"So you met Damian's mother?" Yasmine raised her eyebrows.

I nodded. "She was lovely. Completely the opposite of Damian."

"Was she pretty?" Zeinab questioned.

"Though that question was unnecessary, yes, Zeinab, she was pretty. Damian looks a lot like her, actually," I replied.

Yasmine smirked. "Are you admitting that Damian is good-looking, Mariam?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, I'm simply stating that Damian looks like his mother, which is perfectly normal since he is her son."

"Well, if the mother's good looking, surely the son is too?" Fatima said slyly.

I groaned. "Why are you girls so obsessed with looks?"

"Because we're curious," Zeinab answered, grabbing one of my pillows and hugging it. We were all gathered on my bed, talking about my hospital encounter, as well as what went down at the park. Part of Theo's training included measuring our heart rates before and after each exercise, and we had to fill in a rating scale on how we were feeling before and after as part of the progress report. It was safe to say that we all felt incredibly sore, and Samantha even hitched a ride on Theo's back because she claimed her 'legs weren't working.' Theo enjoyed it though, but I noticed Denise had a strange look on her face as Theo ran across the park with Sam on his back, neighing like a horse.

"Anyway, let's get on with the meeting. We only have an hour," I took charge, and Fatima pulled something out of her backpack she brought, standing up to show it to us.

"This is an English translation of the Quran," she declared, letting us all see the cover. It had the same dark green and gold border and patterns, except titled with THE HOLY QURAN in thick gold letters.

"Can I see it for a sec?" Fatima passed it to Yasmine, who flicked through it, curious. It was from left to right, of course, since it was in English, with plain white pages in black text.

"Interesting," Yasmine murmured, reading through a few verses in her head. She passed it to me, and together with Zeinab peering over my shoulder we looked at it, skimming a few of the translations.

"It doesn't have the same effect as the Arabic version," I deduced. "But it's much easier to understand."

At home I spoke a combination of Lebanese and English, and since I had studied Arabic in Quran School, I could understand the majority of the Quran, with a few words still unknown to me. However knowing the vocabulary didn't guarantee that I understood the meaning of the verses, since there was so much depth and symbolism that I couldn't wrap my head around, and if it took Islamic Scholars years to decipher the meanings then how could I claim that I understood it?

"Because it's in English, duh," Zeinab chuckled beside my ear. Since I was at home, I didn't wear a hijab in front of Fatima and Yasmine, but they had to, of course. Fatima wore a red scarf that contrasted nicely with her caramel brown skin and Yasmine wore a purple and blue tinted hijab along with a white blouse and blue jeans. After coming home from the park I had washed my hair, so I had braided it down my back, the tips still dripping wet.

"Should we give this to Damian to read?" Yasmine suggested.

"I think it would be too overwhelming for him," Fatima said hesitantly. "Plus, it's my Dad's, and I borrowed it just for today."

"Doesn't he have loads of these?" I asked.

Fatima shook her head. "No, that's the only English version he has. The rest are in Urdu or Arabic."

"I think there's an online copy, as well," Zeinab chimed in. "I remember searching it up a few weeks ago."

"I have an app on my phone with the English translation as well," Yasmine said, pulling out her iPhone 5. "It's very helpful."

"But there's nothing better than the paper copy," I said, tracing my finger over the patterns of the English Quran cover.

"I also brought some excerpts from the Quran, in English, of course," Fatima unpacked plastic pockets filled with pages of text with pink highlighter stroke through some of the sentences. We unsheathed the pages and spread them out between us, reading through what she had found.

"These are just some verses I found interesting. I've actually had these stored up for a while, before you told me about your bet," Fatima said. "They include miracles and scientific evidence, as well as verses that just really spoke to me, here." She patted her heart. "I was reading through them last night, and I found myself shedding a few tears because of how touching they were."

"You're such a softie, Fatima," I teased.

"Only because I'm Muslim," Fatima replied, which was true. Islam made us all softies.

"There's a lot from Surah Luqman," Yasmine pointed out, holding a page covered in annotations. Fatima did Literature, so annotating texts were her specialty. "Listen to this verse: And turn not your face away from men with pride, nor walk in insolence through the earth. Verily, Allah likes not each arrogant boaster. Damian is an arrogant boaster. Does that mean Allah doesn't like him?"

