"How are you?"

I didn't know why I was asking him. Maybe I should've just kept my distance like I had done all these years, but after seeing him yesterday at the tree, and after knowing what he was going through, I found my inner caring side winning over my bitter, reserved side. I had a soft spot for sad cases, even if that case was Damian Brewer.

"Why should you care?"

Good question. Why should I? I just lingered over him as he knelt down to grab his books for the last period of the day after lunch. I was glad they had changed the timetable so that lunch time was later, because that meant only one more hour after lunch until freedom, and I could deal with that.

"Is it a crime to be concerned?" I answered with a question. I had a habit of doing that sometimes when I didn't know how else to respond.

Damian rose to his full height after locking his locker, scrutinizing me with those masha'allah eyes. I knew I should lower my gaze but it was hard to when he was so tall, and I was attempting to make conversation.

He broke into a smirk as he said, "So you're concerned for me now, Mariam?" His Australian accent pronounced my name as 'muh-ree-um' instead of the way my family pronounced it, mar-yum.

I tightened my hold over my thick chemistry textbook, returning to my bitter defensive side I adopted whenever I was around Damian. Let's just say he brought out the worst in me. "No," I scoffed. "I'm just asking because I'm a nice person."

Now it was Damian's turn to scoff. "You? Nice? Since when?"

"Hey, I am a very nice person, but with you -"

"You turn into a bad girl," Damian winked, leaning forward so that he was pushing the thirty centimetre ruler radius of my bubble. "I guess I have that effect on the ladies."

I snorted, turning away. Here I was, offering my concern, and he had managed to turn it into something dirty. "You also have the effect of making me want to walk in the opposite direction to your face," I retorted.

Damian placed a hand on my locker which was right beside us and tilted his head at me. "Then why are you still here?"

Another fabulous question from Mr Brewer. And yet I couldn't answer that without sounding like I had any interest in him - which I didn't. Just the thought of it made me shudder. "I just wanted to know if you are doing okay with what's happening at home and all," I replied earnestly. "I don't know many people who have to deal with what you're dealing with, and I can only imagine how hard it is for you -"

"It's bloody well hard, and you're not making it easier by pitying me," Damian spat. "So I'd appreciate it if you didn't ask me how I am as if I was the one slowly dying!"

His voice had risen a little at the end, and I glanced around cautiously for any eavesdroppers. The corridor was bustling with kids trying to get to class, and I realized I'd be late if I didn't get going soon, yet something kept me firmly placed here, something like an obligation since I was the only one who knew about Damian's mother.

"So that's why you won't tell anyone," I deduced. "Because you don't want to be pitied."

Damian grinded his jaw, flicking his gaze to the floor briefly as he muttered, "Yeah."

"I don't want to intrude on your private matters, but -"

"A little too late for that," Damian said with a mirthless chuckle. There was something about that chuckle that was so sad, so hopeless, so empty.

"What type of cancer is it?" as soon as those words left my mouth, Damian's eyes softened slightly.

"Lung," he replied softly, so softly that in all the noise from the passing students, I would've missed it.

"So is she getting chemotherapy?" My knowledge of cancer was purely based on what I'd read in books and seen on movie screens. But I knew that lung cancer had a low survival rate, and it was terminal.

Damian nodded, suddenly appearing so vulnerable I wished I could hug him. I quickly pushed this thought away, because it wasn't a halal thought. I didn't usually have unusual desires to hug boys, especially boys like Damian. "Yeah, she's going to fight through it. But I know...I know how it ends."

"You don't know yet. Only God knows if she'll survive or not," I said, forgetting temporarily who I was talking to. Like Damian would turn to God at a time like this, and as if to prove this, his expression hardens.

"God? What kind of God does this to people? If God is so great, why are people suffering? If a God even exists, why did He create cancer?" Damian's hostile attitude towards God wasn't surprising, considering he was a self-proclaimed atheist. My shock to his words was muffled by my growing accustomed to hearing these types of things from people who ask me about my religion, and ask why we worship Allah. I lived in a non-Muslim country, so this wasn't new to me, unfortunately.

"God has a reason for everything," I stated first and foremost, because this was what I reminded myself whenever I encountered bad things. "We as human beings cannot fully understand everything, however we just know that whatever misfortune is sent our way is a test from God."

"What about my mum, huh? Is this another one of God's tests?" Damian didn't look convinced, and the way he said 'God' like he was mocking Him, astaghfurullah, was making me regret mentioning Him in the first place. Damian couldn't understand. But I had to be open-minded about this; whatever I said was a form of da'wa, and if it meant risking tardiness, it was definitely worth it.

"I would believe so, and if I were in your position, I wouldn't give up hope. Hope is the only thing you have left," I advised him. "With religion, at least one could pray to God, but for you, as an atheist, you can cling onto hope."

"There's no hope in this stupid life," Damian stated coldly.

"What if I told you that Islam is the religion of hope?"

"Yeah, right. I bet you couldn't get someone to convert to your pointless religion," Damian muttered bitterly.

"What if I could?"

Now I had gotten his interest. "I'd like to see you try."

