Sounds great! I texted back. I looked at Tania nervously. She gave me a reassuring grin, and the little tabby smiled at both of us from behind the illuminated screen, reminding me that there might be a small glimmer of hope just yet.

Take Two

I walked into the lounge area of the Blue Dolphin. The smooth, soulful sound of jazz greeted me from the small stage at the front of the room. I crisscrossed my way between cocktail tables covered with liquor-filled glasses and steeped in intimate conversations, scanning the room for Zain. Seriously, what is with Muslims and dating in bars? I adjusted my blouse nervously and smoothed out my ankle-length pencil skirt. I had taken extra care to look my best, since the last time we had met, I’d been sporting a hoodie and drool.

There were plush sofas lined up along the back wall separated by thin curtains giving an illusion of privacy. The air was thick with a smoky quality, and the lights were dimmed, with the exception of a single spotlight focused on a sexy singer onstage—a slender, mocha-skinned woman with curly hair and a sultry voice nuzzling up against the microphone as if she were a slinky cat on the prowl. A saxophone player and a pianist played in the background, but all eyes were drawn to the singer. I watched her curiously, trying to memorize her subtle movements in hopes that her coolness would somehow transfer onto me. I was so entranced by her performance that I didn’t even realize that Zain had arrived until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey.” He smiled, still touching my shoulder.

“Hey.” I returned the smile, tucking a strand of loose, wavy hair behind my ear.

“You made it.”

“I did.”

His hand softly glided down my arm to my elbow. “I saved us a seat,” he said, leading me toward the back wall. He drew aside one of the semi-sheer curtains and gestured me in. There was no one in there. I guess he meant what he said about not wanting any supervision. I took a seat on the couch and adjusted the pillows behind me. Zain sat down next to me. We both glanced at each other and then quickly looked away, laughing nervously.

Within moments, a cocktail waitress appeared. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

“An Arnold Palmer would be nice.”

Zain turned to me with surprise. “You don’t drink?”

“No,” I replied, surprised by his surprise. “Do you?”

“I don’t,” he said, still smiling. This time I was taken by surprise. In my past experiences, it was rare to find a Muslim American man who didn’t drink, at least socially. While my abstinence to alcohol was partially for religious reasons and partially a personal choice, it was refreshing to know we shared this in common, even though I didn’t yet know Zain’s reasons for not drinking. What if he was more religiously conservative than I was? Which might end up being a turnoff . . . Or what if he swung farther to the left and was a recovering alcoholic who was laying off the booze for some kind of twelve-step program? Despite my desire to find out more, I resisted the urge to judge prematurely and simply returned his smile.