When we entered the mosque that night before Maghrib, the first thing that hit me was the smells.

"Do you smell that?" I sniffed, nudging Zeinab, who began sniffing too, twitching her nose like a rabbit.

"Yeah, I do," she groaned. "How am I going to concentrate in prayer when there's delicious food wafting about?"

"Well, the Prophet alayhi-salam did say we could eat before we pray," I pointed out as we crossed the carpet to the women's section of the mosque. There was a side room which was usually closed off with the partition wall, however it had been opened back to reveal a table laden with food yet to be unwrapped. Women came in carrying platters of assorted foods from different cultures, placing it on the table as the sun set outside the mosque.

"So can we eat?" Zeinab asked hopefully, eyeing the food like a lion eyes an antelope.

"Only if you are so starving that it will affect your prayer, and you and I both know you had a packet of chips before we left the house," I said, and Zeinab pouted.

I noticed Fatima amongst the women, helping her mum bring in food, so I went over to join her. I had completely forgotten all about tonight's mosque gathering until I came home to find Mama making a large serving of Fattoush. Mama never made Fattoush unless it was for guests or a special occasion, since it took a good half an hour to prepare, so when she told me it was for the Good Friday charity dinner at the mosque, everything clicked. I had invited Damian on the one night that the mosque was open to anyone in the public who needed a meal, and it was also the night that our community came to celebrate our diversity, but most importantly, our religions. Technically tomorrow was Good Friday, and each year on the night before the Mosque held an open night, not to commemorate Jesus' supposed crucifixion as the Christians and Catholics celebrated at Easter, but to give back to the people altruistically and generously, as all this free food was a form of Zakat. It was the only time other than Ramadan and Eid that our mosque served free food for the public, while simultaneously giving da'wa. Honestly, if I were a non-Muslim and I tasted this food served by the Muslims, I would've converted straight away.

The other intention for this dinner was to educate others about Islam, and at the front of the mosque there were mosque staff handing out pamphlets and greeting everyone. There was a line-up of Sheikhs and local Islamic Scholars who would be speaking tonight after the prayer, and I always looked forward to hearing them. To be honest, though, I was looking forward to the food too, and so were the rest of us hundred people here tonight.

"Masha'allah, there is so much food here tonight," I commented to Fatima, who was setting down a pot of biryani beside a platter of samosas.

Fatima turned to me, brown eyes alight. "I know, right? I can't wait until after Maghrib!" she rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

"Other than Eid and Ramadan, this is my favourite night to be at the mosque," I said just before the adhaan rang out through the speakers, and people bustled about the carpet, hurrying to their places for Salah.

"I agree," Fatima whispered. "Hey, where's Yasmine? Isn't she coming tonight?"

"I think she's late," I hissed back as I scanned the crowd of abayas. Other than the traditional black, there were women who wore colourful designs, especially the Somali women with their vibrant patterned clothes. I was just wearing a jungle green gypsy skirt and white blouse, a green ombré hijab to match. Fatima was wearing something similar but in tones of orange and red, and as we lined up for Salah, listening to the pre-recorded adhaan echo around the masjid, I spotted Yasmine at the entrance with her mother, looking stunning in a violet skirt and pink shirt, her hijab a tie-dyed mixture of the two colours, framing her naturally beautiful face. Her eyes found mine and she squeezed through the crowd, dragging her mother with her. As soon as she reached us, I kissed her cheeks, greeting them both.

"Salamu Alaykum, Mariam, Masha'allah you look nice," Samia beamed, turning to Fatima and shaking her hand. They had met before a couple of times, and Samia commented on Fatima's outfit and beauty as the adhaan finished. I could see in the far front Nasr and Zaid standing side by side, with Yasmine's brother Yusuf slipping into the line with his father. I also noticed a smoky barbeque smell drifting in from the patio outside, but I ignored the delicious scent of grilled lamb and raised my hands to begin Salah. "Allahuakbar."

***

Damian's POV

"Where are you going?" Tracey demanded, tapping her foot, eyes scrutinizing me behind her glasses. I told her to get contacts but she wouldn't listen, saying they were bad for your eyes or something. Ever since Aunt Kate had started staying at our house, Tracey had been swinging by every once and a while to hang with my mother and aunt. Since it was the Easter Weekend, Tracey was sleeping over for the next week until she had to return back to her uni classes. She took extra courses and worked two part time jobs, one at the supermarket and one at a shoe store, so she was pretty busy and had no time for days off, but she got time off from work because of the national holiday.

I had been so close to sneaking out of the house but of course Tracey had to have been coming down the stairs at that exact time, catching me right in the act. I rolled my eyes at her. "What's it to you?"

"Damian, tomorrow's Good Friday. What could you possibly be up to on a Thursday night?" Tracey knew about my history of partying thanks to my mum always gossiping to Aunt Kate. They were really close as sisters, and with Tracey in the equation I felt outnumbered by women. I was literally a ladies man – a man surrounded by ladies. And with the lack of testosterone, I was starting to miss my Dad, and I never missed him.

