Damian's POV

"What are your thoughts on Islam?"

Tracey probably wasn't expecting me to ask that as we ate our muffins we bought from the hospital café in the courtyard, the clouds above threatening to rain later. She looked up at me with a shrug. "I don't have any," she replied, but her tone said otherwise.

I leaned my elbows on the cold metal table and pinched a chocolate chip off the top of my muffin, popping it into my mouth. "I'm sure you do," I pressed.

Tracey scrutinized me behind her glasses, a stray wisp of blonde hair blowing across her cheek. "Why are you asking? Is it for school or something?"

"No," I responded with a shake of my head, tearing off chunks of my muffin because I knew if I bit into it with my mouth I'd get chocolate everywhere and Tracey would spend the rest of the afternoon fussing over me like a little kid. "Nothing like that."

"Then why the sudden interest?" Tracey inquired, gracefully nibbling into her blueberry muffin. How were girls able to eat so neatly? Or maybe they only did that in front of other people.

"There's no interest," I shot back in a slightly indignant tone. Tracey cocked an eyebrow. "Okay, fine, I'll tell you why," I caved in so easily. Tracey had that effect on me so that I wanted to tell her everything. She was after all the sister I never had. And it was about time I told someone about this...bet.

"I never pegged you for the type of guy to be interested in religion, but I guess I was wrong," Tracey remarked after I finished briefly recounting what I had been doing for the past three months. "However, has your interest in Islam got anything to do with the girl you betted with?"

"What do you mean?" I asked suspiciously. She had a sly look on her face and I didn't want to think it was because she thought something was going on, since there wasn't.

"Oh, come on, is she pretty? I'm sure that's why you're so keen, Damian, because you would never do something for another girl unless she was a babe," The more Tracey spoke, the more I started to realize she was right, in a way. I never took interest in anything other than the girls' looks, so the fact that I was talking about religion and deeper concepts other than what parties we had gone to was the complete opposite of what I used to do.

"I'm not doing it because she's pretty, Tracey, it's more to do with...with Mum," I choked the last word out, and the mischievous gleam in Tracey's eyes faded, as did her smile.

"Oh."

"When I found out about Mum, I just kept blaming God and how unfair He was being, you know? And Mariam – the Muslim girl – she's really religious and stuff, so I wanted to challenge her religion, and see what it's about, and if it's even worth it," I explained.

"You do love a good challenge, Damian," Tracey smiled. "But why would you get into a bet with this girl? Do you like her or something? You seem to be in touch with her a lot."

I felt my cheeks heat up, despite myself. Since when did I, Damian Brewer, blush? But it was the way Tracey was saying it, and gazing at me with a knowing smile, that made me feel embarrassed. "I don't like her, okay? Why does everyone think I like every girl I talk to? I'm not a player, Trace."

Tracey laughed. "Judging from your past, Damian, I think you are quite the player."

"Not anymore," I muttered.

Tracey frowned. "And why is that? Not that I'm totally proud of you for stopping, because you broke so many girls' hearts in the past."

She was right. I did. After Samantha, I went out with a few other girls, some from Redwood High, some from other schools, and it would only take a few months before I got sick of them and we broke up, whether it was for mutual reasons or because we liked someone else. It was usually the latter.

Now, like I had told Sam at the party, it felt good to be single. Who needed girls anyway? They were more headache than they were worth, and though I had had my flings, I suddenly didn't feel the need to do that anymore. Especially when the girls were so eager to please, and so easy to tease. I loved a good challenge.

"I'm just trying to focus on my studies," I responded instead, causing Tracey to burst out laughing.

"Oh, Damian, you crack me up. Since when have you been interested in your studies?"

I scowled, feeling offended. It was only because of Mum's diagnosis that I was seeing Tracey more often, but before that, we didn't see each other in months, sometimes years. And whenever we did see each other, I would always leave the same impression – an insolent, cheeky boy with no shame and a lot of girlfriends. Though I was trying to break out from that mould I had created for myself, Tracey still thought of me in that way.

"I'm in Year Twelve, don't you think I should be focusing more instead of chasing after girls?" I snapped.

"Well, you're sort of chasing after a girl now, aren't you?" Tracey pointed out through a bite of her muffin.

"All for a good cause, of course," I insisted.

"So are you actually going to convert to Islam?"

Tracey's question took me by surprise, mostly because I never considered it. Converting. Why did that seem so scary? Like crossing boundaries, changing faiths, changing myself. Wasn't I too young for all that? Yet all this time, I was claiming I was a 'man' and a 'grown up' and 'old enough.' I was a walking oxymoron.

