Love in a Headscarf by Shelina Janmohamed

thought that this was why the Qur’an was composed of poetry and poetic prose. Poetry is designed to inspire love, and Islam is about falling in love with the Creator of the Universe. The Arabic is simple and rhythmic and has layers of meaning that reveal themselves to you each time you return. The seventh century Arabs were so taken aback by the elegance and mystery of the words, they called the Prophet Muhammad a magician. They recognized the power of ideas and eloquence to seduce the soul and create a revolution.
    I saw the sender of my Valentine’s Day card later that day. He was sitting with a large group of mutual acquaintances out in the garden, including my circle of close female friends. It was a beautiful early spring evening and the night sky was clear and full of twinkling stars. I walked along the gravel path, admiring the snowdrops and crocuses beginning to poke their heads bravely into the world. I had spent the afternoon smiling quietly to myself, wistfully imagining what might happen. The romantic teenager in me had sprung into life and asked the same questions I had asked at the age of thirteen about John Travolta. Was he interested? Would he become a Muslim? As always, the prerequisite was that he should be a Muslim. But the sender was nice, I thought, and I should explore these enormous questions of faith, belief, and soul and see where we found ourselves. Even with the careful boundaries of modesty in place in our interactions, we could still talk. We could still see where life would take us.
    I walked toward the group. I felt that courtesy demanded that I should acknowledge his actions. It must have taken much courage on his part to express his feelings. And of course the little voice of romantic destiny kept whispering, what if … what if … what if… he becomes Muslim?
    “Hello,” I said to him.
    “Hello,” he answered.
    I smiled.
    “Finished your essay?” he asked seriously.
    “Thank you,” I answered incongruously.
    “Thank you? For what?” His lips curled up cheekily at the edges.
    “The card.”
    He grinned. “Will you have a cup of tea with me then?”
    He knew I was different, and I think he liked that. He knew that I didn’t drink alcohol, that he couldn’t take me to the pub for a drink. He also respected my modesty and at the same time saw past my hijab to the person I was. Through later years I came across many Muslim men who were put off by the headscarf. It was something they just couldn’t get past. They couldn’t see me or want me for who I was. All they saw was a walking book of religious rulings, a miserable turgid caricature. But here was a young man, not Muslim, who was drawn to me.
    “I’m sitting out here right now, aren’t I?”
    We both smiled nervously, and silently enjoyed the night, surrounded by our friends, as the chattering around us carried on.
    I looked up at the sky, breathless from the sheer beauty of the stars. It was magnificent and indescribable. I wondered what lay beyond. But these were just physical things. What then was the Creator? Unimaginable, incomprehensible in majesty, the ultimate aesthete for creating these extraordinarily beautiful universes. I forgot that I was in company, and was lost.
    Human beings for thousands of years had been mesmerized by the stars and heavenly bodies, even believing them to be gods. That’s how the Prophet Abraham talked to the stars. Were they gods? he had asked. As they faded away with the night, he knew that there was something greater. Today his question would have been whether our understanding of science actually revealed the wonders of Divine creation. That was to be my search, my journey—to know and love the Creator—and perhaps on the way I would get lost in the stars and their milky twilight.
    “How did you know it was me?” he asked shyly.
    “I just knew, maybe I have good intuition.”
    “That’s cool. You’re cool.”
    I blushed, and tried to change the subject. I wasn’t very good