Lunch plates pushed aside on Salwa’s desk made room for Dina’s elbows as she leaned forward, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Abbas Al-Fayed? The quiet engineer? YOU?”
An archaeology magazine lay forgotten beneath yesterday’s designer shopping bags. Salwa reclined on her bed, observing her friend’s reaction with a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.
“Engineer is better than accountant,” Layla drawled from her perch in the armchair, barely glancing up from her phone. “Though I suppose neither really matters for someone of your… position.”
“He has good manners.” The young woman adjusted a silk cushion behind her back with practiced elegance. “And he actually listens when I speak about archaeology.”
“Unlike all those other men you rejected?” The sophisticated friend’s perfectly shaped eyebrows arched with skepticism.
But Dina was already bouncing on the edge of the bed, her enthusiasm impossible to contain. “Tell us everything! How did you meet? What did he say? What did you wear?”
“Actually…” Salwa reached for her phone, her movements deliberately casual. “His family already came to propose last week. We’re in the getting-to-know-each-other phase now.”
Her friend’s mouth dropped open. The phone in Layla’s hand lowered with unprecedented speed. “What?” The excited girl clutched at the bedspread. “You mean you’ve been talking to him? Like, actually talking?”
“On the phone.” Manicured fingers traced patterns on her designer phone case. “Khala Samira stays on the line with us.”
“A chaperone? On the phone?” Layla’s tone dripped with disdain. “That’s so…”
“That’s exactly how it should be,” Dina interrupted, her voice firm. “My cousin did the same thing before her marriage.”
“And you’re okay with someone listening to every word?” The skeptical friend demanded.
A practiced shrug. “It’s not like we’re discussing state secrets. Besides, it’s temporary.”
“But seriously…” Layla leaned forward, disapproval evident. “A chaperone? For phone calls? What century is this?”
“It’s about respect,” the supportive friend insisted. “There’s nothing wrong with following proper—”
“Please.” A dismissive wave cut her off. “Have you forgotten that video scandal last month? That girl’s fiancé seemed proper too, until—”
“That’s different,” Dina protested. “She sent him private videos. That’s not the same as—”
Salwa interjected. “At least with Khala Samira there, no one can secretly record anything.”
“You’re not actually worried about Abbas doing something like that, are you?” The concerned friend asked.
“Of course not.” She looked up, a playful smile dancing on her lips. “He’s too… proper for anything like that. Almost too proper, honestly.”
“Too proper?”
“Abbas is different,” Salwa stretched out on her bed. “He’s not some traditionalist who’ll chain me to the kitchen. He’s modern, educated.”
“And you got all that from phone calls with your aunt listening in?” Layla’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“I can tell.” She sat up straighter, defensive. “He remembers everything I say. Yesterday, he asked about that archaeology article from last week.”
A scoff from her friend. “That’s what men do at first, habibti. They pretend to care until—”
“You should have seen him during the proposal visit,” she interrupted with a laugh. “He nearly tripped when our hands almost touched by the bathroom door.”
“Oh my,” came the soft response.
She hugged a pillow to her chest. “My grandmother always said to marry someone who’s crazy about you. He’ll do anything to keep you happy.”
Her friend’s fingers tightened around her phone.
“The others looked at me like a trophy,” the bride-to-be continued, tracing patterns on her bedspread. “But Abbas…he gets flustered just hearing me laugh at his jokes. Even Khala Samira notices.”
“Sweet,” came the flat reply. “For now.”
“He’ll stay that way.” She tossed her hair back. “I already mean more to him than I did to those other suitors. It makes up for our different social levels.” Her smile turned satisfied. “This time feels right.”
***
The afternoon crowd filled City Stars Mall, but inside La Poire café, Abbas sat alone, his stomach fluttering with nerves. His fingers drummed against the polished table as he fought the urge to check his carefully styled hair again. He’d selected the black sweater and cream trousers with meticulous care, though amid the café’s elegant surroundings, he still felt the weight of not quite measuring up.
Aunt Samira maintained her chaperone duties from two tables away, her attention seemingly fixed on her phone.
When Salwa appeared at the entrance, he stood so quickly his chair scraped the floor. She moved with natural grace, her cream-colored tunic flowing over tailored pants. The sight of her made his chest tight – their phone conversations had been warm but seeing her in person left him breathless with possibility.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted him, her smile careful but her eyes bright. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not at all,” he replied, pulling out her chair. Her voice in person carried a warmth that their phone calls hadn’t captured. Every gesture – the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, how her smile reached her eyes – added layers to the woman he’d come to know through their conversations.
“I appreciate you making the drive,” he added.
