Damian's POV

"La ilaaha ilallah," I repeated the Imam's words after him, which meant, "There is no God but Allah."

"Muhammadu rasulallah." And Muhammad is His Messenger.

After I said this last part of the Shahada, the Imam and a few other men in the room bearing witness shook my hand, congratulating me and beaming bearded smiles, slapping me on the back, one of them even hugging me. Among these men was the same guy who I first encountered when I stepped foot in this mosque a couple months ago, Abdurrahman Ali I think his name was, and here he was again at my conversion.

"Welcome to the Muslim brotherhood, Damian," Abdurrahman grinned at me as he shook my hand vigorously. "Your name is also an Arabic name, by the way.'"

"Really?"

"Technically, yes, it is, pronounced Damyaan," he replied.

"Close enough." Who would've thought that all this time I had an Arabic name? Not me, that's for sure. I couldn't begin to describe this feeling within me, as if everything was sliding into place like the last puzzle piece of a jigsaw. This was who I was now – a Muslim.

"How does it feel?" Nasr asked after congratulating me. It felt like an achievement, and it was all thanks to Mariam, who stood beside her brother, both siblings grinning at me. I was glad they were allowed to stay in the room too, because having people I knew here with me was comforting.

"I couldn't be happier," I responded, shooting them both a genuine smile.

The Imam turned to me and said, "So, Damian, do you know how to pray?"

I shook my head. "Can you teach me?"

The Imam smiled. "That's my job."

After making ablution for the first time in my life, I felt reborn. I had already performed the 'ghusl,' which was basically just a shower that washed away my sinful past like an Islamic baptism, before I came to the mosque, and now I was preparing myself for prayer, the water purifying me from my sins. There sure were a lot of them, and when I told the Imam about this, he said that when a man became Muslim, all his sins were wiped clean and he started afresh. I was pleased to hear this, because that was exactly what I needed. A fresh start in life. A second chance.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and I had come to the Mosque with Mariam and her brother, Nasr. Once he heard about my desire to convert he offered to drive us both, picking me up from my house. When we got out of the car Mariam turned to me with an encouraging expression, since I must have looked nervous.

"You ready?" she had asked me.

I nodded. "I was born ready."

Mariam chuckled as Nasr got out of his red car and the three of us entered the mosque. It was scattered with a few people here and there who looked up at me with curiosity as I walked in. We were led into a side room that had a few tables and chairs in it, as well as a few men from the mosque, and that's where my Testimony was pledged.

After making wudhu, I wandered into the centre of the mosque, taking in my surroundings properly as I waited for the Imam. The dome let in streams of sunlight that reflected off the walls where tapestries with Arabic writing were hung, and a few people were either sitting on the floor reading from a book or praying. Nasr was looking through some pamphlets, while Mariam was in the women's section reading Quran. I decided to approach her, and when she saw me she stood up, smirking. Hey, only I did that!

"I guess this means you lost the bet."

I shrugged. I couldn't have cared less about that silly bet. "Honestly, I don't think I lost anything. It feels like a win to me."

"See? I told you," Mariam said knowingly.

"So that's what you meant!" I recalled her saying something like, I won't be the loser here. And neither will you. "Now you get to keep your hijab."

Mariam flicked the end of her scarf over her shoulder and said, "That was the plan all along, Damian."

I chuckled, spinning around to scan the mosque for the Imam. What was taking him so long? Finally, I spotted him at the front, speaking to an old man. The Imam was younger than I expected, with barely a grey hair on his head, and an impressive beard. I stroked my own chin, wondering when I'd grow my own stubble. Curse my baby skin!

Mariam returned to her reading, which I discovered was the Quran. Well, of course, what else would she be reading in a mosque? Besides, Quran meant "The Reading" which made sense, like a lot of things in Islam.

The Imam went through the steps of "Salah" with me, teaching me the words to say and how to bow and prostrate. It took me a while to get it right, but the Imam said I could come as often as I wanted each week to learn the ways of Islam, and I agreed to do that, since I needed guidance.

