Iman's Little Hamoodi

7/1/2025, London England

It's normal, I think, to be nervous before meeting someone after 5 years. Meeting someone who knows all the worst of your experiences and all the best after 5 years. Someone who stoically saw you through confusion, anger, and heartbreak. Someone who never judged and always listened and always gave objective feedback no matter how delusional you were. Someone who loves Allah and encourages you to be a better Muslim without shaming you for your shortcomings. Someone 6’3 (?), with perfectly moist 3b curls, weighing in about 250 lbs of muscle and just enough fat to not look like a freak bodybuilder, and a tender soul. Someone who had braces at the beginning and has since removed them. Someone who’s grown into their stunning Somali features. Somali features you've admired since “Iman Cosmetics” was the only brand in the drugstore that made you feel seen. Someone who is on their way now to see you and refuses to let you come to them because they're the man here. So, you're here with yourself waiting to greet the most halal man you know (not saying much, but worth mentioning) and you have had 2 drinks on just the breakfast you had 7 hours ago. So, you are walking to the bathroom to rinse out your mouth and pee because he's almost here and you told him you were having a Coke, not an Aperol Spritz and Espresso Martini back to back in twenty minutes to take the edge off. You can't smell like liquor. 

Hamoodi: I'll be there in 20 

Fucck. You are so drunk girl! Get it together! Where is your Owala? At the Air Bnb. He'll never know you’re drunk. 

Written in 3rd person bc we are not meant to disclose our sins 

I sobered up by the time I got to King’s Cross Station. I got there exactly 20 minutes after Hamoodi texted saying he would be there in 20 minutes, but while I was walking, he texted saying that his train was delayed. So, I waited at King’s Cross Station. I waited at King’s Cross Station and admired it. I looked at it long and hard and really allowed its relevance to my life to wash over me. My grandparents when they arrived in England with the other colony folk post WW2 to answer Elizabeth's call for their help to rebuild England, would have come through King’s Cross to arrive in North London where they resided. Where my mother was born and lived with them. They would have stopped here, at this bustling stop as they traveled around to visit stores, entertainment, and friends. Had my grandfather’s quartet taken trains from King’s Cross to the countryside for their performances? Had my grandmother and her friends gone on holiday from here? Did my grandparents pass through here while on their way to a date? Are Hamoodi and I going on a date? Is that what we’re doing? No. Right? No. Certainly not. We are friends, we are the best of friends. We have seen each other through heartbreak. Well, he has seen me through heartbreak and I have seen him through logically explaining why it wouldn't work with that girl. When I was sexually assaulted in New Orleans, it was Hamoodi that answered me first. At 1 am in his time zone, he soothed me, he helped me file a report…and despite his anger, he assured me that it would be okay. He withheld the majority of his anger towards Ranger for not protecting me in order to better serve me. When he was struggling with his ADHD in med school, I encouraged him to disregard the stigmas our parents weigh us down with. I listened to him and assured him that he was capable and that his ADHD could be a blessing. Some of the greatest men I know have severe ADHD. In front of King’s Cross Station, for the first time in a long time, I remembered how we navigated our friendship in the beginning of the COVID 19 pandemic. WhatsApp video chats, screen sharing our Netflix accounts, and spending hours discussing whatever movie we’d just watched. I remembered how much time we devoted to speaking then. How he rambles on about any old thing he's become fixated on learning about and makes certain to teach me everything he's learned about it. I haven't much spoken about Hamoodi in the blog because he is not like anyone else. He is not a man in the way that other men are. Other men are weak minded, egotistical, and short sighted. Hamoodi was robbed of the luxury of indulging in a young man’s shortcomings when his father died over a decade ago when Hamoodi was still a teen, making him the man of his home. He is much like what I'd imagine my grandfather to have been like at his age. My S’wampa.( Except my S’wampa was already married with two children. You could buy a house for like $30 then. ) He is kind, empathetic, tactical, protective, and he's calling. He's calling right now. 

“Hello?” I squeaked into my phone. 

The call dropped 

Hamoodi: Where are you? 

I called back and heard Hamoodi’s dashing North London accent say “where are you, Iman?”

