I don't associate myself with Islam anymore," he said while absentmindedly playing with the his pen cap.

"Why?" I couldn't help but wonder aloud.

He sighed, "It's a long story." He put his pen down and took another sip of his hot coffee.

I leaned back against the chair, stretching my legs before crossing my ankle over the other. "I got plenty of time on my hands."

He shook his head, amused. "Not today, Sajdaa."

"But why," I pouted. "Alisha won't be here for a while, plus she has the video. So why not just have a little story time?"

He seemed to consider my proposal. I moved a bit forward in my seat, ready to hear the story. He just shook his head. "Let's just say Muslims have been known to do some evil things," he finally said.

"How can you say that?" I asked, hurt. "I'm Muslim. I'm American. I have a heritage. I have a family. I'm a person just like you, Malik," I said his name with a slight edge to my voice.

His eyes widened as if he realized that I was also a part of the generalization he just said. "Sajdaa, no. I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh yeah? Then what did you mean?" 

"I mean... I don't count you as part of that category, but most Muslims do cruel things," he amended.

My eyes locked onto his hazel ones. "Like what?" I challenged.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Like the war crimes. Muslim terror groups rape females. The wars America faced against them, they take hostages and do terrible things to them. They beheaded them. Muslim women around the world are beaten. This religion justifies these acts. How can one believe in something that deliberately hurts people?"

I buried my anger deep within me. I never realized how brainwashed Malik was. He seemed smart, not the type to believe everything on the media. However, I had a feeling deep in my gut that something changed Malik. Something broke him on the inside so badly that he made excuses to justify it. His hazel eyes let on a pain that he desperately tried to conceal. 

"You know," I said, quietly, "ISIS does not represent Muslims."

"I know that but -"

"ISIS is not Muslim," I firmly cut him off. "People make mistakes all the time, Malik. People sin. They do horrible things, but does their religion justify it? No. Islam is perfect. People are not. No where in the Qur'an does it say that it is okay to hurt women. No where in the Qur'an does it say that killing people for pleasure is okay."

"Then why do they do it in so many Muslim countries?"

I sighed, "Those people in those countries are doing what their culture tells them, not what their religions tells them. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) never hit his wives. Allah even states in the Qur'an to spare the lives of women and children. Allah tells us to protect the innocents and not lay a hand on them. Women are diamonds in Islam. They're cherished. A man who doesn't take care of his wife isn't even considered a man in Islam,"

"Then why did they kill-" he stopped himself, "Forget it."

My instincts were telling me to push him for his response, but I knew he wasn't ready to share his past. "The West created terror groups to fight against governments we opposed. They couldn't control them so the terror groups turned against the West. They run on hate not love. You're a fool if you believe otherwise," I said, looking away from his intense eyes. 

"Sajdaa, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you," he said softly. "I just have very confusing thoughts."

"I know."

He reached his hand out to hold mine, but I pulled my hand back. His eyes reflected the hurt he felt. His hand fell on the desk, limp. He was burning holes into the desk with his eyes. His jaw clenched. I stayed still, not acknowledging his obvious distaste. 

Knock Knock.

I peered at Malik through my long eyelashes. My head was down. He looked at me with a type of longing in his eyes. I felt a string pulling me to comfort him, offer my warmth, help ease his pain. I wanted to do something. The air in the room became thick. The way he was looking at me made my stomach turn. Why was he staring at me like he wanted me? 

I knew shaytan (satan) was whispering desires in my ear. I knew he was urging me to close the distance between me and Malik. I knew he was tempting me to comfort Malik.

However, I knew better than that. I knew what guys like Malik wanted. Malik despised Muslims. Temptation was strong, but I had to be stronger. Allah warns Muslims of these interactions. Who am I to disobey my Lord and His commands?

I cleared my throat. "The door," I croaked.

He seemed to snap out of his daze and got up to open the door. As I felt him walk behind me, I couldn't help but wonder, what the hell just happened?

Assalamualaikum!

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