The Next Few Months

He fell into a deep depression. He was faced with pressure from the INS because he had now overstayed his student visa. This posed a barrier in his ability to do much of anything including working and traveling back home. He had virtually cut off all ties to his homeland and the US didn’t want him either.

I urged him to shed the shield and to spend more time teaching me his religion, culture, etc. We spent countless winter nights cooking Pakistani food, drawing out the family tree, practicing Urdu words. We would go on magic carpet rides back to his homeland as he described his childhood, his grandparents and his sisters. Everything seemed to unreal and fairytale. At times I would doubt and he would go out of his way to prove to me it was real.

I grew up in such an ordinary, mundane world, that I could not imagine his tales of friends that were models, being on TV commercials, having royalty in the family, etc. to be true. In silence, I battled with truly believing that he loved me. Me, a lowly and ordinary girl from the burbs. Of course I questioned his intentions. But, when he opened his heart and shared his love for his homeland and all those living there, I knew that our pending marriage was not in “green card” vain.

I was more worried of his depressed state. He felt so alienated and alone. He may never have his parents’ blessings. And having been here since he was 16, he was truly caught between two worlds. He left there as a Pakistani child and became an American man. At that point, he had not been home for nearly three years.

We spent hours reading Rumi and discussing the Prophet and his Message. I was teleported back in time and experienced the miracle through my hubby-to-be’s passion for Islam.

Despite all of the uncertainty, I knew one thing for sure; that he is an honest, sincere man and that he loved me.