I looked up to try to find a landmark. “Ummm” I vamped. I looked to my right, then to my left, then I snapped my head back to the middle. There, walking towards me, was a tall, muscular man with shimmering umber skin, black curly hair, sparkling dark brown eyes, perfectly shaped full lips, a freshly groomed beard, and shiny white teeth. Hamoodi. Immediately I bolted towards him. 

“Hamoodi!” I shouted out just before throwing my arms around him. 

“Ellooooo” he said softly. “I'm sorry that I'm late, Iman. I'll make it up to you. You can have anything you want at dinner.” 

I ignored that for a few reasons.

1. I did not care that he was late 

2. He would have given me anything I wanted at dinner regardless of his arrival time 

3. I was too focused on not beginning to cry tears of joy 

Hamoodi, put his hand on the top of my head and said “alright now, let's get going.” 

Being the good listener I am, I of course peeled myself off of him just enough to turn towards the restaurant I'd chosen.

Hamoodi spent much of the walk apologizing for his tardiness. I didn't care about him being late, so I didn't listen. It was not as though he'd failed to communicate it to me. Though I'd sobered since drinking, I found myself drunk on his radiance. He was dressed in that awful way that serious, straight men dress. He was wearing straight cut jeans, practical sneakers, and a T-shirt from Uniqlo. He'd told me he'd gotten an unfortunate haircut a couple of days ago; he was correct. They'd cropped his beautiful hair far too short, nearly balding him. I know how I'd style it, but I won't share that with him. I will only share it with him should Allah reveal him to be my naseeb and even then only after he's signed his name on our Nikkah. I won't style him up for someone else, I'm no fool. Despite his straight man style, he was radiant. He is a picture of secure masculinity. I was particularly annoying. I refused to release his waist from the shackles of my arms, I was walking with my head pressed against his chest, I kept reaching up to pinch his cheeks, and I am always a slow walker. I didn't for a moment pay attention to my surroundings since he was there. He maneuvered me through the busy streets of Camden, he didn't push me off of him despite the 95 degree temperature, and he honestly didn't even seem to notice that I was being a burden. 

I'd decided on Rosa’s Thai. At first I was hesitant because it was a chain, but I eventually decided that even mediocre food could not ruin my mood since I was having it with Hamoodi. It was 4 minutes from the train station, open late enough for us to have dinner, and had space for us to sit. 

“Is this it?” He asked when I stopped us in front of the restaurant. 

I nodded into his arm and said “yes”. 

He gently removed me from him, so that he could hold the door for me to enter. If you'd have told me that we had been transported to Thailand upon entering Rosa’s Thai, I would have believed you. The heat inside was oppressive. If you didn't know, only 10% of England has air conditioning, it was 95 degrees out, and what little air conditioning there is to be had was practically useless. Rosa’s seemed to have an air conditioning unit, but it was no match for the number of people emitting hot air from their mouths. I wondered if it was even turned on. I'm Floridian, I can manage, but I worried about Hamoodi. Yes, Somalia is hot, so he may be better suited than the average Brit by nature, but he'd never lived in such a climate. I turned to look at him and ask if the heat was okay, but he was already at the counter of the restaurant. I stepped up to be next to him. I put my hand around his arm and the server speaking with him allowed just a moment of disappointment to cross his face before giving me a cheerful “hello!” then turning back to Hamoodi and saying “yes a table for two!”

Hamoodi had been saying something earlier that I hadn't quite heard, but I thought he was asking about the outdoor seating, so I said “is it too hot for you? Can we eat outside?” 

The server overheard and said “no, the outdoor seating is closed.” As he placed the menus and table settings on a table just to the left of the entryway door. 

“That's all right, thank you!” Hamoodi assured the server. 