The Imam led the first prayer for me, reading the words loud enough for me to hear and repeat, and every time I prostrated, I felt the blood rush to my head, but in a good way, like I was being filtered from all the bad things I had done. I found myself tearing up in the middle of it when I realized how beautiful this was, to be connecting to God and humbling myself, putting the highest part of my body to the ground, for Him. I had been so arrogant and conceited before, I wanted to go back in time and slap some sense into myself. How could I, a mere human being with so many faults, be arrogant when I hadn't created the Heavens and the Earth? How dare I, when I was so weak and vulnerable, defy the one who created me?

Mariam was right. They all were, all those Muslims I had met in the past. Religion wasn't pointless. Religion wasn't stupid. This feeling within me – this feeling of peace and serenity and silence – was what I had been craving for, and I hadn't even known it. Islam had gave me hope, it really had, and now all I wanted to do was share it with the ones I loved the most – my parents. And I was no longer afraid. As long as I had God, or Allah as they called Him, I was fearless, because God had my back. And I vowed right there and then in the Mosque to never turn my back on Him, no matter how hard life got, because that was probably one of the worst things we could do – give up on the One who never gave up on us.

***

"Guess what, Dad? I'm a Muslim now," I went ahead and just said it, waiting for his reaction.

Dad just laughed. "That's very funny, son."

I frowned. Did he really think this was a joke? I was immediately transported back to when I first divulged the news on Mum's diagnosis, and I clenched my fists. "I'm not kidding, Dad. I went to the mosque today and now I'm a Muslim revert."

Dad's eyebrows shot up into his receding hairline. I noticed then how old he seemed, older than his age of forty eight. The wrinkles on his face were more prominent now, especially from the lack of sleep he gets by staying with Mum in the hospital every night. Sometimes I'd stay over, or Aunt Kate, taking turns so that we'd each get some rest, but Dad was suffering the most out of all of us. Tonight, Aunt Kate was staying with Mum, so Dad and I got to relax at home.

"Well, Damian, if that's the case, then good for you," Dad said wearily, contradicting the reaction I had originally anticipated.

"Really?" I sat beside him on the couch, my eyes flicking to the television, which was on ads. Why was Dad watching ads?

Dad nodded, swallowing so his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. I wondered why we called it that when it had nothing to do with the apple or whatever fruit Adam had ate from the forbidden tree.

"Dad, are you okay? You seem a bit out of it," I nudged his shoulder with mine, studying his profile. He had a bit of stubble along his jaw, and dark shadows under his eyes.

"I'm fine, son, just tired, that's all," Dad murmured, leaning back on the leather couch.

I reached over and switched off the TV, since he had seemed to be hypnotised by those ads. My dad, the businessman, hated ads and anything that involved promoting products shamelessly. But that didn't stop him from doing the same.

"Dad, you're not fine, don't give me that bullshit," as soon as I said it, I instantly regretted swearing. It made my mouth feel dirty. Wow, I had really turned into a goody, goody, hadn't I?

Dad ran a hand over his face and sighed. "It's been hard for me, Damian. I'm trying to stay strong for your sake, but I'm getting tired. Tired of all of this..." Dad groaned, burying his face into his hands and resting his elbows on his knees.

"I know, Dad, I know," I muttered, patting his back. I didn't realize he was crying until his shoulders began shaking, so I wrapped an arm around him, surprised when he returned the hug, crying openly into my shoulder. I was a little taken aback, since my Dad rarely cried, but I guess he wasn't completely heartless like I used to think. He cared. He cared deeply. And I cared about him.

"So you became a Muslim," Dad said, wiping his eyes after we pulled apart. He seemed to want to change the subject, so I let him, telling him all about my journey, and how I did it to find solace in Mum's illness.

"Well, you know I was never a really religious person but there were times I did pray to God to go easy on Karen, you know?" Dad found himself confessing. "It helped, to pray."

"It does," I agreed. "But there's something about the way they pray in Islam that's so much stronger, so much more powerful, than just looking up to the sky with hands clasped and whispering words in vain."

Dad gazed at me curiously. "When did you grow up so fast, Damian? I feel like I missed it all."

I laughed, but it was a sad sound. "Well, I was growing up right in front you, but you never took care to notice, Dad."