"Come on, Trace, it's the holidays now. I'm allowed to have fun, aren't I?" I begged. Trace cocked an eyebrow at me, unimpressed. She may be two years older than me, but she sure acted like a forty five year old half the time.

"You shouldn't be going out anymore, Damian, I thought you had moved on from all of that," Tracey chided. "Plus, it's not safe out there."

I rolled my eyes again. "I'm not some little girl, Trace, I'm eighteen in four weeks! And why is it suddenly your business on my whereabouts? Have you really got nothing else to do but worry about me?"

Tracey's blue eyes softened, and she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She would've been pretty if she ditched the glasses. She used to have braces, but they were removed a couple years back. Though we didn't look that much alike, Tracey was definitely an older sister to me, which she proved when she said, "I care about you, Damian. You're my little bro, basically, and I don't want you getting wasted or into a fight at some stupid party."

"I'm not going to some stupid party," I snapped defensively without thinking. I had already told my mates I wasn't going to Sam's party, which from what I heard was going to be wild because Sam was that popular. People thought I was popular, but I was nothing compared to Sam and her many admirers. I never threw parties, I was just known for going to them and being the 'life of the party.' But lately I had no life inside of me to waste it on partying. Because parties only reminded me of who I used to be – some carefree dude with no worries or fears. Now, I was very worried and very afraid, and it was eating me alive.

"Oh, come on, Damian, if it isn't a party, what else would it be?" Tracey chuckled.

"Church?" I joked. Little did she know it wasn't too far from the truth.

Tracey laughed. "Yeah, as if you would go to church."

"Yeah, as if," I muttered, flicking my eyes to the living room down the hall, where I could hear mum talking with Aunt Kate. They sounded lost in their own conversation, already forgetting about me. I mostly just kept to my room, fiddling with my guitar or doing homework (yeah, I actually did homework, don't look so surprised).

"Anyway, I'm gonna go now," I turned to the front door, which was only centimetres out of my reach, but Tracey stopped me.

"You still haven't told me where you're going," Tracey said sternly.

"I'm just going to hang out with the boys," I lied nonchalantly. I had mastered the art of lying, I was even able to lie to myself.

"Are you catching the bus?" Tracey asked sternly.

I glanced at her over my shoulder. "No, I'm taking the hover board. Of course I'm catching the bus," I replied sarcastically.

"It's dark outside and catching the bus at this hour is dangerous, especially with all the crazy people about. I don't want you getting mugged, or even worse, stabbed," Tracey was starting to sound stricter than my own mum. Mum was chill most of the time, so chill that I forgot she was my mum and talked to her like a friend, but Aunt Kate was a bit stricter, so she raised Tracey to be just like her. Lucky me.

"Then why don't you drive me, if you're so concerned," I shot back.

"Okay," Tracey grabbed the keys from the table, but I stopped her, shaking my head.

"Uh-uh. You're not leaving the house looking like that," Now it was my turn to be the scolding cousin. Tracey frowned, glancing down at her outfit, which consisted of a baggy t-shirt that said, 'Never trust an atom. They make up everything,' and striped leggings ending in blue socks with orange cat faces stamped all over them.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" she asked, looking back up to me.

I snorted. "You look like a geek, Trace. I'll look so uncool with you as my driver."

Tracey scowled. "Damian, you're a dick, you know that?"

"I know," I smirked. "But if you don't want to change, I'm going to leave, so..."

Tracey huffed, "Fine, I'll go change into something less 'geeky' but I really don't see why I should. I'll just be dropping you off."

She disappeared up the stairs, and I dug my phone out of my pocket, checking it. I already had a couple texts from Aidan asking if I was sure I wasn't going to swing by later on at Sam's, and I texted back with, Nah, man, soz. C u Sat for training.

Tracey returned looking less like a geek and more like a nineteen year old, her hair tied up in a ponytail and a red leather jacket thrown over a spotty white top, her dark skinny jeans accentuating her legs. She slipped on her red converse and opened the door, but not before calling out to our mums that we were going out.

I gave Tracey directions to Felix's house, which wasn't too far from where I was planning to go, and the ride was filled with the low murmur of the radio and the blast of crisp autumn air from the windows. Stars appeared one by one and the moon was full, rising in the east.

Once Tracey dropped me off after I promised to text her to pick me up when I was done, I zipped up my hoodie and began the ten minute walk to the mosque Mariam told me about. My eyes kept glancing up at the moon, entranced by its wholeness and whiteness.

It wasn't hard to find this mosque, because of the large dome and turrets that pierced the deep blue sky. It kind of looked like the Taj Mahal, and I could see it was lit up from the inside, smells of cooked food mingling with the wood smoke of nearby houses. It was a chilly night, and I cursed for deciding to wear a t-shirt under my hoodie – I was freezing my balls off out here, and I stood outside the mosque, inhaling the spicy aromas and craving for warmth.