I noticed then that when he speaks to strangers, he raises his voice and swings it around. Usually his voice is a bit low and even, but whenever he spoke to the server, he added a playfulness to it. A non-threateningness. A subtle way of saying “yes, I am big and muscular, but I am kind and safe”. I wondered if he was aware of this and what began it. He also smiled when he spoke to him, to anyone helping us. I was so busy admiring his thoughtful behavior and gentle communication that I didn't notice him pulling out my chair for me. I didn't notice it until I'd begun to sit down and noticed that there was a chair between us and his hand was holding onto it despite him clearly hovering over the chair behind him. I was suddenly embarrassed. I realized that I hadn't been out with a proper gentleman in years. I felt like some sort of pick-me girl who thinks chivalry is dead. I thought he might think poorly of me for even thinking he wouldn't take out my chair for me. As though my father or grandfather didn't raise me properly. I swallowed the embarrassment though and reminded myself that Hamoodi doesn't have a judgemental bone in his body. I just sat down on the chair he'd provided me. 

Once I sat, he sat. Then, he said “are you okay here? At this table?” I nodded. He said “okayyy. Look, I'm going to go wash my hands. If he comes, get whatever you'd like.” 

I said “okay, I will” and giggled a bit. 

He seemed confused by my laughter. “What is it?” He questioned. 

“You're soooo cute” I smiled. 

“You think so?” He raised his eyebrows as he stood. 

I nodded. 

“Alright then” he replied as he walked downstairs to the bathroom. 

He had a sort of nervous energy about him tonight. Not the kind of nervous that made him shy, but the kind of nervousness that made me think that he wanted to do everything right. Nervous as though this interaction, meeting, perhaps date was as important to him as it was me. I was nervous too. 5 years is quite a bit of a waiting period

I looked at the menu while he was in the bathroom and decided on the same thing I get every time I eat Thai food; a chicken pad Thai. When he returned, I went to wash my hands in the bathroom. When I returned he again encouraged me to order anything I wanted. I knew that I wanted a chicken pad Thai, but I didn't consider what I wanted to drink, so when the server arrived to take my drink order, I floundered. 

“Umm I'll have a Thai tea” I said at first.” 

Hamoodi said “I'll have the Thai lemonade” 

Then I said “actually I'll have the Coke Zero, sorry!” 

The server then said “okay, no Thai tea, Coke Zero.” 

I nodded. 

Hamoodi then said “please bring her both. I'll have a Coke Zero too. Two Coke Zero, a Thai tea, and a Thai lemonade. Thank you!” 

I felt crazy. Like I legitimately felt crazy in that moment. I could feel every cell in my body vibrating and every last one of them desperately wanted to climb into Hamoodi’s lap. Remembering that we were not on a date and that Hamoodi doesn't like me like that, I gave them a stern speaking to. I told them that we would be staying in our seat and respecting the friendship we have spent years cultivating regardless of Hamoodi’s enticing displays of masculine energy. 

We ordered our food after than. Me, pad Thai with chicken. Him, pad Thai with king prawn and a mango and prawn salad.

“What salad are you having?” He probed me when the server asked if we’d like anything else. 

“Pad Thai is enough for me!” I replied. 

“You'll have some of my salad then.” He relented. 

