Forbidden by Faith

by Negeen Papehn

  “I never want you to rely on a man, Sara,” she’d always say. She wanted my husband to be an addition, not a necessity. While many of my cousins were out prowling the scene in search of a suitable mate, I got accepted to pharmacy school.

  When weeks passed and I didn’t hear from Maziar, I didn’t even notice. The memories of the electricity we shared and his breathtaking smile had faded. When my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize, I almost didn’t pick up.

  “You don’t remember me?” he teased. “I’m your mortal enemy.” I could hear him smiling from the other side of the line.

  “Oh, yeah, now I remember.” I laughed.

  We talked for an hour, then made plans to meet that weekend.

  Now that I didn’t have him in front of me muddling my thoughts with his sex appeal, I realized I didn’t know him at all. He could very well be a serial killer who wanted to lure me into his web and make me his next victim. For this reason, I agreed to meet him at the movie theater instead of my house. Public places were more difficult to get kidnapped from, plus it wasn’t like I was planning to introduce him to my parents.

  When Saturday arrived, I told Nima about Maziar, because someone needed to know who to go after if my body needed to be found. I got to the theater a few minutes earlier than he did, which I thought was a bad start. I chastised myself for not having stayed in the car longer. I also realized he was not a prompt person. Strike one for him. In his defense, I’d come to this date ready to make a list of reasons why he shouldn’t make it to date number two.

  I was a little worried I wouldn’t recognize him. I was equally worried that the dim lights of the party and the alcohol had made him appear to be much better looking than he really was. For this reason, I had Leyla calling me in two hours to give me an escape route if necessary.

  Then, he walked into the plaza.

  I saw him before he saw me. First off, the lighting and inebriation had done nothing to change his appearance—he was still gorgeous. It looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower, hair damp, casually dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. The room froze as I stared, the sound of my breath in and out of my chest the only thing I could hear. Then, he saw me.

  “Hi,” he said. That dazzling smile was stretched across his face as he walked over to me. Point one in his favor.

  “Hey,” I replied awkwardly, suddenly feeling shy.

  Maziar didn’t seem to notice, completely comfortable in his skin. He just stood there staring at me as if I were a puzzle he was piecing together. I fidgeted under his gaze. He looked away, the corners of his lips turned up in a grin, knowing he’d made me nervous.

  “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing toward the ticket booth. I followed him to the window, waiting while he paid for our tickets. Point two in his favor.

  I spent most of the movie trying to catch glimpses of him in the dim light of the theater without getting caught. I was distinctly aware of our arms lying beside each other on the armrest. I could feel the heat radiating off of his, laced with a spark that felt like an electric charge. It was overwhelming. After the movie, he placed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the door. I almost melted from his touch. What was with this guy and the effect he had over me?

  I’d decided at the beginning of the date that I’d leave after the movie, severing the connection between us before it had a chance to bloom. Even though he’d told me this could work, the voice in my head wouldn’t ease up, still giving me the distinct feeling I needed to flee. But once we were outside and he suggested we grab dinner, I heard myself say yes before I could stop. My brain had officially disconnected itself from the rest of me, and now all responses were based purely on emotion. This couldn’t end well, yet I’d lost all reason.

  We settled on the Cheesecake Factory down the street. The wait was strangely short for a Saturday night, and we were seated quickly. The conversation flowed easily between us, something I’d expected.

  Maziar grew up in the Palisades, where he lived with his parents and sister, until he moved away a year ago for school. He currently attended Pepperdine Law School and lived in an apartment nearby. Neither of his last two relationships had been with Jewish girls, which I wanted to take as a good sign. Then, he told me his most recent relationship had ended a week before we met, after two years. Strike two for Maziar.

  Again the voice urged me to leave, but I was too intrigued to move. I couldn’t resist the energy passing between us. I felt high on him and I couldn’t get enough. I listened to his every word, hung onto his laugh, and melted into his smile. I had lost myself four hours into our first meeting, knowing I’d never find my way back again.

  I told him how I’d grown up in the Valley and still lived with my parents and older brother in Encino. I’d just been accepted to pharmacy school at USC and was starting in the fall. He asked me why I’d decided to commute.

  “My parents would flip if I moved out on my own. They’re a bit old-fashioned that way.”

  “But don’t you want the experience of being independent?” he asked.

  “Yeah, maybe, but I’d have to ease them into it. Plus, having someone cook for me and do my laundry when I’m in school sounds kind of nice,” I said, resorting to joking, hoping my lack of independence would be charming. Thankfully, he laughed.

  As the conversation continued, the topics became more serious. We began discussing our previous relationships, the details of each of our breakups. I suddenly felt compelled to give him another opportunity to walk away, in hopes of avoiding an unnecessary heartache if things indeed went as expected. Jewish and Muslim relationships were uncommon, and all that I knew of had ended in horrible breakups. I couldn’t do it.

  “So I know you said my not being Jewish isn’t a big deal, but honestly, if there’s even a chance that your family could be against it, I’d rather we have a nice dinner and leave it at that.”