Dad's eyes drooped at the edges as he gripped my shoulders. "It seems like you did a good job growing up all by yourself anyway, but that's no excuse for me to neglect you. You're my life, Damian, you and me together, you're all I have left."

"Hey, don't talk like that, Mum's still alive," I brushed his hands off my shoulders, but he re-attached them, forcing me to look at him.

"We can't deny the inevitable, Damian, but just so you know, I will always be here for you, okay? And to be honest, the fact that you're a Muslim now doesn't bother me as it would've a year ago," Dad said with a shaky laugh. "I've gone soft, haven't I?"

"Illness does that to you," I murmured. It wasn't just Mum who was affected – everyone around her was too, and it seemed to make us stop and think about our lives and what we were doing with them. In the end, we were all going to die, so why should we deny the inevitable, like Dad had said? We might as well live in the right way, the way we were supposed to, and I chose Islam to be my way of life. So what if it was new to me? I loved new things.

"I wonder what your Mum will think when you tell her about your conversion," Dad said. "Unless you're planning on hiding it from her?"

I shook my head with a smile. "No way, Dad. I can't hide something like this, and honestly, I don't want to."

Dad gazed at me as if he was looking at me for the first time. "I can't believe you're still the same boy who brought home a different girl each week. Damn, you've changed!"

"For the better," I added.

"Are you serious about this? I mean, it's not some phase you're going through, is it?" Dad asked.

"No, nothing like that. Once you enter Islam, it's difficult to leave," I replied.

Dad frowned. "And why is that? Will they kill you if you leave?"

I laughed long and hard at my Dad's words. I think it was about time I educated him! "Of course not, Dad, they're not murderers. In fact, quite the opposite. It's just that, Islam is such a beautiful peaceful religion, who would want to leave something so peaceful and beautiful?" I said softly.

Dad raised his eyebrows. "Is it really? Because all I've heard is bad things about that religion."

"Don't listen to the media, Dad, they're just brainwashing us from seeing the truth," I said astutely. "And if you actually did some research on it, you'd find that Islam is the purest and closest thing to truth that I've heard in a long time."

"What made you interested in this religion in the first place? Do you know any Muslims personally?" Dad asked.

"I do, actually, I know a few," I replied. "But the funny thing about this all was that it all started with a bet."

"A bet?" Dad repeated with a laugh. "Oh, Damian, you are just like your father."

"I know," I grinned, and this fact didn't bother me like it used to. In fact, I felt proud to be like my father. Yeah, he had made mistakes in the past, but hadn't we all? And I believed in second chances, especially when I had been given one so graciously, a chance at paradise. And maybe someday, I would convince my Dad to convert too, so we'd both get a chance at paradise together.

***

Mariam's POV

I decided to visit Karen with Yasmine, since I didn't want to go alone. It was a Sunday, the day after Damian converted, and he had texted me the room number Karen was in so we could find it ourselves. Nasr had driven me here, while Yasmine caught the tram. We met up at noon sharp, and entered the hospital together.

"I remember when my grandma had pancreatic cancer," Yasmine told me while we were in the elevator. "My whole family suffered because of it. It was a tough time for all of us, but I hope she's resting in peace now."

"Inna lillahi wa inna Ilayhi raji'oon," I said, which meant, "To Allah we belong and to Him is our return."

Yasmine nodded, glancing down at the floor with a melancholic look in her eyes. "I miss her, Mariam. I think about her all the time. I was her favourite grandchild, and I loved her so much," she whispered.

I put an arm around her as the elevator doors opened to our floor and I kept it there as we walked down the hallway. We had wanted to buy flowers for Damian's mother, but Damian told us not to do that because it could affect her respiratory and the doctors forbade flowers in the rooms of cancer patients because of the risk of 'fungal spores.' So we settled with buying her a beautiful scarf to keep her head warm for the winter, since apparently Damian's mum loved to wear scarves.

"I guess we have one thing in common!" I had joked.

Now, Yasmine and I stepped into Karen's room tentatively, and sure enough, Damian was inside sitting in the chair by the window, doing homework on the portable table. He turned to us with a wide smile.

