I thought I had caught a golden opportunity, struck the jackpot, when I met a swarthy, dark-haired, strikingly handsome man from the East named Daniel. Perhaps my self-esteem was lacking, as I never imagined he would notice me. We met at French language classes—I was a fifth-year literature student, and he was an economist from Algeria, working in New York on a contract. By chance, we ended up sitting next to each other during one session, and afterward, he asked if he could walk me home.
I didn’t play coy. In fact, I boldly invited him for a cup of tea. I wanted to show off a bit to my mother, who was always lamenting that I’d end up an old maid, though there was no real basis for her worries. I may not be a stunning beauty, but I know my worth and have never lacked admirers.
My mother was all charm with Daniel, but the moment he left, she unleashed a storm.
— Emma, have you lost your mind? He’s Muslim! There’s an insurmountable gap between you. Do you know their traditions? It’s pure patriarchy. An Algerian! To think you’d meet an Arab and bring him home. Did you think I’d fall for his charming eyes?
— Mom, he doesn’t seem Arab at all, — I protested. — Daniel studied in New York for five years and follows our laws.
— I didn’t raise you alone, without a husband, just to let you run off to some Algeria! I don’t want to see him here again. Understood?
— Oh, please, Mom! I’ve only met him once, and you’re already marrying me off! — I sighed. — Besides, do you think I’d ask your permission to marry someone? I’m an adult, thank you very much. I’ll figure it out myself!
I was genuinely furious. And I was curious—would my relationship with Daniel grow? At the very least, I hoped it would. Dating a foreigner! That’s every girl’s dream, to visit the East! I’m already 24 and have never been abroad. What if he proposes? I’d have to move there. Daniel mentioned his New York contract ends in six months, and he has no plans to stay in the States.
I let my imagination run wild, as if I were already his fiancée…
Soon enough, I was exactly that. To my mother’s great dismay, Daniel and I started dating. He fell for me with all the passion of an Eastern man, and I reciprocated. He was fiery in bed and nothing like the tyrant my mother had conjured up. On the contrary, I saw how respectfully he treated me. He practically carried me in his arms. Who wouldn’t love that?
— It’s not over yet! — my mother hissed. — He’ll show his true colors soon enough. You’ll cry your eyes out.
But things moved forward. Daniel proposed, and I accepted with overwhelming joy.
— Emma, you understand we’ll live in my homeland, right? I won’t stay in the States. My family is there.
— Of course, darling, I’d agree to anything to be with you! I was over the moon. My mother cried daily. My friends were green with envy. I enrolled in Arabic language classes—everything about my beloved’s country fascinated me. All I could think about was our future life together…
— My love, I have a brilliant idea, — Daniel said one day. — My sister’s wedding is in two weeks. It’s the perfect chance to visit Algeria. I’ll introduce you to my relatives and show you the country you’ll live in. Want to go?
As if I wouldn’t! An exotic trip with the man I loved—what more could a girl dream of?
Stepping out of Algiers’ airport, I felt like I’d entered another world. Women were wrapped in hijabs that revealed only their eyes, and men wore clothing unfamiliar to a Westerner’s gaze. They spoke a language I didn’t understand. The heat was oppressive, with palm trees and vibrant, exotic shrubs blooming everywhere.
— Wow, this place is amazing! Let’s explore the city.
— We don’t have time, unfortunately, — Daniel said distractedly. — Wait in the car, I’ll be right back.
He settled me in a taxi and hurried off. The driver stared at me relentlessly, and I breathed a sigh of relief when my fiancé returned.
— Put this on. He deftly draped a beautiful black scarf with an Eastern pattern over my face and shoulders. Within minutes, I was suffocating in the heat. The moment we stepped out of the car, I yanked the scarf off. — God, you could choke in this thing! How do women wear it?
Daniel spun around, furious. I was baffled.
— It’s not a “thing”! — he snapped, almost harshly. — The hijab is a vital part of a Muslim woman’s life. Put it back on now.
— Sorry, — I said. — It just feels absurd to make women wear this in such heat. It’s ridiculous!
— For Muslim women, strictly following hijab rules is a matter of honor, — Daniel explained. — It protects them from lustful male gazes. My family is deeply religious; honoring traditions is sacred to us. You need to understand: this place has strict principles. Mocking Islamic culture is like mocking my mother.
— Are you saying I have to wear this scarf the entire time I’m in your country? Why didn’t you warn me? I might’ve reconsidered coming…
Daniel looked taken aback.
— It never occurred to me to warn you. It seemed obvious.
He hugged and kissed me, and I calmed down. Fine, I’d be compliant.
We arrived at the town where Daniel’s parents lived after midnight. Everyone was asleep except his mother, who greeted me coldly. It stung—I’d expected nothing but positivity. This woman was outright rude! She spoke only to her son, in Arabic, and when addressing me in French, she didn’t ask a single question, just told me to go to bed.
— Goodnight, — Daniel said, heading for the door. I followed, but then the unexpected happened. — No, you stay here. I’m sleeping at my uncle’s. It’s not customary for a man to sleep under the same roof as a woman before marriage, — he explained.
My knees buckled. I’d been longing for the moment we’d be alone, hoping he’d hold and comfort me. Instead, I was left with this unwelcoming woman who clearly had no interest in bonding. I was a guest in her home—not just a guest, her son’s fiancée.
The next day, I didn’t see Daniel at all. In the days that followed, I only glimpsed him briefly, from a distance. I wasn’t prepared for this kind of “romantic” trip, and disappointment brought me to tears. My potential mother-in-law never left my side—nor did her four daughters. We did everything together: went to the market, prepared the house for the wedding, worked in the kitchen. It felt like they’d soon follow me to the bathroom. Daniel’s sisters were quiet and friendly, but his mother grew increasingly hostile. What had I done to offend her?
On the third night, as I was heading to bed, she asked:
— How could your mother let you come alone? Was she so eager to push her daughter out of the house? Or were there other reasons?
I barely restrained myself from snapping back something sharp and biting. I held back tears, refusing to give her the satisfaction. I didn’t see my fiancé again until his sister’s wedding. He arrived with the other guests but kept his distance, only smiling from afar. Confused, I ran to him, longing to hug him—I’d missed him! But he grabbed my arm angrily and dragged me to the garden.
— Emma, what are you doing? — he shouted. — Trying to cause trouble for me? My family’s already gossiping about you. You can’t act like you do in the States. The customs here are different. My mother already noticed you shamelessly wanted to spend the night with me, and now you’re throwing yourself at me in front of strangers.
— “Throwing myself”? — I yelled back, furious. — “Strangers”? This is your family!
— But not yours! — he shot back. — When we marry, I’ll be your only family. Remember that!
— You need to remember something too! — I said, seething. — I’ll never be your wife! Never! Take me to the airport now!
— You can’t do this to me, — Daniel stammered.
— I can, and I will! Find another bride, because I’m done!
A few hours later, I was on a flight back to New York. One thing was crystal clear: I could never live by the laws of Sharia.
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