"We can't know that, Yasmine," I replied patiently. "Plus, people can change, and become better. Hopefully his arrogance isn't permanent."

"Also, listen to this verse, also about arrogance," Yasmine continued. "And be moderate in your walking, and lower your voice. Verily, the harshest of all voices is the voice of the ass."

Zeinab laughed. "The voice of the ass? What does that mean?"

"Ass is the old term used for donkey, Zeinab," I told her. "Seriously, you are so immature."

"Whatever, it's still funny," Zeinab shrugged, studying the pages.

It was intriguing to read these translations of the Quran Fatima had found, as they were revitalising my knowledge of Islam, and reminding me of how much truth was in our religion, and how logical it was.

"Hey, how about this one," Fatima cleared her throat, and began to read out, "Verily, those who disbelieve, it is the same to them whether you (O Muhammad Peace be upon him) warn them or do not warn them, they will not believe. Allah has set a seal on their hearts and on their hearings, and on their eyes there is a covering. Theirs will be a great torment."

"Is Damian one of those people who have their hearts sealed?" Zeinab wondered aloud.

"Hopefully we can open his heart," Yasmine chewed her lip. "Otherwise..."

"Otherwise, we keep trying. We have five months, remember?" I was not giving up. I wasn't one to abandon my word. So Damian thought Islam wasn't worth it? Just wait until I proved him wrong.

"I researched that verse about Allah setting a seal on their hearts, and it's not as we think," Fatima said. "Their hearts were sealed after they refused to believe, not before. It's not Allah's fault they don't believe, but their own."

"Really?" Once again, Fatima amazed us with her profound knowledge and research skills. Even I had never known about that.

Fatima nodded. "Yeah. Just think of it like a teacher and a bad student. The teacher predicts they'll do bad on a test because the student is known for not doing well. The student doesn't study for the test, and does badly. But would it be fair to say that the student did bad because the teacher predicted it or not?"

"I don't think the teacher's prediction makes any difference to the student's performance," Yasmine voiced. "Isn't it about how well the student prepared?"

"Yes, exactly!" Fatima cried enthusiastically. "The same goes for this life. If we all prepare for the akhira, we'll pass, In Sha Allah. But if we don't, it's nobody's fault but our own. And in that verse, it is saying that Allah put a seal on their hearts because they didn't want to believe, not because he wasn't letting them believe. They just didn't want to!"

"Some people are stubborn like that," I muttered, thinking of Damian.

"Anyway, guys, check out this verse. It's repeated a couple other times in the Quran," Fatima knew more about the Quran than I, since she had access to lots of books at home with Quran tafseer. "And whoever disbelieved, let not his disbelief grieve you. Meaning we shouldn't be too bothered about people not believing, as it isn't our concern."

"But we should bother," Zeinab interjected. "It's our duty, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily. Like you said, we shouldn't force people to believe in Islam or Allah," I explained. "We can't make the blind see again."

"So what's the point, then?" Zeinab asked, reminding me of Damian. What's the point of believing in something that doesn't exist?

"The point of what?" Yasmine seemed confused.

"You know, the point of trying to convince others if they won't believe anyway," Zeinab replied hopelessly.

"Not all will believe, but there are some who still have hope," Fatima said wisely. "Some people were destined to believe, perhaps later in life, and even if they don't believe now, they may believe another day. While others may never believe at all."

"That's so sad," Zeinab mumbled, glancing at her hands. "I wish I could help everyone believe."

"But you can't, Zeinab. It's out of our hands," I said gently, touching her arm. "In the Quran, it says that Hell will be filled with people. It's inevitable. We can't prevent others from making bad choices and disbelieving. We can only try and help those who want to believe, and who already believe."

"Like me," Yasmine smiled. "I guess coming back to Islam was easier for me because it was always waiting for me, but I was just neglecting it all this time, trying to fit in with the non-Muslims when really, this whole time, I should've been trying to fit in with what Allah told us to do."

"So do you see now, Zeinab?" I put an arm around my sister, who nodded slowly, beginning to comprehend.

"Yeah, I think I understand now. But I just wish -"

"You can wish, or you can pray," I said.

