Page 59 of The Impossibility of Us

(timorous, tentative, terrified)

when Janie undoubtedly goes to sleep,

leaving me and this beautiful girl

alone in a cottage of possibility.

I stumble over a crack in the sidewalk,

a renegade root that has disturbed the pavement.

I clear my throat and bury my hands in my pockets.

“I’m not sure your sister-in-law would approve.”

“It’s not like we have to tell her.”

She smiles and her expression,

framed by glossy caramel hair,

is alight with hope.

“Seriously, Mati. It’ll be fun.”

I should not go—no, I should not.

I have devoted myself

to fostering a closeness with Allah,

and I strive to be a gracious Muslim son.

But that does not mean

I am not vulnerable to misdeeds.

I have tempted sin in her proximity already,

engaging in meandering conversations,

letting my hand drift to hers,

daydreaming about her,

when I should be doing anything but.

If we are truly alone…

I will not make choices that honor Allah’s word.

But our situation is not so simple.

The feelings she incites in me—

affection, esteem, compassion—

strengthen my spirituality.