  “You really are paranoid, aren’t you?” he said, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

  “No, just practical,” I replied, slightly annoyed. “Look, I’ve been in relationships that don’t work out, and I’m sure you agree‒they can be brutal. Why start something if we already know that’s where it’s inevitably heading?”

  “Because we have no idea where this is heading,” he stated.

  “Ugh, I know that!” I said. He was getting the best of me and judging from the look on his face, he knew it. I tried a different approach, attempting to reason with him. “I’ve had my heart broken before. I really can’t do it again,” I urged with more desperation than I hoped could be heard in my voice. “So if this is likely going to end the same, then I’d rather we end it here.” We didn’t know each other yet. We could walk away from this encounter whole, no battle scars, and I’d eventually forget that smile.

  But Maziar was relentless, insisting that it wasn’t a problem our two religions had been at war for centuries. “My parents will be fine,” he said, brushing it off.

  I wondered if he was naïve, if indeed this might be strike three for Maziar. But as I looked at him, I couldn’t manage to say, “you’re out.”

  I knew this was too heavy a conversation to be having on a first date and I knew it wasn’t painting me in a good light. I also knew it was impossible to predict the future. Even so, I still wanted to be assured I wouldn’t have my heart torn from my chest.

  In hindsight, I realize that there are no guarantees in love and there is always the risk of losing a part of yourself along the way.

  The following weekend, we had plans for our second date. I found myself feeling giddy with excitement as I got ready. We’d been talking every night for the past week, the conversation only ending when one of us had fallen asleep. The more I got to know him, the more I realized I could really like him.

  I learned that Maziar had a twenty-six-year-old sister. He thought they had a decent relationship, but I wouldn’t consider them close by my standards. Neither knew what was going on in the other’s life,
and from what I understood, they didn’t talk much, aside from friendly conversation when passing each other in the hall to their bedrooms.

  My brother and I were the polar opposite. We knew everything about each other. If I told my parents a lie about where I was or with whom, my brother knew the truth. He was my person, so it was hard for me to wrap my head around that type of relationship, kind and cordial but each life separate.

  Maziar picked me up around noon. I knew nothing of the details aside from it being a little bit of a drive. That’s all he would say. My parents were out when he picked me up, which worked out perfectly because I wasn’t interested in the plethora of questions they’d ask if they met him.

  We drove north for about an hour. Soon the scenery changed, surrounding us with a lush green landscape. He exited onto a long, curved bridge standing over a large ravine. It was nestled between two great hills on either side. The bridge had prominent archways every few feet, giving it a mystical air. It was gorgeous. To the right, I could see a lake. Maziar pulled off toward it.

  He’d packed us a picnic and stowed a few fishing rods in his trunk. We walked down to the water’s edge and threw down a blanket. We nestled close to each other. He opened the basket to reveal sandwiches, a platter of cheese, and a bottle of wine. I felt a warmth begin to stir in the pit of my stomach, followed by a flutter of butterflies.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent in a comfortable familiarity, as if Maziar and I had been together for years, not just days. The conversation rolled off our tongues with ease, never falling victim to awkward silences. We laughed, the kind that starts from your toes and ends in the pit of your belly. We fit in a way I’d never experienced with another human being before.

  He had a thing for fishing and was determined to teach me how it was done. I was pitiful. Even though he’d shown me how to throw out the line a handful of times, I still couldn’t manage it without tangling the string. Instead of becoming irritated with my incompetence, he laughed.

  Surprisingly, we actually caught a fish, or at least Maziar did while I stood behind him and squealed as he brought the slimy, flapping creature out of the water. I watched him gently grab it, speaking softly as if he were trying to soothe the fish in its last moments. There was a kindness in the way he removed the hook, in the way he held the animal in his hands. Its body jerked relentlessly, but he never rushed the process, allowing nature to fulfill her destiny as she wished.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t bear to watch. “Please throw it back in. I don’t want it to die.” He looked up at me for a few moments, then, without a word, he placed the fish gently back into the lake. We stood side by side watching it swim away, the sound of our breath mingled with the lapping of the water. “I’m sorry,” I said, unsure if I was apologizing for the fish or ruining the trip altogether.

  “For what?” he replied, still staring at the water.

  “For making you set it free.”

  He turned and faced me, his hazel eyes catching the light of the sun, and smiled. I watched the lines around his lids crinkle, melting my anxiety.

  “I love that you made me let it go.”

  On the drive back, the sun was setting, and the sky was illuminated into a canvas of pinks, purples, and oranges. The colors swirled around each other, creating puffs of sherbet-colored clouds you could almost taste.

  Maziar pulled over so we could properly adore its beauty. We both got out of the car, standing side by side in the stillness of the dusk. His hand lightly brushed mine, and I felt the familiar surge of electricity course through my veins. I lost all restraint, reaching out and grabbing hold.

  Maziar turned toward me. When I faced him, I saw the warmth and longing in his eyes. My breath caught in my throat. He put his hand on my cheek and slowly leaned in to place his lips against mine. My heart beat rapidly against my chest as I felt my body melt into his. I don’t know how long we stood there in our embrace, but when we parted, we both did so reluctantly.

