SINCE that day at the orphanage, Salima couldn’t stop thinking about Rahim and his conflicting emotions of pain, hate and intolerance. There was a side of him she had seen that showed love and care and with that image of him in her mind, a unique feeling slowly filled her heart.

“Salima,” her mother’s voice broke into her thoughts, “Let’s go, your father is waiting on us.”
She had visited the Queenstown mosque with her mother that afternoon and as they were leaving, her father said to her.
“Look across the street.”

She turned to look and saw Rahim, dressed in street casual clothes, astride his bike with a few of his biker friends.
“What is he doing?” she asked, not believing he would be exhibiting his rebellious lifestyle so close to the mosque.
“That’s one of his ways,” her father answered, “of showing dissent to his father.”
“His father is here?” Salima asked perturbed.

“Look at the other exit, that’s his father and two sisters, just leaving.”
“This is so sad,” she said quietly, seeing the unhappy look on their faces.
The next moment was a live drama of daring versus fear as the bikes revved loudly and blazed across the road, swerving dangerously to avoid collision with other vehicles and sped away, disappearing around the bend in the road. Salima felt her heart racing, his daredevil antics giving her a bad scare and looking at his father from where she stood, she saw the grieved look on his face.

She had a restless night when sleep played games with her as he played games with death. The next day after a busy morning, she entered her office and saw a note on her desk, ‘Stopped by to say Hello – Rahim’
“That’s nice.” She thought but got taken up with work and thought no further about it. Late the next afternoon, she saw another note, “Can’t see you to talk Dr. – Rahim”.
There was no number on the card to send an answer and she wondered why he wanted to talk to her. No more notes were left the following days but she saw him on Sunday at a colleague’s sister’s wedding on the West Coast.

He was not there as the person she had begun to like and appreciate but as the rebel, drinking with friends. She tried not to let it bother her but she felt somewhat upset and when she looked at him she did not realize that feeling was reflected on her face. She couldn’t sleep that night and watched a movie, not wanting to think of him, when her phone rang.
It was Rahim calling.
She wondered why he would be calling her if he was with friends and she answered, “Hello.”

“Did I wake you, doctor?”
“No, why are you calling me so late?”
“I just wanted you to know that I’m home, I didn’t go out with any other friends.”
“Why do I need to know that?”
“Because you did not look pleased when you saw me at the wedding today. Why were you so disturbed?”
“I was not.”

“I know you were Doctor Salima and one day, I hope, you’ll tell me why. Good night.”
She sat lost in thoughts for a long time, not sure what her heart was telling her.
A couple days later, early in the morning, she was surprised to see him waiting by her office door.
“What are you doing here so early?”

He handed her a fresh red rose he had hidden behind his back and said, “Just in case I don’t see you during the day. Can we have lunch?”
She couldn’t help smiling, “You know you could be nice when you want to, but I’m not sure I can go out with you.”
“Why?”
“Well, your lifestyle and mine are very different.”

He looked at her for a moment, then asked, “And to be seen with me wouldn’t be good for your image?” She nodded, a tinge of regret in her eyes, “Something like that. And you also dislike my headwear, so it might look kind of odd.”
He nodded with the hint of a smile and said, “Only my family and now you know about my feelings on that issue.”
And moving a little closer to her, his eyes reflecting his true feelings, he said, “You’re different in a special way, and with a radiant smile I like.”

She was so surprised by his words, that she could not respond.
He handed her his card, “Call me if you change your mind,” and walked past her, close enough without touching her.
She looked at the card in her hand and said to herself, “I really don’t know what to think right now.”
Three days later, she called him.

He took her to a cozy, little Arabian style restaurant and she said impressed, “This is a nice place, I like it.”
“I knew you would because of your traditional beliefs and simple tastes.”
“Did you had that belief too?” she asked quietly, careful not to trigger his anger.
He took a little while to answer,
“I lost that years ago, when my mother fell ill and died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
He said nothing for a little while then in an unexpected, apologetic tone he said, “I think I owe you an explanation for disliking your headwear.”
She knew he was bothered deeply about something so she cushioned it saying, “Not quite. I just don’t understand why you do.”
He looked away and said nothing again for a while and when he looked back at her, she saw the pained expression on his face, she had seen at the girl’s orphanage.

“When it’s used as a symbol of oppression against a woman and from a child when you grow up seeing your mother’s pain and suffering because of obsessive religious beliefs and principles, how can you like it?”
She had known there was a reason for his hate and to hear him talk about his mother’s pain and suffering, the horror that was her life, it touched her heart, arousing a deep sympathy for him.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, touching his hand, instinctively.

He looked a little surprised and managed a faint smile, “Thank you for your understanding and tolerance”
It eased the tension ignited by his troubled memories and they had a nice lunch, talking about other things of mutual interest.

He stopped by her office sometimes and though she was not always there, she knew he had come by from the rose and the note on her desk. He sent short text messages to her phone and invited her to visit the girl’s orphanage whenever she had the time. A beautiful relationship was developing slowly as he tried to bring his life under control. But the differences with his father were still unresolved and one afternoon as she left the mosque, someone called her name.

“Dr. Mohammed.”
“Yes?” she answered, turning around and saw it was Rahim’s two sisters who wanted to talk with her.
“We want to thank you, doctor.” One of the sisters said.
“What for?” Salima asked.

“For the change that is happening to our brother, we had almost lost hope.”
They paused and looked at her, appreciatively, “You’re as beautiful as he says.”
Salima smiled warmly, saying ‘Thank you’ and they spoke a while longer.
But the journey was not yet over.

It was almost a week after Rahim’s sister had spoken to her and two days ago since she had spoken to him, when her phone rang, late in the night.
It was Rahim’s eldest sister, telling her in a shaky voice, “Doctor, Rahim had a bad accident, can you come to the hospital?”

To be continued…