Falling in Love With Strangers

Dating as an observant Muslim woman

When the matchmaker from my mosque introduced us, the only background she gave was that he was a 34-year-old, African-American, Muslim, Physician Assistant from Queens. Since I was living in Boston at the time, we did introductions on a phone. Over the course of forty-five minutes, we flipped through the usual list of screener questions: what do you do, where are you from, what are your hobbies?

The P.A. seemed normal enough — well-educated, stable career, and religious. Yet I waited to hear something that would provoke the feels. Nothing. Still, I pushed myself to continue the conversation, and even agreed to meet in person the following weekend when he came to visit his sister. Then, just as the conversation was winding down, he whipped out the big gun questions: what are your ideal qualities in a husband, what’s your timeline for marriage, and how many kids do you want.

How was I supposed to walk this fine line between trying to remain observant in my faith to jumping headfirst into marriage talks with a complete stranger?

In my attempts to respond, I choked over every syllable that spilled out of my mouth. No matter how many times I did this, it wasn’t getting any easier. I should have gotten used to it. I should have been prepared. For what exactly? The serious, stomach-churning, oxygen-sucking questions that lead me to blushing, and occasionally oversharing.

How was I supposed to walk this fine line between trying to remain observant in my faith — which mandated no casual dating — to jumping headfirst into marriage talks with a complete stranger? I wanted so much to find balance. To know that I was properly following the rules by meeting someone who was also focused on marriage, but not so much so that he jumped to the end before it even began.

As a practicing Muslim woman (which for me has meant donning hijab, praying five times a day, and having strict rules in regards to how I search for love), I’m obliged to jump head-first into any new relationship with marriage on the forefront (and not as a glittery, distant possibility as it’s often presented in the West). Every time I meet one of these prospective husbands, online, over the phone, or in real life, it feels like I’m being thrown into a ring in which I, the inexperienced matador, barely acquainted with the bearded creature before me, must be willing to pour my heart out without fear or hesitation by discussing what a future would be like if we were married.

Those were the college days when I thought I would bump into Mr. Right by mere chance, at the grocery store or in the dining hall — someone who checked all the boxes but was also a practicing Muslim.

While I’ve been taught to do it this way, searching for love in a logic-based, facts on the table, all-or-nothing manner, I resist, forever tormented by the version of love that I grew up fantasizing about.

I blame Disney and 90’s rom coms which showcased love happening at first sight, haphazardly, feelings first, with no rules (or religion) regulating it.

For some time I tried to live that narrative. Those were the college days when I thought I would bump into Mr. Right by mere chance, at the grocery store or in the dining hall — someone who checked all the boxes but was also a practicing Muslim. And so I waited for him like a child waits for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, blissfully ignorant of the fact that he may never come.

When I got tired of waiting, I plunged into the Muslim dating world, blending East and West by proactively signing-up for trendy dating apps like Minder and Muzmatch, as well as more serious endeavors like matrimonial matchmaking services. I even tested out the practice of going on chaperoned blind dates. Like the second “date” I had with the P.A.

That weekend, when we met, I brought along my friend and her husband to serve as mahrams. The four of us walked in pairs along snow-banked streets in Boston’s quaint North End. While the P.A and I were careful not to let even our shoulders touch, we tried run through topics of conversation that would strike up shared interests. I was eager to find attachment in the things he said: he enjoyed photography, traveling, and exploration of his native New York — admirable activities, but still no butterflies.

The next day, I complained about the date to a co-worker during lunch. Her response? “I think your religion is making you miserable.”

When we tired of the cold, we took refuge in a coffee shop that served decadent desserts. I said I wasn’t hungry, but he insisted that I take a few bites of his amaretto cannoli, while my friends sat across from us pretending to be immersed in their own private conversation. The P.A kept looking at me with the googly eyes — big, doughy, and over-the-top. To make matters worse, he kept future-tripping, making plans for our would-be life together. He casually mentioned his digestion issues, thankfully stopping himself before giving me too many unnecessary details.

Although I was all smiles when we said our goodbyes, as I returned to the car, I felt panicked. All I could see when I closed my eyes was a future me surrounded by one too many children, trying to take care of this old man with a bad case of IBS — did I mention he was almost ten years older than me?He was ready to start the next phase of his life. He was ready to say yes. While I was honored by his confidence and admiration for me, I just didn’t feel the same. I didn’t want to fall in love this way. I didn’t want to feel like a fish out of water every time I went on a date.

The next day, I complained about the date to a co-worker during lunch. Her response? “I think your religion is making you miserable.” She was a tell-it-like-it-is thirty-something who had married her college sweetheart. She went on to tell me, with no sugar added, that she found my methods and limitations to finding love outdated and unnecessary.

As much as I was sick of feeling like I was stuck in a 19th century novel, I couldn’t turn away from the beauty I found in my five daily prayers beginning before sunrise and ending right before bed.

Part of me agreed with her. Part of me wanted to let my hair loose (literally), walk into a bar and shout, “Here I am, World, take me as I am.” I sometimes daydreamed about bending all the rules and marrying any type of guy without regard to checked boxes and prohibitions.

But the rest of me didn’t want to. As much as I was sick of feeling like I was stuck in a 19th century novel, I couldn’t turn away from the beauty I found in my five daily prayers beginning before sunrise and ending right before bed. I couldn’t forget the sense of peace and belonging I felt when I walked into any mosque anywhere in the world, be it Turkey or Morocco, or even that hole-in the wall mosque in the Bronx. With every difficulty I’ve encountered — family drama, work-drama, love-drama — I’ve always held onto the verse that says, “But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you.”

So, what if this prescribed version of seeking love and marriage was something I hated? But what if it helped me to find the right person? The kind of person that would wake up before sunrise to pray with me, someone that remembered God before putting food into their mouth, or whispered SubanAllah when witnessing a simple act of kindness. If this Islamic version of courting, which moved through the process of finding a life partner at lightning speed led me to find a love that was founded on pure and true principles, could I stomach some discomfort for it?

There’s something to be said about chemistry, and the type of love we are mesmerized by on the big screen. It does exist and it does matter, but with limits.

It wasn’t until some months later, when I came across someone that I instantly connected with, that I found answers. While we only waited two days into the back-and-forth text conversation to ask the hard questions about timelines, finances, and babies, it didn’t make me nauseous like the last time. On our second call, I accidentally pressed my ear too hard against my iPhone, and it triggered FaceTime. I was completely flustered by my mistake, spitting out apologies and cursing myself as I waited for the screen to change. When his face filled my screen, I stopped babbling. He had on a SF baseball cap that covered ringlets of chestnut brown curls and wore a well-groomed beard set under a warm smile. As our eyes locked, those sneaky butterflies finally appeared. Call it what you want — love at first sight (or maybe just lust) — but it was a feeling that hadn’t appeared with other guys before.

I think there is something to be said about instant connections. There’s something to be said about chemistry, and the type of love we are mesmerized by on the big screen. It does exist and it does matter, but with limits. I still strongly believe in my faith tradition’s view that love devoid of logic or goals or parameters, is feeble, and more likely to break when the tidal wave that is life crashes down on it.

Going forward, I feel I’m closer to achieving balance. No longer the hopeless child or the frightened matador, I’ve learned to trust my instincts. If I feel no spark during an initial call or first date, I usually end it right then and there. But I still have timelines on the table, I still keep in line with the mahram rules, I still rely on matchmakers on occasion, but I’m working on doing it at my own pace and in my own way.

This essay is part of a series about relationships, dating, and friendship, sponsored by Chorus, the matchmaking app where friends swipe for friends.