"What if I did?" I challenged, suppressing my uncertainties.

Tracey raised her eyebrows. "Well, I think that would be a very interesting spiritual experience, wouldn't it?"

"The more I learn about Islam, the more I want to be a part of it," I confessed my inner thoughts, and Tracey didn't show any sign of judgement. She just listened. That was what I loved about her. She at least gave me a chance to explain myself. "It's not about killing and terrorism, as everyone believes. And the book has a lot of science in it, like legitimate facts that can be proven today, such as the expansion of space, and the development of the foetus in the womb."

"I know that," Tracey nodded. "I also know that daughters are considered a blessing, not a burden, in Islam, and that women are respected and have a very high status." When I looked at her blankly, she added, "I did an essay about women's rights back in year eleven, and I included Islam's view on women, since what I found was very enlightening."

"So you do have thoughts about Islam," I chuckled.

"I guess I do, and on the most part, they're positive," Tracey said. "Which is why I totally support your decision to convert."

"Whoa, hang on, I haven't decided anything!" I cried.

"So what's stopping you?" Tracey asked with an arched eyebrow, resting her chin on her hands.

I hesitated. What was stopping me? I had clearly changed so much in the past three months, my head felt like it had been cleansed from all the negative thoughts I used to have on Islam. But then I remembered why I was so reluctant to do anything about my newfound interest – my parents. Funny since my mum was partly why I proposed this bet. I needed faith to help me through this tough time, and now that I was so close to it, I had a feeling the only reason I wasn't diving forward was because I was afraid of my parents' judgement. Especially Dad's.

"If it's because of Uncle Darren and Auntie Karen, don't worry about them," Tracey continued, as if reading my mind. "It's all about what you want, and what makes you happy."

"No it's not, Trace, and that's the problem," I grumbled. "Mum's a die-hard Christian, and Dad doesn't like Muslims. I asked him about what he thought the other day, and he said they were all bloody terrorists!"

"Don't forget you used to think that way, and look where you are now," Tracey pointed out.

"But my dad's not me, and I'm not him," I stated firmly. "You thought I was stubborn? Imagine trying to convince my dad. He's a businessman, he can't afford changing his mind all the time. He's rock solid...just like my abs," I added as a joke, and it worked, making Tracey chuckle as I rubbed my stomach. Thanks a lot Aidan!

"You're his son. Whatever you do, he should be proud of you regardless. And I'm proud of you too, whatever religion you want to be," Tracey said soothingly, placing a hand on mine across the table. She peered at me with serene blue eyes that tamed the beast of frustration in my head, and I smiled. My cousin sure had a way of making me feel better.

I glanced at my phone, surprised to see how fast the time passed. It was already past three p.m. and there was a few droplets of rain slitting the air.

"We better head back inside," I suggested, standing up and crumpling the muffin liner in my fist. Tracey did the same.

As we stepped into the warmth of the hospital, wondering why we ever left it, I thought of how we'd have to return to Mum, who was getting worse every day. She had been in hospital for two weeks now, and everyday we'd visit her. I didn't know how I was going to face her again, and see her frail little body in the bed, breathing in from a tube and clinging on to life like a raindrop clings to a leaf. It was too painful to sit by her bed and not be able to do anything to lessen the pain she was in. I felt so helpless, and it was times like these that I just prayed to God, Please help her get better, please let her live. Don't do it for me, do it for her. And every time I did, I had a feeling He heard me, because every day Mum smiled, however faint the smile was, and every day she kept on fighting. Though I knew there would come a day when she wouldn't be able to fight anymore.

We were in the elevator when Tracey touched my arm and looked up at me, since I was a good ten centimetres taller than her. "Everything will be alright in the end," she told me, and for a second I wanted to believe her. But according to Mariam, God only knew, and in the end, we would all return to Him. But I wasn't ready to let Mum go. Not yet.

***

Mariam's POV

"What's he doing here?" Denise asked disdainfully.

Theo had brought along Damian, for who knows why, and we three girls had been perfectly fine by ourselves until they showed up. However, as Damian offered me a smile which I returned, I didn't mind the idea of Theo inviting him to join us too much. Damian was no longer the cocky annoying jerk he used to be. Well, he was still annoying, but he wasn't cocky. Most of the time.

"Make him welcome, ladies, he's my best bro," Theo slapped Damian on the back, making Damian wince while grinning at the three of us.