  I could have spent the rest of my life in that moment, kissing him.

  Chapter Four

  We spent all our free time together, and when we weren’t together, we were on the phone. I was infatuated with him. He was like heroin coursing through my veins and when he wasn’t with me, I felt like I needed another hit. The electrical frequency between us just grew with each encounter, and I found it hard to keep myself from craving his touch. I wanted to hold his hand, sit really close, feel the heat off his body every time he was near me. The relationship itself felt easier than any I’d ever experienced. We slid into being a couple as if we were always meant to be together. He felt like he made up a piece of me, like we’d done this before in lifetimes past.

  He felt like home.

  As the days went on, I started to focus less on the future and fall deeper in love. The academic year had begun, but any chance I got, I made my way over to his apartment. We’d play house, lost in the make-believe of living together, where only the two of us mattered, if only for a moment.

  Two months in, I was finally ready to broach the topic of our relationship with my parents. Up until then, they didn’t know that when I went out, I was going with Maziar. The benefit of having Leyla as a best friend was that she always covered for me. It wasn’t that I thought they wouldn’t like him, it was that I knew Mom would freak out when she found out he was Jewish. She had told me numerous times that she didn’t want me to be disliked and disregarded by my husband’s family as she had been.

  “Life is hard enough as it is. Why add more complications to the situation?” she’d say.

  I still hadn’t forgotten that this relationship was built on forbidden ground, and even though I basked in the beauty of what we had, the voice in my head wouldn’t let me be completely comfortable. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  One Friday night after I’d gotten home from my last class, we sat down to have dinner together as we normally did before my brother and I headed out for the night. As we talked about our day, the anxiety continued to weigh down on me, to the point that I felt a panic attack about to come on. I couldn’t stay quiet any longer, so I just blurted it out, in the middle of Dad’s sentence about the ridiculous politics at his work.

  “I’ve been dating a guy for a few months,” I said. They all froze and looked at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. “He’s Persian,” I continued. Mom had a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. Feeling guilty for allowing her to start to build a perfect future for me in her head, I quickly added, “And he’s Jewish.”

  Complete silence followed. Mom dropped her fork. The clanking of the metal against her plate radiated off the walls, magnifying the sound. She looked at me as if she wasn’t sure whether to yell or cry.

  “It’s totally okay. It’s not a big deal for him or his family,” I said. She didn’t move, making me sweat.

  In an attempt to alleviate the heaviness in the room, Nima tried to lighten up the mood and started to ask me details about him.

  “What’s his name? Where did you meet him?”

  “His name is Maziar, and I met him a few months ago when I was out with my friends,” I replied.

  “Cool. What does he do?” He tried to keep the conversation moving along, not allowing Mom time to attack. I was grateful.

  “He goes to Pepperdine law school.” I glanced over at her, hoping the information I had just shared would soften the blow. It did nothing, as she continued to stare at me, shocked and angry.

  I couldn’t tell her that I’d already fallen in love with him, and I was doomed if what he told me wasn’t the truth, that in fact his family wouldn’t be okay with this union. I couldn’t tell her that I was rapidly losing sleep over it, during the nights when I didn’t have his arms to quiet the storm and make me forget. I couldn’t say any of this, because then Mom would shatter. Whether she showed it or not, I would have broken her heart.

  “We want to meet him,” Dad said. “Bring him over next Sunday night.” Just like th
at, he was to come over the following weekend for dinner.

  Wednesday rolled around and I had sufficiently avoided Mom’s calls. School made it easy to dodge her, only interacting for a few minutes in the mornings before I headed to class. I had just gotten out of a biology when my phone began to buzz again in my pocket. I stared at her picture flashing on my screen, the dark, short bob framing her face like two delicate hands, her warm brown eyes, scrunched up in laughter, realizing I couldn’t avoid her forever. The longer I waited to deal with her questions, the worse her attitude would be with Maziar when he came over. I picked up.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, in as chipper a voice as possible.

  “Hi, azizam, where are you?”

  “I just got out of class. Why?” I asked.

  “I wanted to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

  “Okay,” I replied. I should have lied.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the boy you told us about. Why didn’t you tell me you were dating him? You always share that stuff with me, Sara.”

  I could hear the hurt in my mom’s voice, causing regret to settle on my insides. I took too long to reply, unsure of what I could say to salvage her feelings. When I provided no answers, she continued.

  “Sara, I know you like him, but haven’t I told you enough about what I had to go through with your dad? You know this isn’t a good idea. Have you met his family? Are they okay with this relationship?”

  She threw her questions at me like darts, pent up over the past few days when I’d ignored her. I had to take a minute to think, the panic making it tough to get my bearings. I knew I needed to sound convincing when I said there was nothing to worry about, despite the fact that I didn’t fully believe it myself.

  “No, I haven’t, but he says they don’t care.” A lame answer, but what else could I say? The truth was that I had no idea if they really had issues with my being Muslim, but I had let the notion of walking away go when I’d realized how I’d felt about Maziar. I was all in now, praying what he was telling me was the truth.