I didn't tell him that I don't eat mango or any fruit because I knew he would change his salad if I told him that. I didn't want that. I wanted him to have what he wanted. He's spent the last few weeks looking after his mother post surgery. She is bedridden and irritable from it. I won't speak much of his mother though we spoke much of her at dinner. I wouldn't want her to hold it against me. Just know that he's been putting himself last for quite a long time and I didn't want him doing it with me. I want to be a space for him to refuel and relax. So, I kept quiet about the salad. We spoke and caught up. We discussed how crazy it was to see each other after such an long time. How crazy it was to still be so close. To still adore each other. We both avoided the word “love”. We avoided it for different reasons. Me, because I know hearing it from me puts weight on him. Him, because he understands the responsibility of love and fears he will not live up to it despite it being his honest emotion. Both of us trying to look after the other. We really do love each other though. I don't love him in the way I've loved anybody else. Not that I love him more or less than anyone else, but that the feeling is unique. I love him as though he's been with me forever. I think there is nothing he could do to change that. My love for him is neither platonic nor romantic, it is purely energetic. I don't know what he thinks about the way he feels about me because he doesn't really share it. He is affectionate and he is kind, but he does not express feelings very often. He does that Eastern man thing where he says “what the hell, of course I ____ you! You think I'd spend this kind of time with you if I didn't?” The other night though, when I was in Venice, our conversation teetered outside of our usual boundaries. We were planning our time together and I, in my excitement pressed him to express his feelings for me. I wanted to see it on my screen from him, so badly. He gave me an inch, he said “of course I adore you” and “You might be the only woman I’ve ever been able to click with”. I, ever relentless, took a mile. Like an addict I pushed him for more. I pushed him to express that he is sexually attracted to me for the first time ever. Now, I am possessed by a comment he made during that conversation. “I'd fold you up iman”. I've tried to discuss it with him a few times since and he brushes me off every time. He refuses to talk to me like that again. Brittyn thinks it's because he respects me and regrets sharing those thoughts. I think it's because he doesn't like me in that way. Being next to him intensified the statement’s possession of me. As I looked upon his beautiful smile, strong arms, and ample quads “I'd fold you up iman” played over and over again in my head. He was talking and I was trying my best to hear him over “I'd fold you up iman”, but the more he talked the worse it became. He had begun teaching me about something. He often teaches me things that he's learned. I don't think he realizes just how attractive he is when he does that. He doesn't understand that it gives “husband and father”. It makes a girl want to say “fold me up so I can give you a gift” . He doesn't understand that I think. He thinks it's dorky. 

The drinks came out while I was powering through my possession. Just as I was about to open the tab on my Coke, I realized that the writing was silver and paused to double check it. Silver means regular Coke, which means an egregious amount of sugar. Black writing indicates Coke Zero, which has zero sugar, which is the kind that I drink. Hamoodi immediately noticed something was wrong. 

“What's the matter?” He frowned. 

“Oh it's just the wrong type of Coke, I'll just-” 

“I'll get the right one.” He said as he took both of our sodas and walked to the bar. 

I could have died right there, but he was right beside me. 

-Lana Del Rey 

“Has he no idea how he affects me?” I wondered to myself as he provided for me. In just a few seconds, he returned with two cans of Coke Zero, opened them, and poured them into the glasses with ice they belonged in. There's never been a time where I’ve lacked appreciation for masculine energy. However, dating Ranger was a stern lesson on what life is like without it directly from God. One could say I've been fasting from masculinity for 2.5 years. So, being in Hamoodi’s presence felt like that first sip of coffee on Eid morning. Then, the food came and it was good. It was better than I expected from a chain Thai food restaurant. It lacked spice though and our table’s container of chili oil was empty. At first I was going to just eat it, but you guys know me…if it's not spicy, I'm not rocking with it. 

So, when Hamoodi said “how’s your food?” I admitted that it could use some spice. He directed me to the chili oil and I made him aware that it was empty. “I'll get you more,” he stated. Not wanting him to have to cater to my every whim as he did his mother, I began to protest that I could do it myself. He didn't seem to notice me doing that. He used his large and noticeable body to call the server and get me some chili oil. Then, once it was on my food he said “better?” And I nodded, “yes”. 

As we ate our conversation continued and Hamoodi eventually said “I can't wait to hear what you think of me.” 

“I adore you, Hamoodi. You know that.” 

He smiled and said “yes, but what do you think of my behavior in real life.” 

“I think you're nervous, I think your mother makes you feel awful for anything you don't do perfectly, and I think you are stressed out but happy to be here.” 

“Oh wow! That's a really good read on me.” He exclaimed earnestly.  “She does do that, make me feel awful for doing something wrong-” 

“I know, that's why you're feeling so bad about being late” 

He frowned a bit “I was so late though, it was eggregious. I'm so embarrassed. Then you came so far up here, I should be coming up to you! I don't know how to make it up to you, that's why I keep telling you to have whatever you want. I want to make it up to you.” 

“You don't have to make anything up to me. You told me you were running late and to wait for you to tell me you were ready. I just didn't listen because I knew that you wouldn't let your mother get you to reschedule  if you knew I'd already left home and was waiting for you. So, I pushed at you. Which was selfish, but I don't care. She has to share you, she can't keep taking you away from me.” 

“Yeah that's true… but still” he began. 