Denise scrutinized Theo. "Since when were you –"

"Oh, come on, Denise, give him a chance," Theo flashed a grin especially for her, and Denise turned away quickly, splotches of red forming on her creamy white cheeks. Though Yaz and I had teased and hinted relentlessly about their secret love for each other, they still refused to admit their feelings. So most of our lunch times involved tension of a certain kind between the two, insulting each other like always, but underneath the insults, there were smiles and winks and lighthearted teasing.

"Fine," Denise sighed, and Damian seated himself on the grass beside me while Theo sat on his other side so we formed some sort of lopsided circle.

"Hi, Damian," Yasmine waved at him, beaming.

Damian waved back. "Hey, Yaz." He then turned to me, in the middle of taking a gigantic bite of my carrot and cheese sandwich, and smirked. "Salam, Virgin Mary."

Yep, he still called me by that nickname. Though I didn't hate it, it was getting kind of old. Like, two millenniums old.

"Salam, Damian," I returned. Denise and Theo looked between us with incredulous expressions on their faces. I just shrugged at them.

"Have you started the physics assignment?" Damian asked me.

"No," I admitted sheepishly.

Damian laughed. "I guess we've swapped, cause I already started it last night."

"Well, we only just got it yesterday," I said in my defence.

"I want to do well, so the sooner the better, right?" Damian said, leaning on his palm and gazing at me. I broke the gaze by focusing on my sandwich and the conversation Theo was having with my friends.

"No, tomato sauce is better," he asserted. "It goes with everything. Even popcorn."

"Popcorn? I swear, Theo, you are so weird," Denise shook her head in disbelief.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it!" Theo exclaimed cheerfully.

"But you gotta admit, coleslaw is the best salad dressing," I joined in on the condiment debate, no matter how frivolous it was.

"How about hummus? You're forgetting your roots, Mims!" Yaz cried desperately, and we all laughed.

"Hummus is alright, but I wouldn't put it in a sandwich," I replied.

"I would," Theo chimed in.

"Of course, coming from the guy who put peanut butter, barbecue chips and cheese in the same sandwich!" Damian laughed.

"When did you do that?" I gaped at Theo.

"Last year," Theo shrugged.

"Why am I not surprised?" Denise muttered.

And our conversations went on from there until the bell rung. The next day, the same thing happened. This continued on for four days, and at the end of one lunch time, as we all walked back up to the lockers, I asked Damian the question that had been bugging my mind.

"Is your mum doing alright?"

"She's still in hospital," Damian replied with an air of defeat.

"I'd like to visit her," I blurted out, and Damian turned to me with pinched eyebrows.

"You don't want to do that," he stated.

"Why not?" I asked.

"It's too sad for someone like you," Damian murmured as we ascended the stairs. I wondered what he meant by "someone like you."

I was still working my volunteering shift at the hospital every Saturday morning, so I had seen enough at that hospital to prepare me for my medical career, In Sha Allah. Therefore, nothing was too sad for me. I could handle it...couldn't I?

"Okay," I eventually said, because if he didn't want me to visit his mother, then I should respect his decision.

"What? You're not going to argue?" Damian sounded surprised.

"I'm done arguing," I shrugged. I really was. How many times Damian and I got into disputes about religion and other aspects of life, yet it was too much energy and effort. Sometimes you just had to accept things and move on.

"You can visit her, if you want," Damian said as he unlocked his locker. I let him go first because I was feeling nice. "I'm sure she'd love to see you again."

I raised my eyebrows at this. "Oh, really?" It had been a while since I had last seen her, that day I was delivering the towels and Damian's friends had also been in the room. But this time would be different.

Damian peered up at me, aquamarine eyes so intense I had to lower my gaze. It was hard not to get lost in eyes as beautiful as those. Wait, what was I thinking?

"Yes, really. I told her about you."

I definitely wasn't expecting him to say that. "Why would you do that?" I asked tentatively. It felt strange to know that other people talked about me, but what could Damian possibly say about me? Good things, I hoped.

"Because you're important," Damian replied, locking eyes with mine. "You changed me, Mariam. You made me see the light."

I bit back a smile at how cheesy he was being. "The light?" I echoed.

"Yeah, the light of Islam," Damian replied. "I couldn't have gotten through this dark period without you. So thanks."

"You're welcome?" Who would've thought Damian Brewer would be thanking me for helping him with something so personal and tough? I certainly didn't.

"But it's not over," Damian continued as he balanced his books on his arm. "And that's why I still need you to help me."

"What do you need help with?" I inquired. I was willing to help with anything, if that meant making others happy.

Damian turned to me again, shutting his locker and rising to his feet. "I need you to help me convert to Islam."