"Praying is better," Fatima added.

"Okay, then, I pray that I can help as many people as I can to see the light of Islam," Zeinab aspired. "I want to spread the message and make others see like I see."

"Trust me, I want that too," I agreed. "But just remember that if Allah wanted to, He could've made us all angels with no capability of sinning. Instead, He gifted man with free will, and whether we choose to do good or not is what we will be tested on in the end. And all you," I poked Zeinab's nose, "have to do is pray to Allah and obey Muhammad's teachings while also striving to do good deeds, and you will be guaranteed paradise."

"Easier said than done," Yasmine chuckled.

"Yes, but if it were easy, it wouldn't be a test, would it?" Fatima countered with a smile.

Yasmine pointed to her. "You got me there, Fatima."

***

"You made cake?!"

Mama rarely made cake. Usually we bought it from the supermarket, but here it was, right in front of us, tantalizing our senses with its warm chocolatey aroma, and even though it was three in the afternoon, we each got a slice.

"Shukran, Immi," Zeinab was the first to receive a slice, as Mama had a new rule - youngest first. Then Fatima was served, since her birthday was in September, followed by Yasmine, and then I, the oldest here, until Nasr slipped into the kitchen, sniffing the air.

"You made cake?!" Nasr exclaimed, grabbing a bowl and waiting for Mama to serve him a slice. She had even melted some dark chocolate and spread it over the top as icing and sliced strawberries, and as I took a bite I let out an involuntary groan.

"Masha'allah, it's delicious."

Mama smiled at me as she wiped the bench with a damp sponge, gathering all the dark crumbs. The cake was a little burnt at the base but it didn't hinder its bursting sweetness, the cold slice of strawberry colliding with the bitter chocolate.

"I'm definitely coming over more often," Yasmine said as she licked her fingers. There were only four stools so Nasr had to stand beside Yasmine on the very end, munching his cake like he hadn't eaten in three days.

"Slow down, Nasr, you're going to choke," Mama warned him.

In a matter of seconds Nasr had finished his slice and was already cutting another piece for himself. "Hey, that's not fair, why does he get two?" Zeinab cried out. Mama had her back to us, washing the dishes, so Nasr got away with getting another slice until she turned around, fixing a scolding look on my brother.

"Nasr, put that down," she spoke to him like he was five instead of twenty. Nasr made a face and set the slice back onto the plate, but not before taking a bite out of it and scrambling out of the kitchen, cackling as Mama called his name.

"Nasr is such a pig sometimes," I muttered, shaking my head.

"I think it's cute," Yasmine shrugged, breaking off bits of her cake and chewing them slowly.

"Cute?" I scoffed. "Nasr's as cute as a goblin."

"Goblins are cute," Zeinab commented.

"No, they're not, they're ugly little creatures," I countered.

"What's a goblin?" Yasmine asked, causing Zeinab and I to face-palm and shake our heads as Fatima explained what a goblin was to our dear friend Yasmine.

"Nasr's not a goblin," Yasmine proclaimed just as Nasr himself returned to the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a can of creaming soda.

"I agree," he said, causing Yasmine to jump, looking startled and red in the face.

"Crap," she muttered.

Nasr cracked his can open, smirking at her, but speaking to us. "Talking about me again, ladies?"

"Go away, Nasr," Zeinab shooed him away with her hand, but Nasr wasn't that easy to get rid of.

"I love you too, Zeinab," Nasr said sarcastically, swigging from his can and leaning against the fridge. "So what's your meeting really about, huh? Because as much as I'd like to believe you are just talking about me and my awesomeness, I'm not dumb."

"That's debatable," I muttered.

"Mariam! Respect!" Immi scolded, overhearing me. I swear, my mother was like an elephant - great hearing and even greater memory.

"Yeah, have a little r-e-s-p-e-c-t for your personal chauffeur," Nasr clicked his fingers, causing Yasmine, Fatima and Zeinab to giggle. He had a point, though. If I wasn't nice to him he'd stop driving me wherever I want, and there was no way I was resorting to public transport when I could have the comfort of his car. Yeah, we took the bus in the mornings but if Nasr wasn't so lazy, we could've avoided that.

