"Urgh, I think I ate too much cake," Zeinab moaned with a hand on her stomach.

"Alhamdulillah," I told her to say.

"I wish I could empty my stomach without throwing up, you know? Like just reach in and take some stuff out," Zeinab mused.

I blinked at her. "That's so gross, Zay."

Zeinab laughed, and I laughed with her, because even though she said the strangest and silliest things, she was my sister and I loved her.

We were sitting on my bed, talking like old times. Which wasn't that long ago, but it felt like weeks. I was eighteen now, and Zeinab was still fifteen, turning sixteen in October. It felt weird to be eighteen, but at the same time it felt right. For many people in this country, eighteen meant independence, and alcohol, and being legal. For me, it was just another year in my life where I thank Allah for everything and everyone I have.

Nasr passed my bedroom, then retraced his steps, poking his head in. "What are you girls up to?" he asked, strolling in.

"Girl stuff," we replied simultaneously.

Nasr launched himself onto my bed, causing us all to jump a few centimetres in the air, and crossed his legs. I stifled a laugh at how out of place he looked on my bright pink bedsheets that I had had since I was eleven.

"Hey, what happened to your secret meetings? What were they even about, anyway?" Nasr asked.

Nasr didn't know about Mission CTBB, nor did he know exactly how Damian had come about to Islam, except that I had had something to do with it, somehow.

"They were about Damian," Zeinab answered bluntly.

Nasr raised his eyebrows. "Really? So are you saying that you four girls were giggling and chatting and acting all secretive because of a boy?" Nasr let out a laugh at our sheepish expressions. When he put it that way...

"We were coming up with ways to win the bet," Zeinab explained, and I froze. I had never told Nasr about the bet, and Nasr furrowed his brow.

"Bet? What bet?" Nasr fixed his eyes on me. "Is that what that was all about? You made a bet with the bad boy?"

I snorted at the nickname 'bad boy.' It seemed so long ago since Damian was referred to as that. Now his new reputation was as a Muslim revert. Word spread around quickly about his conversion and honestly, Damian didn't care who knew. When people made terrorist remarks and stuff about Damian being the next Aussie teenager to join ISIS, Damian challenged them directly and even got into a few scuffles, but other than that, no one really cared. Most of the girls gave me dirty looks though, but I didn't care either. Word had got around about me having something to do with Damian becoming a Muslim, and I had heard quite a few outrageous rumours about us, but it was all for the sake of Allah in the end. And that was what gave me comfort.

So I recounted to Nasr the whole bet story, and every time I told it, I couldn't believe how much had happened during these past four months.

Nasr couldn't believe it either.

"You never cease to amaze me, little sis. You're growing up so fast," he pretended to choke back a sob.

"Oh, stop it, you big softie," I shoved my brother lightly on the shoulder, which was probably a big mistake because he shoved me back, and I bumped into poor Zeinab, who was almost falling off the bed.

"Aaaah!" she screamed in the midst of laughter, and Nasr and I had to grab each of her arms and haul her back onto the bed. Zeinab fell on top of us, and we all started laughing.

"Get off you fatty!" I pushed her off me, and she ended up stuck on Nasr, who attacked her sides with tickles. I watched Zeinab shriek with laughter with a nostalgic smile, trying to remember when was the last time the three of us were here like this together, the Barakat siblings, devoid of any technology or distractions that would otherwise keep us apart. This was how families used to be, just hanging out without anything but each other, and I suddenly wished to live in a time like that.

"Come here, birthday girl, you think you'd get away with it?" I had been so caught up in watching Nasr torture Zeinab that I forgot that I was also a vulnerable target, and before I could crawl off the bed Nasr tickled me too, hitting all my weak spots.

"Am I dreaming or are my children actually getting along?" Baba walked in to my room followed by Immi. They usually watched their Turkish shows in the living room while us kids holed up in our bedrooms, so the fact that they left their show to check on their children was a surprise to say the least.

"Help, Baba!" I cried, tears streaming down my face from all my laughter.

"Nasr, leave your sister alone, it's her birthday," Baba tried to scold but the amusement coated his words. Nasr left me alone finally, and our parents stood over the three of us, watching us with smiles.

"First of all, here's your present," Immi handed me a silver box, and I gasped after opening the lid.