Salwa settled into her seat with natural grace. “La Poire’s croissants are worth the trip from Maadi.” Her gaze swept over the crystal chandeliers and art deco details. “Though their Mall of Egypt location is more to my taste.”
He nodded, trying to ignore how the menu prices made his stomach clench. But watching her smile across the table eased his tension, even with Aunt Samira’s obvious surveillance from two tables away.
When the waiter arrived, she ordered without hesitation: a croissant and café latte. Abbas chose an espresso.
“Your passion for ancient Egyptian history fascinates me,” he said, remembering her animated voice during their calls. “Have you visited any exhibitions recently?”
“Oh yes!” She leaned forward, eyes bright. “I was just at Al-Rawi Gallery in Zamalek. They have the most exclusive collection of ancient pieces. The owner transformed this old villa into something spectacular – you should see how they’ve preserved the architecture. It’s become quite the destination for viewing rare artifacts.”
He leaned closer, caught up in her enthusiasm. “That sounds fascinating. I do not know much about galleries, but I enjoy history. Last month, I visited the Islamic quarter with Tarek.”
“The Islamic quarter?” She touched her pearl earring. “I haven’t been there in ages. But speaking of nice areas, have you tried that new Lebanese place in Zamalek? Their roof terrace is amazing.”
“I have not,” he replied with a gentle smile. “Though I know this family restaurant near my office that makes incredible shawarma.”
“How charming!” Salwa’s eyes lit up with gentle mockery. “I love finding places like that. Though lately, I’m always at new restaurants for charity events and social gatherings. Last week at this fusion place…” Her hands danced as she described an upscale dinner party.
He watched her, struck by her graceful gestures and animated expression. He pictured quiet evenings at home together, sharing simple meals and conversation.
She noticed his attentiveness, how his dark eyes followed her movements. Unlike other suitors who competed for attention, he listened. She imagined him beside her at gallery openings, his quiet strength complementing her social charm.
The waiter brought their pastries. Breaking off a piece of croissant, she brightened. “You know, I’ve been thinking about wedding venues. The Four Seasons ballroom is perfect…”
Abbas remembered Tarek’s wedding six months ago – the lavish decorations, the endless guest list. His friend had confided how the costs had delayed their plans for a home.
“We’d need space for at least four hundred guests,” she continued. “And the flowers – I know this amazing florist. You should see their work.”
At her nearby table, Aunt Samira spoke up. “Young couples today sometimes forget that marriage’s beauty comes from joined hearts, not grand celebrations.”
His cheeks warmed, but he sat straighter. “I have been saving,” he said firmly. “I want to give you a beautiful wedding that honors our families.” He kept quiet about his apartment down payment fund.
Her smile brightened. “That’s wonderful! And with both families contributing, we can create something truly magical. I already have so many ideas…”
As she spoke, Abbas found his attention caught not by the mounting list of expenses, but by the way her face glowed with genuine joy. Perhaps, he thought, they could find a middle ground – though looking at her enthusiasm, he wondered if such a compromise existed.
Their meeting winding down, she dabbed her lips with a napkin, her movements graceful and practiced. ‘This was lovely. Next time you must let me show you Al-Rawi Gallery. The evening art showings are simply enchanting.’
He smiled, already grateful for these moments together, yet something tugged at the edge of his thoughts. While she painted vivid pictures of their future social calendar, he found himself wondering about simpler things – how she might spend quiet evenings at home, whether she would enjoy teaching their children about ancient history as much as she enjoyed attending exhibitions.
“I would like that,” he said, meaning it despite his reservations. The warmth in her eyes when she spoke about her passions made him want to be part of her world, even if it felt foreign to his own.
Salwa beamed, mentally adding him to the guest list for next month’s charity gala. Her quiet suitor’s attentiveness would make him the perfect escort. With some guidance on his wardrobe, he would fit right in. “You’re different from other men I’ve met,” she said softly. “You actually listen.”
Standing to leave, they shared a thrill of connection – each imagining a future shaped by their own hopes, neither seeing how those hopes might clash. He pictured peaceful evenings transformed by her vivacity, while she envisioned him as the dignified partner at her social events, each constructing a future that existed only in their minds.
Aunt Samira gathered her things, satisfied with the meeting yet troubled by an unease she couldn’t quite name. But watching the young couple’s farewell, she pushed her concerns aside. After all, she thought, what couple didn’t have things to work out?
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Thank you for reading Abbas and Salwa – Marriage Tension, Faith, and Love (Part 4). If this story moved you, feel free to leave a comment or share it with someone who’d appreciate it. New parts are posted regularly, so stay tuned!