“He said quarter to nine, to me. I’m early.”“Oh.”“I said half past to quarter to, I expect,” claimed Mohammad. Mia was taller than him in those boots; almost as tall as that American collection of sticks she seemed to like. Though he himself would still be stronger, of course.“I’ve got the text...” Mia challenged with a smirk, patting her jacket pocket.“Well I meant to say that at least. Anyway I got his name: Claude Simon.”“Okay, what’s the next step?” Mia shifted her eyes to Grace.“Well we could google him, to find out more?” Grace had automatically moved towards Mia. “Like, if he’s on Facebook and anywhere? We could put his phone number in, just in case, and start a gmail account to email him...”“Awesome,” grinned Paul. Grace smiled gratefully at him.“We were just discussing all that,” said Mohammad.“When did you find out?” Mia asked him.“Last night,” Mohammad said vaguely. He tried to think of a question he could fire back at her.“You could’ve put his name into Google. Or his. She looked down at the identity card of her future husband, Alec Manning, and wondered if American Muslims were different. Most of all, she wanted to know why she wasn’t being allowed to even meet him. She tossed the card down on the dresser and shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘What was that?’ her mother asked as she laid out the wedding dress on the bed. The white taffeta rustled loudly as she laid it out. Studying it for a moment, Faruzah hoped it would fit Laila. Fatima’s daughter was roughly the same size as her so she guessed it would be suitable. Every girl wanted the western style bridal gown and she wasn’t going to let her daughter go without one even if she had to provide a hand-me-down from a friend. ‘I was just wondering why father would not let me meet him first and would not say who brokered the arrangement.’ ‘Why do you worry about such things girl? Don’t you trust your father?’ ‘Of course. It’s just that this is so sudden and strange. How does this American know.
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