"Makeup?" Was this for real? I looked up at each of my parents' faces, wondering why they would give an eighteen year old Muslim girl makeup out of all things.

"We trust that you won't make your face a cake," Baba said, and Zeinab, Nasr and I laughed simultaneously.

"I think you mean cake face, Baba," Zeinab giggled.

Baba laughed heartily. "Oh, yes, that's what I meant to say."

"You can experiment at home, but at school, it's a no-no," Immi said sternly, and I nodded obediently.

"Yes, ma'am!" I saluted her.

"We know you never do anything for yourself, Mariam, so it's okay to have a little something to make you feel good," Immi told me, kissing my cheek.

I remembered Damian saying something similar on Saturday. Did I really not think about myself? I guess I didn't, because I was busy trying to earn the pleasure of Allah and in order to do that I had to sacrifice a lot of things. I didn't glam myself up with jewellery or wear makeup or fancy clothes. All those things were material, and since I had reconnected with my faith, I had stopped caring about worldly belongings. But I guess it couldn't hurt to have a few nice things, right?

"Jazakallhu khair, Immi," I beamed at her.

"I paid for it," Baba added in a whisper behind his hand, so I went up to give him a hug.

"Thank you, Baba, jazakallah," I said into his chest, for he was a good head taller than me.

Baba laughed, patting my back, and I listened to his heart throbbing in his chest, grateful for that continuous sound that had kept me safe all my life. I hugged Immi in turn and as I did my eyes welled up with tears from how thankful I was to have my parents loving me and caring me and protecting me since I was born.

But my tears were also for the future that we all knew would come one day, but we all tried to ignore it and live our lives without thinking about it. I couldn't imagine a day without Immi or Baba. I didn't want to. It scared me. And I couldn't imagine how Damian must feel, knowing that he could lose his mum any day now.

My tears fell for him, his mother, and my own, who know peered at me at arm's length with concern.

"Why are you crying, Mariam?" she asked gently.

"I just love you, that's all," I replied, wiping my eyes.

"Now who's the big softie?" Nasr teased from behind. I almost forgot he was there, as well as Zeinab, who was watching me with a worried expression.

"I'm okay," I sniffled, letting out a shaky laugh. I couldn't believe I was crying in front of my family! But I wasn't embarrassed.

"You sure, binti?" Baba asked.

I nodded, smiling brightly. "Yes!"

"In that case, bedtime, ya awlaad," Baba ordered. "You've got school tomorrow."

We all groaned.

***

"Denise Scarlett Matthews."

"Uh-oh," Denise stared wide-eyed at Theo, who had just spoken her full name. The funny and probably intentional part about her name was that her middle name was Scarlett, the colour of her hair. "Am I in trouble? Because whenever my parents say my full name, it's usually because I did something wrong," she rambled.

Theo laughed, amused by her, and shook his head. "First of all, I'm not your parents, and second of all, you didn't do anything wrong. Yet," he added mysteriously, making us all confused.

"Bro, stop scaring her and spit it out already!" Damian urged in exasperation.

"Spit what out?" Yasmine whispered to me, fingers covering her mouth in anticipation. Then she gasped. "Oh my Allah, is he going to -"

"Denise," Theo said again, and Denise looked up at him expectantly.

"Yes, Theodore?"

We all laughed at his full name. It never got old. And we never failed to mention that there was a fat chipmunk called Theodore too, which described Theo perfectly, except he wasn't fat.

Theo scowled at us, before continuing. "Denise, how do you feel about pizza?"

Damian groaned. "Dude, don't mention pizza, I'm fasting here!"

"Yeah!" Yasmine cried in agreement. I shushed them both. Couldn't they see there was a moment happening here?

"I love pizza," Denise replied a little breathlessly.

"Good, because you've stolen a pizza my heart," Theo gripped his own heart dramatically, while Denise rolled her eyes, biting back a laugh.

"Oh, man," Damian laughed loudly. "That was -"

"Cheesy? Yeah, I know," Theo also laughed, but his eyes were on Denise, who finally let out a laugh.

"You are so bad, Theo," she shook her head with a smile.

"Why, thank you," Theo grinned. "So whaddaya say? Me, you, pizza, and a movie. Your choice."

Denise's mouth formed an 'o.' "Wait, are you serious?"

