As Bashir and I stood side by side, foot to foot, and shoulder to shoulder with the other brothers, an overwhelming sense of brotherhood filled me. Eid was a holiday unlike any other. We spent a whole month of brutal hours, fasting and serving Allah no matter how many odds were against us, and in the end we were rewarded for our struggles.

Standing with our Muslim community and listening to the Imam lead the Eid prayer seemed like a dream, a mythical story playing in the background, a surreal experience I never wanted to escape from. Outside the mosque doors, Muslims were ridiculed and discriminated against, yet in the eyes of Allah, we stood tall and proud, chests boasting forward and backs straightened in respect.

There was no disgust, hatred, or repulsive behavior. Muslims from all over the area came to worship Allah on our blessed holiday. As I listened to the soothing voice of Imam Zakir, all my worries dissipated into thin air, whisking into winds of forgotten stress. My focus remained on my Lord, my Creator, my Allah.

Nothing could sever that connection.

* * * *

After the Eid prayer, we continued our prophetic traditions by listening to a khutbah (religious lecture). Bashir sat beside me, twiddling with his thumbs and staring absentmindedly at the royal blue carpets. I nudged him.

"Pay attention," I whispered with a stern look.

He gave me a toothy grin.

Imam Zakir was a man in his mid-thirties with a dark beard hanging from his chin, dark hairs covering his jaw in a neat, clean-cut style. An Arabian cream-colored thobe cladded his chest, a white kufi proudly resting on his head, and a microphone gripped tightly in his fist. I smiled as I remembered that Zakir was the one who converted Damon to Islam five years ago.

He was the child of Bengali immigrants just like my wife, Tasneem. Looking back on our friendships, we were all from different countries, different backgrounds, yet under the mercy of Allah we had found each other. Not only in friendships, but we found love as well.

Zakir began with a duaa (small prayer) before speaking, loud and clear until his voice echoed off the sturdy walls. "Assalamualaikum!" he greeted, teeth glimmering in the lights as he smiled.

"Waalaikumsalam," murmured the crowd in a jumble of voices.

Zakir chuckled, shoulders shaking as the deep noise vibrated through his body, brown eyes lit with elation like a candle of glee. "Dear brothers and sisters, it's that time of year again. It's the moment we've all been waiting and wishing for. Eid is finally here and with it brings a new year of surprises."

"Like if you and Tasneem had a kid," Bashir quietly laughed next to me.

I scowled. "You brat."

He nudged me playfully. "Pay attention," he mocked my earlier words.

A small smile rose to my lips, feathering it ever so slightly. Nonetheless, I focused my attention back to Zakir.

"I'd like to focus this khutbah on the people we tend to ignore in life. Maybe it's because of our socio-economic status. Maybe it's because we're too stressed with our jobs and families. Maybe it's because our kids never let us sleep without worrying for their futures," joked Zakir with a small laugh, "but we tend to ignore the poor and needy, the orphans, the converts, the divorced Muslims who live alone, the widows. We ignore our fellow community on such a blessed holiday."

SubhanAllah (God is perfect), I thought, right before we do our bake sale for orphans, we get to hear a khutbah about them too. Allah really knows how to open our hearts when we least expect it.

Zakir's eyes softened as he gazed around the room at the multicolored culture before him. "On Eid, we usually think about ourselves and our happiness. So many brothers and sisters out there only come for the Eid prayers and then are left to their loneliness.

"Think about the converted Muslims, who usually have no family after they convert because maybe their parents disowned them and they're still shy to our community. Think of the orphans, who have no parents to guide them or take them to Eid parties. Think of the widows, who are spending their holiday mourning their beloved spouse and closing the doors on others. These brothers and sisters need us.

"They need our love and adoration. We must take the first initiative and invite them. As a Muslim, our duty is to help and comfort our fellow Muslims. Our duty is to make everyone in our community feel appreciated. That's what makes Muslims so special in America. We invite others to Islam through our charity within and outside of our community," he softly spoke.

I found myself hanging off of Zakir's every words, his every sentence, his every phrase. The eyes of reflection had opened the doors of reality, wildly searching for a way to radiate the joys of Eid to others. He was right. Muslims did forget about others when they were lost in their own happiness.