"No, I'm serious. You think I can't do it, don't you?" If I was capable of turning my reckless best friend Yaz from party girl to hijabi overnight, I believed I could do this too. With the help of Allah, of course.

"Let's make a bet, then."

"A bet?" I echoed suspiciously.

Damian's clear eyes were sly, and it was almost like we hadn't been talking about his mother's impending death only moments before. "Yeah, a bet," a corner of his lips lifted, revealing a dimple. I was curious to hear about this 'bet,' but I was also feeling cautious. Theo had made a bet with Damian, and it hadn't ended well. In fact, Theo ended up with a broken arm because of it, and the bet had involved riding a bike over a sloping hill, just to impress a few girls. But before I could say anything, he continued.

"You have five months to convert me to Islam, which I doubt you would." At this I scoffed. Never doubt a girl, I thought, remembering last Friday at the mosque. I was about to interject, but Damian's next words silenced me. "And if you can't, you have to remove your hijab. Forever."

"What?!" I burst out, finally finding my voice again. I subconsciously touched my veil, horrified at the idea of gambling this away just for a bet. Though I wasn't one to back down, I wasn't stupid either. I remembered something about bets being haram in Islam, but that escaped my mind as I snapped, "Why should I agree to a stupid bet like that?"

"Are you afraid of losing?" he smirked. Seeing him smirk again was comforting, because it meant perhaps he wasn't fully broken on the inside.

However, his words broke me on the inside; he had hit my weak spot. I was exposed, in the figurative sense. I hated being accused of being afraid - I feared Allah and Allah alone.

"Fine. But just so you know, I won't be the loser here. And neither will you." If I was going to participate in this bet, I would participate wholeheartedly, with the intention of helping Damian, keeping it mildly halal. I couldn't lose this bet. Not if it meant giving da'wa to a troubled soul who I had otherwise thought was destined for Jahannam.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Damian asked as the bell chimed for the beginning of class. I had long ago accepted the fact that I was going to be late when I had opened my mouth to Damian. But this time I had a good reason.

"You'll see," I replied with an aura of mystery, leaving him perplexed as I rushed to my chemistry class.

You may be thinking: What's wrong with you, Mariam? You know he's going to make sure you lose! You've got the short end of the stick!

No, my brothers and sisters, I have the long end. For I have the privilege of converting the bad boy.

And In Sha Allah, I would succeed.

But I wasn't going to be alone - yes, I had Allah's gracious help, as always, but I also required the assistance of Yasmine El Howly, because who else knew the struggle of coming back to Islam better than her?

***

"What have you gotten yourself into, ya Mariam?" Yasmine sighed as we sat in room thirteen on our prayer rugs.

Zeinab, however, had a different point of view. "This is perfect!" she exclaimed, brown eyes bright with excitement. "You do realize how important this is, right?"

"Yes, I do, which is why I need you to help me," I replied. I had finished explaining what had gone down at the lockers yesterday afternoon as soon as Zuhr was over, since this was the only time I could gather them both here in private. I had wanted so badly to tell Zeinab yesterday, however she had homework and I didn't want to disturb her. Plus, getting Yasmine alone was hard when Theo and Denise were always with her at different points of the day.

"You're gambling away your hijab, Mariam!" Yasmine felt the need to point this out multiple times.

I rolled my eyes. "Yasmine, that's only if I lose. And God forbid I do, which is why I need you two to help me."

Zeinab's eyes lit up while Yasmine still remained sceptical. "Okay, let's just say that I agree to help you in your crazy bet, how are we going to convince him?" Yasmine asked.

"Show him what Islam is really like," Zeinab said, rubbing her hands together cunningly. She seemed more excited about this than me, but that was Zeinab for you. All or nothing.

"I still haven't figured out how to go about this, but that's why I called you guys. You're the only people who can help. If I tell Nasr, he'll be mad. And I definitely can't tell my parents," I shuddered at the idea of my mum finding out I got into a bet with a boy. She'd beat me until I saw stars.

"We have to keep in mind that we're dealing with Damian here," Yasmine reminded us. "He's stubborn and hard to convince."

"Islam can melt even the hardest of hearts," I quoted. "Remember Umar bin-Al Khattab (RA)?"

Zeinab nodded while Yasmine tilted her head in confusion. "Who's he again?"

Yasmine's parents had done the best they could to teach her about the Prophets and Muhammad (SAW) companions, however it had been a while for her, so she had probably forgotten a lot of them. So we quickly filled her in on Umar's life story.

"He was a companion of the Prophet, and a Khalifa, but before that, they were enemies. Umar was a powerful man, feared by many. He always spoke his mind, even if it displeased others," I chuckled, realizing the last fact was similar to Damian. He had said many hurtful things just because he had no filter for his mouth, but I still believed I could change him.

Zeinab picked up the next part of the story. "Umar was set to kill the Messenger, but on his way he encountered a passer-by who told Umar that his sister had converted to Islam, and he was angry about this, so he went to his sister's home and beat her up."

Yasmine's eyes widened. "Oh my God. Then what happened?"

I smiled. This was the best part, and I knew this quote by heart. "His sister was bruised and bleeding, and yet she said, Umar, you can do what you like, but you cannot turn our hearts away from Islam."