"As serious as Sirius Black," Theo replied with a wink. That seemed to work on Denise, since she loved the Harry Potter books and movies.

"Okay?" Denise answered finally with a shaky laugh.

"Is that a question or an answer?" Theo asked desperately.

Denise nodded. "It's an answer," she replied, unable to stop the smile across her face.

Theo flopped down onto the grass with a sigh of relief, mopping his forehead with the back of his hand dramatically. "Oh, thank God."

Yasmine immediately pounced on Denise with a hug, screaming out indistinct words that sounded like, "OhemgeeIamsoexcitedforyoufinallyyouhavenoideahowlongIhavewaitedforthis!"

Theo rose back up and received a slap on the back from Damian, who congratulated him. "Well done, mate."

"Thanks, Damian," Theo sounded like he had just played a long soccer game - out of breath and exhausted.

"What took you so long?" I asked Theo.

Theo looked at me sheepishly. "Honestly, I was afraid."

"Afraid?" I chuckled. I glanced at Denise and Yasmine, who were talking about what to wear for the 'date.' I was pretty sure eating pizza didn't require wearing some fancy dress, but whatever.

Theo leaned in to whisper, "Yeah, I mean, Denise is...Denise, you know? I was scared she'd reject me."

I exchanged a look with Damian as if to say, "Is he serious right now?"

"Why would she reject you, man? You're Theodore Papadakis!" Damian said encouragingly, before bursting out laughing. "Sorry, man, your name's just too funny."

"Not helping," I hissed.

"Exactly, that's the problem, I'm Theo, and she's Denise, and we're so different," Theo ignored Damian's jibe at his name, though I could tell he wanted to hurt Damian physically, and that was just on a regular basis.

"Haven't you ever heard of opposites attract?" I reminded him.

Theo grinned mischievously at me. "Haven't you?" he shot back, and I cocked an eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, but I never got an answer, for the bell rang, and we all rose up from the grass, brushing off our bottoms.

"I'll pick you up at seven?" Theo said to Denise as we walked up.

"Tonight?" Denise cried incredulously.

"Well, yeah, it's a Friday, isn't it? Plus, my bro has to drive us," Theo added sheepishly. "But other than that, it'll be just you and me, and the pizza, of course."

"Can't forget the pizza," Denise laughed. "What movie are we seeing?"

"Whatever you want, like I said, it's your choice," Theo answered, and Denise beamed up at him.

"Things are gonna get real weird," Damian whispered to me.

"And why is that?" I inquired.

"Well, look at them, they're our friends, right? And if they start dating, it's just going to split up our group, and then it'll be just you, me and Yaz," Damian explained as we reached our lockers.

"Hey, it won't ruin our friendship," Yasmine chimed in as she unlocked her lock. "We'll still be the awesome four - I mean fivesome that we were before."

"Don't you mean, befive?" I joked.

Yasmine just shook her head at me, while Damian let out a snort of laughter. "Don't even try, Mariam. Just don't."

"Okay," I said meekly.

***

Damian's POV

Every time I stepped into the mosque I felt a feeling of absolute bliss wash over me. I never felt that way when I stepped into a church, because I was wearing too tight clothes that were stiff and uncomfortable, and everyone was restraining themselves and acting like someone they weren't, while the organ played chilling tunes in the background. I just never liked the vibe of church.

But here, in the mosque, the whole place was buzzing with warmth and conversation and friendliness. Even strangers greeted each other, and no one felt out of place, because we were all here for the same reason, no matter what our race or cultural background. We were all here for Allah.

"Damian, Salam, man!" Nasr greeted me with a bro hug. We had become good mates over the last month, especially now that I was Muslim. I had always looked up to him in high school, because he was so cool and athletic and smart, and now I looked up to him for advice. He didn't seem threatened by me anymore, since before he kept warning me to 'stay away from Mariam or else.'

"Salam, Nasr, how's it going?" I returned the greeting with a smile.

"Oh, you know, it's all good," Nasr replied casually.

"Alhamdulillah, right?" I said.

Nasr looked surprised for a second, before breaking into a grin. "Yeah, yeah, dude, Alhamdulillah."

I was full of surprises, wasn't I?

"Zaid, man, whassup?" I watched as Nasr clasped hands and slapped the back of Zaid, the guy I had first seen with Mariam at the hospital all those months ago. He was flashing his white teeth as he spoke to Nasr and joked around with him. They were obviously good friends. Then Zaid turned to me and gave me a nod.