Zakir continued. "Now, I'm not saying you guys don't have a right to be content with life. I know there's going to be a brother or sister that comes up to me after this and starts yelling about how I want them to be depressed souls," he chuckled again with the audience. "But no. Sorry, everyone, but I want nothing but the best for every family here.

"I only want to request that each one of us help make our community members feel welcomed on Eid, give them a sense of family. Follow Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) and his lifestyle when it came to these matters. His eyes were always on those in need. Everyone in his company felt as if they were the only ones who were dear to our beloved prophet. They felt cherished even those that slandered his name felt adored and loved.

"We live in a country where Muslims are accused and hated on a daily basis. I understand how much it hurts and how much we wish things were different. Trust me, I understand it all. I grew up with it, yet according to our deen (religion) and our customs, when people show us hate, we show them love. We don't fight fire with fire. We fight with water instead," he smiled as his eyes met mine.

I knew Zakir was well aware of my situation with American media outlets. He heard the rumors and circulating news stories that built castles out of their mountain of false testimonies. I had nothing against journalists because I knew it wasn't their fault that Gavlik deceived them, but I wished even for a moment that the women would just tell the truth, that the American people questioned their sources, that my business was free of all wrongdoings.

"Brothers and sisters, if there is one thing I want you to learn from this khutbah, it's that we should be there for one another, especially on Eid. Go spend time with your friends and family. Do something fun together, have a party with your neighbors, invite those lonely friends that have no one to celebrate with. Include them in your celebrations because on the Day of Judgment, Allah will look at these deeds, these sacrifices you make to help others.

"Please, do not neglect your community today," he finished, gazing around the room at the awed expressions on everyone's faces. "Treat this Eid as if it were your last. In Shaa Allah (if God wills it), I will see you all again."

I held Zakir's gaze for a moment longer, firm and steady. When his lips curled upwards, nodding in respect to me, I knew that Zakir believed I was innocent. He trusted me to make the right decision.

I smiled.

* * * *

When I stepped out of the masjid, a wave of cameras flashed their blinding lights against my eyelids, their voices a loud shriek against a holy community, banging loudly against my skull in an attempt to capture my attention. Their plastic smiles disguised their disgusted gleam, bringing up the scandal as if every word were true.

The community behind me quietly stood, staring in the distance, waiting and hoping for the attention to leave. Reporters seemed to be harassing every civilian, forcing remarks, forcing smiles, and forcing their interest in Eid.

I shook my head. They were only interested in drama.

Bashir's smaller body pressed against my side. Looking down, I noticed his terrified eyes, widening at the nonstop flashes of an instrument designed to capture the unprepared. Together, the questions merged together into a blur, a constant chant, a ringing bell that begged me to speak, to inform the public.

Reporters can ruin my day, but they can't ruin my community's Eid.

"Wait here," I whispered to Bashir.

He nodded, releasing my arm. "Careful."

"Always."

Stepping down the steps, I faced the crowd, grabbing the microphone of a nearby journalist. It was now or never. Fear could not grip my mind when all I thought about was the Muslims behind me, who wanted nothing more than to escape to their homes to celebrate.

"Quiet down!" I ordered, my deep voice booming loudly across the flattened land. "I have a special statement to make if you would all listen."

Many other journalists pushed their microphones closer to me, eyes greedy for gossip and power. I felt pity. No one cared about my list of accomplishments, my academic achievements in business, or my company's success in other countries. They only cared about the speck of dirt staining my name and the greasy title they placed upon my head like a broken crown.

"Mr. Tarkan, is it true that you engaged in extramarital affairs with these women?" asked one journalist.

"Did you sexually assault your employees and then pay them off afterwards?"

"Sir, please explain to the public about your wife's reaction to these accusations?"

"Why are you filing a lawsuit against Mr. Gavlik?"

The questions poured after one another, falling like litter in a pure river and polluting the air with suffocating lies. Yet, as each reporter spewed out another question, I didn't feel as scared. I knew my friends, family, and the Imam of my local masjid supported me. Their belief in my innocence cleared all the doubts from my mind, extinguished the flame in my heart, and watered the words on my tongue.

Don't get mad, I reminded myself, fight fire with water. You can do this.

Help me, Allah. Don't let this burden fall on the community. Please, don't abandon me when I need Your support the most. Help me.