"You came," he whispered. We nodded, turning to Karen, who was asleep in her bed. My heart ached to see her so gaunt and pale, her head wrapped in a spotted blue and red fabric, a nasal cannula supplying her with oxygen and an IV drip giving her antibiotics and nutrients. No one should have to live like this.

Yasmine had her mouth covered with a hand as she took in Karen, and tears glistened in her eyes. "Oh, God," she mumbled.

"Does she always sleep?" I asked Damian in a low voice so as not to wake her.

Damian nodded. "She's getting weaker everyday because of all the medicine. She only wakes three times a day to eat, go to the toilet and talk with us." He swallowed, obviously fighting back tears. "I'm sorry you have to see her like this."

"It's okay," I whispered. Yasmine crouched down beside Karen and stared at her with a tear sliding down her cheek, and we watched as she touched a hand to Karen's arm and murmured under her breath, probably praying for her.

"I got her a scarf," I held up the gift bag in my hands, and Damian smiled at it, taking it from me and placing it on the table.

"I'm sure she'll love it," he said softly, and in that moment I wished I could hug Damian and give him some sort of comfort, but of course I couldn't hug a boy so instead I offered him a sympathetic smile, glancing at my feet until I heard a voice.

"Damian, who are these two lovely girls?" It was Karen, and she had awoken.

I went to her side shyly and gave her a small smile, to which she returned as best she could. Her eyes were a dull blue – almost grey – colour, yet I could still see the glint of life in them, dwindling, but still there, like a faraway star.

"You remember Mariam," Damian gestured to me, and Karen nodded.

"Yes, how could I forget such a beautiful girl," she beamed, and I blushed with flattery, despite myself. She turned to Yasmine. "And you are...?"

"Yasmine, Mariam's best friend," Yasmine introduced herself.

"You two have really nice names," Karen complimented. "My name sounds so plain and boring compared to yours!"

Yasmine and I laughed at her small joke, surprised she still had the energy to make one. Damian laughed too, but it sounded like he was forcing it for his mother's sake.

"I take it that you are the girls who influenced my son," Karen said lightly. "Damian is constantly talking about you two."

"Mum!" Damian protested, and Yasmine and I giggled.

Karen grinned at the two of us. "I love embarrassing my son, it's one of the perks of being a mum," she stage-whispered behind a hand. I glanced at Damian, laughing when I saw his furious expression. Karen noticed this too, for she said, "Hey, just because I'm sick doesn't mean I can't do what all mums were made to do."

Damian rolled his eyes, hiding a smile.

"We got you a gift," I brought the gift bag over and handed it to Karen, whose entire face lit up when she drew out the colourful purple, rose and blue scarf.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, and I noticed a few tears in her eyes as she looked up at Yasmine and I. "Thank you so much."

"Our pleasure," Yasmine replied. "It's the least we could do, since we're all about the scarves."

Karen laughed. "I can see. I love them, by the way. Very stylish," she pointed to the ones we were wearing now, and we thanked her for her kind compliments.

Lunch was delivered for Karen and while she slurped her hot vegetable soup, we all had a conversation about religion. Now that the bet was over, it felt like my life had no purpose anymore, like I forgot how to return to before the bet, when all I had to worry about was school. I could just relax and not worry about trying to show Damian the best aspects of Islam, because it seemed he found them all by himself. When I had broken the news to Fatima and Zeinab they had squealed and we celebrated by having a dance party in my bedroom. Yasmine couldn't be there for the dance party, but at least she was here today with me, paying a visit to Damian's mother.

"I have no problem with Damian being a Muslim. It seems like it's made him a better person," Karen said after finishing her soup. "And as long as he is happy, so am I."

"Thanks, Mum," Damian beamed.

Then Damian's aunt came in and after greeting her, Yasmine and I left. Damian followed us out into the hall.

"Thank you once again for visiting. Mum looked happier than she had in a long time," Damian said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"We're glad we made her happy," Yasmine said brightly. "And our prayers are with your mum, always."

Damian nodded, glancing at his feet. Yesterday at the mosque, the Imam had given him a prayer mat and a copy of the Quran translated in English, as well as a kufi, which Damian had tried on yesterday in the car. It actually suited him.