"Damian," he acknowledged.

"Zaid," I tried my best to keep a straight face, but eventually we both broke into grins and greeted each other properly.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? I haven't seen you since last Friday," Zaid said.

"Yeah, I've been busy," I replied with a hand on the nape of my neck. I hadn't exactly told Zaid about my mum - only Nasr knows. I didn't want to make him pity me like everyone else did. I barely knew the guy, and I didn't want to burden him with my problems like I had done to Mariam.

"Just out of curiosity, what made you convert to Islam?" Zaid asked me.

I shrugged. "I guess it just interested me," I answered, glancing briefly at Nasr, who was watching me carefully.

"What aspect of it?" Zaid interrogated.

"All of it?" I replied.

"Cool," Zaid nodded, and we all sat down with the rest of the men in order to listen to the speakers at the front give a lecture. Today we were going to learn about marriage, which I was curious to know how it all worked in Islam. All I heard was that the parents had to arrange it or something, and no way was I letting my parents choose me a wife. But then that just reminded me of what Mum had said last Saturday, and it made me sad to think Mum might never even get the chance to see the lucky girl.

"The Prophet (SAW) says, No house has been built in Islam more beloved in the sight of Allah than through marriage. Marriage is a fulfillment of half your deen, brothers and sisters," the man at the front spoke through the microphone. "There is no celibacy in Islam, like in Roman Catholicism with the nuns and popes. No, marriage is encouraged and more of a blessing than you could ever know, for it is the sacred union of two souls who marry not for themselves, but for the sake of Allah."

I listened with interest, my ears open and my eyes closed, to the words of this man as he spoke of the beauty of marriage. The way he described it almost made me crave for it, even though I was still young and had no idea what I wanted to do with my life yet. My idea of marriage was structured around movies, mostly. Two people started dating, they fell in love and then one day the guy would propose and they become engaged. Then they broke the news to their parents and sometimes the father didn't approve of the guy or there's some drama, but then eventually they get married, buy a house, have kids, the whole shebang.

In Islam it was slightly different. Yeah, there could be love, but there was no dating prior, only chaperoned encounters for the man and woman to get to know each other. That sounded pretty awkward, but apparently when a man and woman were alone the devil was the third company.

That got me thinking to all the times Mariam and I were alone, and all those times I 'flirted' with her. She must have been trying pretty hard to resist my charms, I thought with a smirk. But I admired the fact that she guarded her modesty and didn't flaunt herself like the other girls. Wow, I never thought I'd ever think like that. I used to love when girls showed a bit of skin - or lots. But that left nothing to the imagination. And I couldn't imagine Mariam...ugh, there I go thinking about her again. Get this girl out of my head!

***

Mariam's POV

"Now I want to get married," Fatima sighed wistfully.

"Me too," Yasmine agreed, clinging to Fatima's arm.

"In Sha Allah," I contributed, holding onto Zeinab's arm.

"Yeah, it'll happen one day. Marriage is just one of those necessary evils," Zeinab said, wrinkling her nose.

"Hey, it's not that bad," I assured her.

"And how would you know, Miss I-almost-got-engaged-but-I-rejected-him-before-anything-could-happen?" Zeinab quipped. She had me there.

We walked over to the shoe racks and grabbed our shoes so we could leave. That had been one long lecture about marriage. Every night it was a different topic, sometimes it took two nights to complete one topic. Tomorrow would be a continuation of the subject. I didn't know if I wanted to find out more, but in a way, I did.

"Did that inspire you, girls?" Immi asked us as she grabbed her black flats.

"Yes, Ms. Barakat!" Yasmine exclaimed.

Immi's eyes twinkled. "Oh, really, Yasmine?"

Yasmine's smile froze on her face as she slowly realized what Immi meant. I might have told her about Immi and Samia's plan to get Yasmine and Nasr together, and since then Yasmine had been quieter around Nasr, avoiding him almost.

"I mean, of course, In Sha Allah," Yasmine added sheepishly.

Immi nodded with a knowing smile. "Yes, In Sha Allah," she winked. She then turned to me. "How about you, Mariam?"

I chuckled nervously. "Yeah, totally."

Immi looked at Zeinab. "And you, my little one?"