With a deep breath, I began to clear my name. "I know I've been quiet about this scandal. In all honesty, I chose to stay silent in the face of slander and lies," I said in a loud, authoritative voice. "I have never touched any of the women that accuse me of sexual harassment. It is against my religious beliefs to commit a crime like that, so I stand firm with my innocence. I am pursuing a lawsuit for business reasons, which do not concern the public."

They started to speak over me, visibly unsatisfied with my version of the story.

I held up my hand to stop the opposition. "Allow me to finish," I stated, trying to ignore the rolling eyes and frustrated frowns on the reporters. "Today is a Muslim holiday and my community, family, and I would like to spend our holiday in peace. I request the public to give us our privacy. Thank you."

When they were about to protest, Zakir called security. Finally the reporters and journalists reluctantly left masjid property, allowing the Muslims to leave without a paparazzi chasing after them for interviews about me. I let out a breath of relief.

I finally did something right.

A hand clamped on my shoulder. "Good job," said Zakir. "You handled that very well."

"Thanks."

Zakir smiled sadly. "I know it's hard, but don't give up, Ibrahim. You're a good man."

"Not to the rest of the world," I scoffed.

"That doesn't matter," he shook off, waving a hand to dismiss the thought. "Those that are close to you know what type of man you are and that's all that matters. This media nonsense means nothing to Allah."

I stayed silent.

For a moment, I wished I could release my fear entirely and not give them a second thought, but in the back of my mind crawled a demon, a darkness of doubt and misfortune that hung targets above my head. I was innocent, yet that didn't seem like it was enough. Nothing did.

There was an overwhelming sense of dread in the pit of my stomach, twisting and churning until nauseous waves rocked me, an ocean of horror clouding through the horizons. Reality was as nightmare that I wanted to wake up from. I knew that Gavlik was nowhere near done with ruining me.

In the corner of my eyes, I saw Zakir's wife, Tanseem, Amira, and Kanza talked together, my grandparents and in-laws only a couple feet away, laughing till tears came out of their eyes. Zakir's children were playing tag together while the adults talked, giggling and running in circles as the comfort of family shielded the children from the evil intentions people like Gavlik had.

"It's my man, the one and only legend, the myth of business," announced Damon as he walked towards me, his brother-in-law right behind him, "it's Ibrahim Tarkan!"

I rolled my eyes. "You would think that Damon would have matured more over the years."

Damon scowled. "Honestly, I try so hard to be nice to you and you know what I get? Complete disrespect. Unbelievable!"

Zakir stifled his laughter.

Ignoring him, I did a brotherly handshake with Tanwir, his brother-in-law. "It's been a while, Tanwir," I greeted. "Eid Mubarak!"

Tanwir was in his mid-twenties, only three years older than Amira. The two siblings were unlike any other, a compatible pair that stood on opposite ends of a pole, yet ran towards each other at every hurdle. Like most Bengali-Americans, Tanwir crisp tan contrasted well with his black hair. I towered him, but for a Bengali, Tanwir wasn't horribly short.

"Eid Mubarak to you as well," he chuckled, brown eyes gleaming. "I've been pretty caught up with advertising for you and working the IT department at work."

"Cyber security?"

He shrugged. "Someone has to stop those Russian hackers."

"Or their CEOs," coughed Damon subtly, "I mean, who said that?"

Zakir shook his head, amused. "I'm glad you boys haven't changed," he smiled before turning to me. "I'll stop by your wife's bake sale later today In Shaa Allah (if God wills it). Assalamualaikum!"

"Waalaikumsalam!" we said in union.

When Zakir and his family walked away, Tasneem came to my side. The others were lost in their conversations, thinking about unity between all the Muslims on such a blessed and holy day, a holiday that was magical to all Muslims. They laughed, joked, and smiled about the future as if nothing could cut the ties between us.

Tasneem's fingers slipped to my hand, grasping it firmly.

Stunned, I gazed down at her, wondering what compelled her display of affection, but Tasneem continued talking with the group, laughing softly at one of Damon's jokes. Her melodic voice imprisoned me to her love, her joy, her presence. I couldn't function when she was around, couldn't be as cold-hearted as I usually was because Tasneem's sweet nature cured the frozen malice inside.

She would always be there for me, no matter the weather, no matter the day, she would always be there through thick and thin. As she spoke with our friends, I couldn't help but wonder.

Would I be enough to save her from public damnation?

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