"We're not going to tell you what our meetings are about," Zeinab said in response to his question. "It's top secret."

Nasr cocked an eyebrow in interest. "Top secret, huh? Well, that just makes me even more curious. Thanks, Zeinab."

"Yeah, thanks, Zeinab," I said sarcastically to my sister, who just had to go make my protective older brother even more determined to find out why we were all gathered here today.

"Let's go back to my room now. We're done eating anyway," I hopped off the stool, Fatima, Yasmine and Zeinab in pursuit as we passed Nasr and made our way down the hall. Nasr sipped his drink, calling after us, "I'm going to find out your secret, no matter what!" I really hoped he didn't mean it, but knowing Nasr, he probably did.

We washed our hands from the sticky cake in the bathroom before returning to my bedroom, flopping back onto my bed with content tummies filled with chocolate goodness.

"I just realized something - your name, Mariam, and Nasr's name are also Surahs in the Quran," Fatima remarked as we lay atop my bed horizontally so that our legs dangled over the side.

"But mine isn't," Zeinab said sulkily.

"No, but Zainab Radhiyallahu anha was the oldest daughter of the Prophet (SAW)," I told her. "And Fatima (RA) was also one of the Prophet's daughters."

"And then there's my name, which basically just means flower," Yasmine sighed. "No relevance to anything in the Quran or Islamic history."

"I think it's because your name is more Persian, that's why," I said. "Plus, at least you have a Disney princess with the same name."

"Jasmine is different to Yasmine, though," Yasmine pointed out. "And I still haven't found my Aladdin."

"Someday you will, In Sha Allah," I said.

"Yeah, but the closest thing I have to a magic carpet is my prayer mat," Yasmine joked. "And I definitely don't have a pet tiger."

"How about your pet cat, Muffin?" Fatima asked, referring to a stripy grey cat Yasmine's family had adopted when she was seven, since it was a stray and kept hanging around in their backyard.

"It died," Yasmine replied.

"Oh."

"You may not be some Persian princess, but at least you are something even better," I said.

"And what's that?" Yasmine inquired.

"A Muslim."

"I guess that is better, but I just wish I had a castle and lots of beautiful jewels and dresses, like Jasmine has," Yasmine sighed wistfully.

"You can still have all that," Fatima said.

"How? By marrying a rich prince?" Yasmine snorted.

"That's one way to do it," I chuckled

Fatima shook her head. "No, I mean by doing good deeds in this life, you can build your own castle in Jannah and have everything you ever desired for the rest of eternity."

"I think I just got goose bumps," Zeinab shivered.

Yasmine smiled. "That sounds perfect."

***

"Remember the test I promised you guys?" Mr Newton brought up on our Monday physics lesson.

"Don't tell me it's this week," Denise groaned.

"Then I guess I can't tell you, Denise," Mr Newton joked. "But I'll tell everyone else - it's this Friday in the double period."

"Yay," I deadpanned.

"Yay indeed, Mariam," Mr Newton completely missed my sarcasm, shooting me a wide grin as he grabbed a pile of revision sheets off his desk. He split it in half and handed me one half so I could hand them out, while giving the rest to Damian.

"You'll have the remainder of the week's lessons to revise, so don't stress," Mr Newton assured us. "As long as you study the content well, you'll all do fine."

"Even me, Mr Newton?" Damian asked with a smirk.

Mr Newton nodded. "Especially you, Damian. You know, you have some untapped potential in that brain of yours. I suggest you use it."

"Do I have to?" Damian grumbled as he rounded the room, carelessly handing out the revision sheets and placing them aloofly on the desks.

"Like potential energy that has been stored for a long time, it's best if you use that potential knowledge to at least pass my class," Mr Newton advised.

"I'm more of a kinetic energy kind of guy, Mr Newton," Damian joked as we both finished handing the papers out to everyone. As we handed the remaining piles to Mr Newton at the front, Damian shot me a smirk. I cocked an eyebrow at his smirk, wondering what he meant by it, and why he was in such a light-hearted mood. I was tempted to ask about his mother's surgery, which was undoubtedly to remove the cancer from the lung, but I decided I would save it for the lockers. It seemed that whenever we were both there, we'd always have a conversation. Talking to Damian was inevitable.