Maleeha Siddiqui - Barakah Beats

Todays a big day for meits my Ameen. My family and I are celebrating me finishing my study of the Quran, and it looks like everyone in Northern Virginia was on the guest list. There are more than a hundred people in the banquet hall, all wearing nice suits or formal shalwar kameez. My best friend, Jenna Birdie, sticks out like a sore thumb with her white-blonde hair and periwinkle halter dress, especially next to me in my fancy green lehenga, which is basically a full-length embroidered skirt. But Im glad shes here. I need the moral support.

Just how many people did you invite? Jenna whispers in my ear after the tenth person comes over to say salaam and hand me an envelope full of money. They cant all be your family.

No, just half of them, I say. Jennas jaw drops.

When I finally have some space, I pick up the poofy skirt of my lehenga and we escape across the room to Mama and Baba, who are fiddling with the microphone onstage.

Must be a big deal, Jenna says, looking around. Reading the Quran, I mean.

I didnt just read the Quran. I memorized it by heart, making me a hafizasomeone who has completed the Hifz. And it is a big deal. Thats why Mama and Baba wanted everyone to be here.

Jennas leaving for a two-week tour of the UAE tomorrow, so she came this close to missing out. Im glad she could make it. Jenna rarely gets to see the Pakistani Muslim side of my life even though weve been friends since we were four. We met at the park back when both of our moms stayed home. Jenna asked if I wanted to be a superhero with her. Together, we saved the park from certain doom, and that was that. We were friends for life. We had tons of playdates, and because were neighbors, when Mrs. Birdie went back to work Jenna would always come over after school until one of her parents picked her up.

We used to talk about how we wished we went to the same school. Jenna has gone to public school her whole life, and I was homeschooled until I was eight. But then my parents enrolled me in Guided Light Academys Hifz program, a private Islamic school, and we stopped talking about it. Its not like it affected my friendship with Jenna, anyway. I mean, come on. She gave me a Spider-Man sketchbook as a gift today. Thats art and Tom Holland in one. You really cant know me better than that.

Onstage, Mama and Baba have to stop what theyre doing to greet guests. Mama looks as uncomfortable as I feel in my heavy lehenga. Shes not a fan of huge parties, and shes never been good at hiding it. I meet her eyes and she makes a silent choking face.

Yes, Nimra graduated with top tajweed in her class, I overhear Baba say proudly to a man standing next to him. Babas a hafiz, too. He doesnt mention that I ranked first out of only three girls, but I let him have his moment.

Here, Mama. I give her the envelopes I collected.

Youre just going to hand over all that money? Jenna squeals. Its yours! You earned it!

No, honey, says Mama. In Islam, kids pay the party bill. Judging by her reaction, I dont think Jenna gets the joke.

Four years of hard work, Nimmy, Baba says, coming over to us. He hugs me to his side. It paid off, didnt it?

Couldnt have done it without you, I say. Ill never forget how you helped me get through Surah al-Baqarah. Its the longest and hardest chapter of the Quran to memorize. I would have given up without Babas help.

Nimra, please dont make him cry, says Mama. He was getting emotional last night and this morning, too.

II was not! Baba sputters. Well. Only a little.

By the way, Reema and Hana cant make it, Mama says. Reemas mom texted to tell me the kids are sick, and Hanas family ended up going to a funeral.

Oh. Okay. Reema and Hana are the two other girls I did Hifz with. I feel bad that they arent going to be here, but Im a lot closer to Jenna than either of them. Theyre not my best friends. Im kind of happy that I dont have to share my time with Jenna before she leaves. Shes been busy with volleyball camp all summer and I barely get to see her anymore.

Nano appears at the stage with us. Shes an older version of Mama, just slightly wrinklier, but I wouldnt tell her that. My grandmother loves when people think Im her daughter.

Maryam, whats taking so long? she asks. We need to get on with the program so the food can be served. Its rude to keep delaying.

Im still working on it, Mama, my mom says exasperatedly. It hasnt been five minutes since the last time you asked. Mamas whole body tenses as she swats the microphone with her palm like itll magically fix itself.

I pull on Nanos hand, refusing to let them argue. Can we take pictures now?

Pehle yeh say karo, says Nano. She bends down to pull up my lehengas waist until it feels like I have a wedgie and straightens my hijab. There. Now lets go. Jenna can come, too.

I stand through picture after picture with my aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, and grandparents. It hurts to keep smiling, and Im definitely going to have blisters on my feet. Just when I think its never going to be over, Babas voice booms through the speakers. Testing one, two. Assalamu alaikum. Thank you, everyone, for coming out today to celebrate our daughters great accomplishment. If I can please have you all take a seat. In shaa Allah, Nimra is going to say a few words and recite Surah Yasin for us.

Youre going to do what? Jenna looks confused.

I have to recite part of the Quran for our guests. Its tradition. Dread creeps over me. Id rather take a hundred more pictures than go up there in front of everyone. Wish me luck, I say, and with a deep breath, I plaster on a fake smile and head back to the stage alone. Baba passes me the mic with a reassuring nod.

Dont mess up, Nimra, dont mess up at your own Ameen. Everyone is watching.

I squeeze my eyes closed, wrap my hands tightly around the mic, and begin reciting Surah Yasin. It holds all the essential lessons of the Quran. I picked it out myself. Slowly, the familiar Arabic words flow easier and Im brave enough to open my eyes again. As I stare out at the restaurant filled with people who have come out to support me, I feel something flutter inside my chest. This book brings all Muslims together and now Ive got it word for word inside my head. I never thought about how cool that is.

Everyone claps when Im done. I totally hear Baba sniffling behind me, but I know I nailed it when I spot Sister Sadia, my Hifz teacher, looking up at me onstage with shining eyes. I search the room for Jenna, eager to see what she thinks, and spot her sitting at a corner table by herself looking down at her phone in her lap.

She wasnt even watching.

My stomach sinks, but I try not to let it hurt. Jennas not Muslim, so I get why shes not that interested. My parents have always pushed me to make more Muslim friends. Not because theyre better or anything, just, you know, principle . But whats the point in making other friends when I have Jenna? At least shes still here. So what if she doesnt get my faith? I dont understand why she likes sports, and theyre a huge part of her life.

Now that the reading is over, the guests run toward the buffet like their chairs are on fire. Its their fault theyre so hungry. Most of them showed up one whole hour after the time on the invitation.