I closed my eyes for a second, feeling strangely attracted to the mosque, but at the same time reluctant to go in. I wondered how I had got to this point, how I had suddenly started to become curious about this religion, curious about why Mariam was so proud of it, so willing to share its apparent 'truth' and 'hope' because that's what had got me in the first place. The possibility that a religion could give you hope. Blind hope, more like, I added bitterly. Human beings clung to religion blindly, and once I removed myself from all of that I could see things clearly for the first time. But seeing things from the outside also made you wonder about the people inside. I was used to being isolated sometimes, but being an atheist made me realize that once I decided God didn't exist, that meant everything existed by itself, right? Which meant we were alone in this universe, with no purpose...

But that idea scared me more than the idea of hell, that one day we would all cease to exist with no one to remember us, having no significant impact on the world. Where would we go after this life? We couldn't just all disappear into nothing. And I definitely didn't believe in reincarnation or being turned into stardust, though they didn't seem like bad concepts...

I was still undecided, and the reason I came here to this mosque was to come to some kind of decision about the existence of God. After all, that's what these people did – worship a God. Maybe they could tell me more about the big guy, since Christianity had confused the shit out of me when they said that God had a son and a mother and whatnot, which basically meant to me that God was a human. Reading the beginning of the Quran showed that God was One, alone, with no connections to humans, and that made more sense that God would be all high and mighty about his status and not want to associate with us lowly humans. That's of course, if there even was a God, but the more I thought about the possibility of a God, the more it didn't seem that far-fetched. Even science couldn't explain everything, and I wanted to find out before I lost my mum forever. Before I lost myself.

I inched closer to the light that poured from the entrance of the mosque, the voices from inside growing louder and the smells more intense. I was suddenly hungry – I hadn't had dinner yet, and I wondered if Mosques always served food, because that sure was a great way to reel people in.

I entered through the door, and the first thing I noticed was the rows of shelves crowded with shoes. If I didn't know better, I would've thought I had walked straight into a shoe museum. Beyond all the shelves was an archway that led to a brightly lit carpeted room scattered with...people. Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't afraid of speaking to people or anything, in fact, I loved meeting new people because it filled up the void inside of me that I had developed over the years from being an only child, but as I peeked in, I became hesitant. A stubborn, headstrong guy like me never got hesitant, and yet here I was, anxious to enter this foreign world. I was only here because I wanted to meet this guy Mariam mentioned and ask him why the hell he converted to Islam when he could've lived a perfectly happy life without it. But then again, I had to ask myself why the hell I was here when I could've been at home playing blackjack with Trace, or even at Sam's house, getting drunk and partying hard.

"Welcome, welcome!" before I could even register what was going on, a plump man with a thick black beard and a white cap shook my hand, smiling at me. I blinked back at him, a little confused as he introduced himself as, "Abdulrahman Ali."

Before I could reply to this, his eyes travelled down to my vans, and he frowned.

"No shoes, take off now, please," he ordered, so I did as I was told, because he sure was a big man, and I didn't want to get on his beard side – I mean, bad side.

I left my vans in the corner of the doorway and the frown on his face vanished, back to his welcoming vibe. "Come eat!" he dragged me roughly by the arm across the carpet towards a double room crowded with people, men and women alike, eating from paper plates and chatting avidly in different languages. Beyond them I could see a doorway that led to the outside, and I could hear kids shouting and laughing, where more people were gathered. I noticed that there were a few people here who didn't look Muslim at all, in fact, there was a guy with tattoos on his arms and a woman with bright pink hair speaking to a woman in hijab, and there were a few others too who stood out, like me.

"You not Muslim, yes?" the man asked me as he began serving me some rice onto my own paper plate, handing it to me with a fork.

I nodded. "No, I'm not Muslim," I admitted, scooping up some rice and grilled chicken because I was so hungry, and as soon as it hit my taste buds I groaned. "This is amazing!"

"My wife made it," the man beamed proudly. "What your name, young man?"

"Damian," I said while shovelling the rice in my mouth. The spicy flavours burst on my tongue and warmed me up as I swallowed, and I was more concentrated on eating than anything else. I almost forgot where I was, and who I was surrounded with.

"Damian, are you wanting to become Muslim?" Abdu-whatever asked me, and for a second I was stumped. So stumped that I choked on my rice.

"No," I coughed, and he began slapping my back so hard I was sure I heard my spine crack.

Abdu just smiled at me, and said, "Good luck, young man," before leaving me to fend for myself. Once he was gone, I missed his fatherly presence. Now I felt awkward, and a few older women in hijab were eyeing me suspiciously, as if I was going to do something bad. I let my eyes wander around to the other people in this room gorging on food, and spotted someone familiar – Yaz.

As soon as I made eye contact with her, she approached me, nibbling on some brown meatball over a napkin. It was still strange to see her wearing a scarf on her head, but I got used to it now, I guess. "Damian! I didn't know you were coming," she winked at me, and I puckered my brow, baffled as to why she was speaking sarcastically. Then I realized that Mariam must have told her what she told me. Those two were always gossiping. Gossiping about me.

"Let me guess, Mariam told you?" I voiced my suspicions, and Yaz's eyes widened.

"No, of course not," Yaz laughed it off. "Okay, maybe she did," she admitted soon after. "But Mission CTBB –" she suddenly cut herself off, smacking a palm to her forehead.

I cocked an eyebrow. "What is Mission CTBB?"