“Still nothing! Be normal, Hamoodi” I enforced. 

He stopped apologizing for a bit after that. We kept eating. It wasn't long before he realized that I hadn't tried his dinner. He picked up his Thai lemonade, held it in front of me, and said “try my drink”.

 I said “it's okay, Hamoodi, I'm so full” 

He said “no, no I won't drink it until you've had some.” 

So, I took a sip. He watched me drink and when I said “it's good!” He frowned and said “you've barely had any, have some more”. So, I took another, bigger sip which satisfied him. The whole interaction made me desperate to curl up in his lap with my arms around his neck. 

After a little while longer he looked at my plate and said “why don't you finish it? You don't like it? Do you want something different?” 

I said “no I'm just full” 

He said “oookkaaayyy” in his English was of saying it. 

I said “would you like some of mine?” 

He said “no, no! I cannot take from you. What kind of man would I be?”

The kind of man that allows me to look after him the way he does everyone else. 

-inside thought. 

“Why haven't you tried the salad?” He questioned me. 

“Oh- I, I don't like mango” I admitted. 

I wished I could have healed my aversion to fruit right there and then for him. I would have done anything to not have inspired the upset that rippled through his pretty face. But I didn't want to eat the mango and vomit, that would have made things much worse. 

“I wish you would have told me, I would have gotten something you could eat!” 

I touched his leg and said “it's okay, I didn't want you to change what you wanted for me”. 

If he noticed that I'd touched his leg, he did not make it apparent. His eyes didn't even shift. He just kept talking. Reminding me that this was not a date. For the best, really. I only ended things with Ranger two weeks ago. Though I’d fully emotionally checked out the moment he got had no remorse for letting someone sexually assault me month ago. Hamoodi was right, we were not on a a date. 

“You just don't like mango?” He asked me. 

“I can’t eat any fruits other than watermelon ans dragonfruit.”

“What about apples?” 

“Not alone, but sometimes I can eat apple pie deposing on how strong the apple taste is.” 

“What about regular melon? Or cantaloupe?” He continued. 

“No.” 

“Coconut?” He landed on a creature ask. 

“Yes, I can eat coconut. Though it's a nut, not a fruit.” 

He nodded “why don't you eat it? Is it an allergy?” 

“It's an aversion I developed after throwing up a fruit salad on stage at Eapaniños camp in elementary school” 

He didn't know what Espaniños camp was. So, I explained it to him. He found it rather delightful as there aren't many Latinos in the UK. Once I was finished explaining the server returned, informed us that they were closing, and asked if we would like dessert. I declined and Hamoodi declined as well, so the server left. Then, he asked me if I was done eating. I said I was, but noticed that his own plate was far more full than my own. So, I, trading places with him, encouraged him to eat more. Sillily, in a way that if he had a child would throw them into a giggling fit, he rubbed his stomach and said “I’ll finish up”. Then, he practically swallowed 3 or 4 twirls of his Pad Thai and took a final bite of the salad before excusing himself. At first I thought we was going to the bathroom, but when I didn't see him go down the stairs, I realized that he'd gotten up to pay the bill. He made sure that I wouldn't even see it. That put me in a bad way. It made me jealous of his mother because she gets to be with him every day and resentful because she doesn't even appreciate him. 

As we left, he made certain to thank everyone working for their labor. He has no idea how he makes me feel. 

By the time we got outside, the hot summer day had gone chilly. Making attaching myself to his arm all the more enticing. I wanted to hold his arm as much as possible for I didn't know when I'd get to touch him again. If I'd ever get to touch him again. I was getting makeup all over his shirt and part of me wanted to have some self-control and stop it because I knew he had to go home to his mother, but it was overshadowed by my selfishness. He commented that he'd take a baby wipe to his shirt on the way home anyway. So, I kept pressing my face into his arm and chest. When the street got crowded he made me stop though. Walking like that wasn't cohesive with the London foot traffic. I tried to follow behind him, but he placed me in front. Making sure that he could see me and that anyone coming from behind would have to go through him. I wondered when these behaviors became thoughtless for him. We’d spoken about the kind of man his late father was over dinner for the first time in a long time. His father sounded stoic, protective, humble, and capable. I imagine that Hamoodi’s behaviors had been passed down from him. Some men though, their fathers don't provide them an example of how to be proper men or they didn't have a father to teach them. So, the things Hamoodi does without second thought feel forced or unnatural to them. Those are men that are addicted to Reddit, bringing up “male loneliness”, and listening to podcasts. They shudder at the concept of male responsibility in the presence of women because, in my opinion, they wish to be women. They do not take pride in their God given biology which allows them to have stronger bodies, stay awake for longer periods of time without consequence, and go about life without a monthly hormonal cycle. They would have a better sense of self if they learned to revel in their masculinity. 