"Subhanallah," Yasmine reflected my smile, and I let Zeinab finish the inspiring story.

"So Umar was curious, because what kind of faith could this be that made the weakest women strong? So he made her show him what she had been reading from the Quran, which was what she had been doing before he came in, and was instantly moved by the verses. Umar went straight to the Messenger and converted, right there and then," Zeinab concluded just as a teacher - Mr Nesbitt - stuck his head in.

"If you girls are finished praying you should head outside," he ordered, so we had no choice but to pick up our prayer rugs and head down the corridor altogether. Yasmine and I followed Zeinab to her locker so we could continue the conversation, since we were in no rush to return to our friends.

"That's an inspiring story," Yasmine commented as Zeinab packed away the prayer rugs in the corner of her locker.

"It sure is, which is why I believe that converting Damian isn't completely impossible," I said. "This bet isn't a bet - it's a test from Allah. A form of da'wa, and I am not passing up a chance like this."

"Well, you've got my help," Zeinab piped up as she shut her locker, twisting her key.

"And I can't let you do this by yourself," Yasmine added, putting an arm around me. "We're friends - no, even better, we're sisters," she pulled Zeinab into her other arm, holding us together in the corridor. "We're bound by Islam. And if you're doing this for the sake of Allah, then I'm in."

"Me too," Zeinab chimed in.

"Jazakallahu Khairun," I squeezed them both into an embrace, which was broken up shortly by Mr Nesbitt again, patrolling the corridors. Seriously, did he have nothing else to do at lunch time?

"Girls, outside, now," his nasal voice echoed down the length of the corridor, startling us a little. We headed down the staircase giggling like school girls - oh, wait, that's right, we were school girls - because getting ordered by Mr Nesbitt to go outside always made me feel giggly, like I had done something so badass and cool.

"As long as we have Allah on our side, everything will be fine," Zeinab assured us before skipping off to her friends. They hung out in another part of the school so we rarely saw her except in the corridors.

I turned to Yasmine, gripping her hands. "You can't tell Denise and Theo about this, okay?"

Yasmine looked pained at the prospect of keeping yet another secret. "Why must you torture me like this? You know I hate keeping secrets." See?

I placed a palm on her cheek, gazing deeply into her eyes and saying, "Think of it as a test from Allah."

Yasmine groaned. "I have enough tests at school!"

"Life is a school," I retaliated, making her groan again. She'd fit right in with my physics class.

"Enough with your philosophies! They're doing my head in," Yasmine complained with a hint of mirth as we walked to the tree we had claimed as ours as of yesterday by carving our names in the bark with the ring of a solo can. Sure enough, Denise and Theo sat beneath it, deep in conversation. Thenise, anyone?

"I'm glad to hear they're doing something for that head of yours," I chuckled.

"Hey, what took you girls so long? We'd thought you'd either died or ditched us," Theo said as we joined them on the grass. I took in Theo's grass covered shorts and Denise's pile of sticks and realized if they had had that much time to destroy that much nature, we must have taken a while.

"It has to be either of them, does it?" I smirked, picking up a leaf. Old habits never died.

"Well, either those or you got a detention," Theo shrugged. "And we all know that's not possible. At least for Mariam anyway."

"Did you forget I got a detention in physics a couple of weeks ago?" I arched an eyebrow at him.

Theo's eyes widened. "You did?" I nodded, and Theo's mouth gaped open in shock.

"You have such a bad memory," Denise chuckled. "I bet you don't even know when my birthday is."

"I do! It's....um...." Theo scrunched up his face as he racked his brains for a date, while we just laughed at him. Denise looked offended, though.

"How could you forget my birthday? I thought we were friends!" Denise pretended to sulk like a five year old.

"How about mine? Do you remember mine?" Yasmine asked him as she slid a daisy into the fold of her hijab, popping out at her right cheek.

"July nineteenth?" Yasmine shook her head. "Seventh of August?" Theo tried again.

"Close," Yasmine encouraged.

Theo snapped his fingers as he finally remembered. "August 9th!"

"Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!" Yasmine clapped her hands.

Denise looked outraged. "You remember hers, but not mine?" she scoffed.

"Yours is always on the holidays, so we always miss it," Theo shrugged. "April fourth, right?"

Denise's eyes widened, and her face broke into a grin. "So you do remember!"

"Lucky guess," Theo shrugged again.

"What about Mariam's?" Yasmine inquired him. "Don't forget her."

Theo smiled at me. "I could never forget Mariam's. June thirteenth, two days after mine."

"Well done, you passed the test. You deserve a gold star," I applauded him.

Denise patted him on the head. "Good boy."

Theo barked like a dog, disturbing a few passing year seven girls who were afraid of us big seniors, and I just offered a smile at them, saying, "Don't worry, he doesn't bite."

"At least not hard," Theo gnashed his teeth at the girls, causing a few of them to scream as they hurried away.

"You're so mean, Theo, you even scare little kids away," Yasmine chided.

Theo beamed. "It's what I do best."

P.S. We're in the top 100 #89 in Spiritual that's craaaazy!