“You know, you can get a train to so many parts of Europe from here.” Hamoodi taught me as we walked into King’s Cross. 

I could have come to that conclusion on my own with a bit of observation, but the fun fact was nice to learn. It was an offering of knowledge that he possessed and I appreciated it. Hoping to make him smile, I said “where is platform 9 ¾ ?” it worked and he offered me a chuckle.

 He then animated his entire face for the first time that night. He is expressive, usually, and silly, but his responsibilities were wearing him down, making his energy low. He raised his brows, widened his eyes, opened his mouth then exaggeratedly looked around for a moment. This made me laugh harder than was perhaps necessary, but humor is so funny from men as masculine as him. We walked up the stairs and he stopped to point out the huge display of arrival and departure times in front of us. I asked him for a photo together, he obliged. The whole thing reminded me of time spent with my grandfather, where he would teach me everything he knew about anywhere we were. I couldn’t help, but to think again about how much his children will love him when he becomes a father. Especially the way that his daughter will adore him. How she will climb his long limbs to sit on his shoulders and kiss the top of his head and be just a stupid with safety as I was when I was that age. As stupid with safety as I was standing next to him. I had no idea of the time, no idea what was happening around me, and not a care in the world. I hadn’t felt that way in two and a half years, I’d weaned myself off of this energy, I learned how to exist without it. Yet, just a couple hours in his presence had me fiending for more. I suddenly couldn’t understand how I’d gone so long without being taken care of. He especially was like magic. He has experienced ego death in a way people live a lifetime without achieving. Allah (SWT) has tested him, still tests him and he is passing. He is ripe to do His will, not from having a low IQ, but from abandoning the negative parts of ego. What a blessing. I hope to achieve this level of ego death soon.  

“Let me see your teeth.” I demanded of Hamoodi. 

He grimaced to show me and I stood on my toes to look at them up close. 

“Open your mouth so I can see inside.” I demanded of him again. 

“Why?” he questioned. 

“Because I want to have a look at them.” I frowned. 

He opened his mouth for me to see and I was delighted. His mouth was full of strong, healthy teeth of perfect size and shape. I was captivated by them, so captivated that I touched one. Which made him jump backwards a bit. 

“Sorry! Omg” I exclaimed after realizing what I’d done. 

He looked at me with his patience, smiled a closed mouth smile, and raised his brows. 

“Do you want a Starbucks?” he asked me. 

I gave him a look that he immediately recognized and said “Starbucks?” 

He knew what he’d suggested and laughed. “I’m just one man, Iman!” We then both laughed and he continued on with a story. “You know I was walking somewhere and having a Starbucks and this white guy. This white guy wearing a keffeiyeh stopped me and was like ‘brother, what are you doing’. I was like ‘I’m just one man!’” 

“Astags Hamoodi! You’ve got white people clocking you now!” 

We laughed a bit longer and walked a bit further before we came across Caffe Nero. “Have you been to Caffe Nero before?” he asked me. 

“No, but I’m happy to try it” 

“Alright, it’s good. It’s an Italian place. I just don’t know if it’s going to mess up your sleep.” 

‘I’ll get a decaf.” 

So, we went to Cafe Nero and he was ever sweet and ever attentive. I ordered a decaf iced latte with pistachio syrup and he ordered a plain iced latte. Once we finished ordering, he stepped in front of me and blocked the register. I stepped away. However, realizing that we were not on a date and he’s not interested in me, I offered to Venmo him for the coffee. He looked at me as though I had called him a slur, so I let it go. We sat on a bench next to the Caffe Nero stand and wait while they prepared the drinks. As soon as he sat, I wrapped myself around him again. By then all I could do was repeat to him over and over how happy I was to be there with him and how much I adore him. I wanted so badly to kiss his cheek, but I didn’t dare do it. I couldn’t cope with the consequences of it. To kiss his cheek would be an irreversible action with outcomes that could potentially upset the fragile balance of our closeness. I could kiss his cheek and he would do nothing in return which would make my spiral out of control from embarrassment since my ego death journey is not quite where I’d like it to be. Or, he would turn his face and kiss me back, which would change our relationship drastically at a time where neither of us could manage it to change. To kiss his cheek would be self-indulgent and short-sighted, so I didn’t do it. I just wished that I could. 

“Pistachio iced latte!” The girl working at Caffe Nero interrupted my ponderings. 

Hamoodi gently lifted me off of him again and said “I’ll go get them”. 

When he returned with the drinks, I was forced to sit up to drink mine. I would never let something he gave me go to waste. We talked about some random bullshit as we drank our coffees and I used the time to commit the intricacies of his face to my memory. I watched the way his lips curved as he spoke, the way his nose wrinkled depending on the intensity of what he was speaking, and the way his eyes narrowed, wrinkled, and shifted as he spoke. I watched them move while he listened to me speak. I watched his pupils dilate with understanding and intrigue. I watched his eyes dart about as he controlled his ADHD. Then, while I was laughing and he was laughing…I watched them dart down to my mouth, then back to my eyes, then back to my mouth again, and then if I’m not terribly mistaken, I watched him lean forward just a bit before a new emotion displayed in his eyes and he leaned back. If I’m not terribly mistaken, I believe I watched him come to the same conclusion that I did about kissing his cheek. However, I could be terribly mistaken. You know? 

“Iman, what train station are you going to?” Hamoodi asked me. 

“Vauxhall, why?” 

“How’s the walk from the station to where you’re staying?” He questioned me further. 

“It’s short.” 

“Okay, but is it safe, would you say? Are there people that would make you feel unsafe?” He asked me. 

“No, why?” 

“It’s nearly 11 and I can’t take you home because my mum has called me three times and I need to tend to her. So, you need to go home now.” He replied. 

I fought back a tantrum. “I’m fine going home by myself, I want to stay here longer with you.” 

“Come on now, what train do you need?” He ignored my protests. 

“I took the Victoria line here.” 

He nodded and took me with him through the station. I wanted so badly to throw a fit, but I knew it would add so much to his stress, so I held myself together and let him take me to the Victoria line. I held onto him tightly as he marched me down the stairs, around corners, through tunnels. 

“South, right?” he asked. 

“Yes.” I replied somberly. “Hamoodi, I don’t want to leave.” I pleaded. 

He touched the top of my head before wrapping his arms around me to hug me back. “I’m going to try to see you again before you leave, but the train is coming, so you need to get on it.” 

Like a child, I shook my head “no” against his chest. 

He raised his voice an octave when he spoke again, managing me. “Okay, okay the train is here, Iman. Go on and get on. The doors shut fast.” 

Unwilling to be another source of stress for him, I squeezed his waist one more time before finally letting him go and running to the train. 

When I got home my aunts and uncles asked me how my “date” was. I replied for the millionth time that day, full of embarrassment “it’s not a date.”

The next day, at my cousin’s birthday dinner, they told my cousin and his girlfriend that I went on a date the day before. Which sparked a whole conversation about how I know Hamoodi and how it was not a date. My cousin Josh, who’s 39th birthday we were celebrating, then said something reflective of his old age. 

“You’ve never asked him how he feels or what he wants, so you can’t decide for him. You can’t keep saying that he doesn’t like you like that when he’s never said that.” 

Josh doesn’t know me very well yet since he’s 12 years my senior and grew up in England, so it was particularly humbling for him to so quickly call attention to the fact that I do that. We all know I’m trying to stop though. I’m working on it. God is always working on me.