Today my husband rushed very early to work. He said the intern accidentally deleted some database and it wiped out important backups. The stress was written on his face as he ran to the car. “Habibi, stay safe, okay?” , “uh huh, yes I will, I will”, I was standing at the door waving him goodbye when I noticed his shirt was inside out.

Before I could tell him he had already started the engine and drove off. So, I sent him a message, he hasn’t read it yet though. After this stress I took some time to sip some tea and calm down, the cat stroke against my feet as if it knew what I was feeling. Hours passed and soon Umm Maryam called.

I sat cross-legged on the couch, my notebook balanced awkwardly against one knee while Umm Maryam listened to my recitation through a crackling phone call. “You need to circle your lips,” she corrected immediately. I laughed. “How do you always catch that?” “Years of experience terrorizing students.”, she chuckled. “Allahumma Barik” “Barak Allahu Feeki. Less talk, continue.”

By the time we finished revising, the notebook pages were crowded with fresh markings and reminders. The sunlight had shifted across the living room floor, now stretching halfway beneath the coffee table and the cat sunbathing.

“By the way,” Umm Maryam said before ending the call, “do you mind if I ask you something?” That sentence almost always meant the conversation was about to become longer.

“You’re making me nervous! Sure, what is it?” She laughed. “I have a friend. She’s speaking to a potential and they’re arranging a meeting soon.” “Okay…” “She’s nervous.” “Aren’t they all?” “True.”

A pause. “She doesn’t really know what to ask.” I smiled, that felt familiar. “Neither did I.” “You?”, I could practically hear her surprise through the phone. “Umm Maryam, I spent half my interview wondering whether he liked me and whether I embarrassed myself.”

She laughed so hard I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “I’m serious.” “No you’re not.” “I absolutely am.”

The truth was, I remembered those days far more clearly than I expected. The nervousness, the stick up my spine, the overthinking. The feeling that one conversation carried the weight of your entire future.

“Would you be willing to meet her?” Umm Maryam asked. “Why me?” “Because you’ve been married for years now, I’ve seen you grow, how you worked on yourself.”, I looked toward the kitchen.

My husband was standing at the counter making tea, done with work and his shirt right side out. For a moment I remembered the tiny disagreements, how we had to learn to understand each other, the small things. We came a long way to where we are today.

“I think you give me too much credit.” “Maybe,” she replied. “But Allahumma Barik when I think of marriages I admire, yours is one of them”. I stared at the notebook resting in my lap. “I’ll meet her, In sha Allah,” I said finally.

After the call ended, I took the cat in my lap and pet its belly. My phone vibrated. A message from Umm Maryam.

Jazakillahu khairan. Tomorrow at that cinnamon roll café? I reacted with a heart. Yes, at Dhuhr In sha Allah. A second message appeared almost immediately. Aight, I let her know.

I smiled and buried my face in the cat’s fur. Warm and purring. I heard a big slurp and looked up, my husband was about to trudge back to his office with the hot cup in his hand and phone in the other.

“Did the database survive?” I asked. He looked up, “Barely, but stuff happens”. His eyebrow went up and he shrugged his shoulders. “I hope the intern is still alive, his face was white as a wall when he realised the damage”.

I laughed. “Alhamdulillah.” “Alhamdulillah.”

He put down his phone, “Oh I made you a tea as well, it’s over there, let me get it for you”. He sat down next to me and pushed a cup toward me, then took a sip from his own.

For a moment I just observed him. It was strange. Years ago I had sat across from this same man trying to figure out whether he would make a good husband. At the time I thought I was asking important questions. Was he trying to provide? Was he ambitious? Responsible? Did we have similar plans for the future?

All important things. Yet if somebody had shown me my life today back then, standing in our kitchen years later while he was nerding out about work, his passion being contagious, our moments together, I don’t think I would have known what questions to ask to arrive here.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. I blinked. “What?” “You’ve had that face for ten seconds.” “What face?” “The thinking face.”, he said, exaggerating it with a goofy grin.

I smiled into my tea. “Umm Maryam asked me to help a sister prepare for a marriage meeting.” “Ah.” “She doesn’t know what to ask.” He nodded, “That’s normal.” “Is it?”

“Of course. Everyone thinks they’re supposed to know what they’re doing.”, he touched my shoulder. I smiled, “That’s reassuring”. “Habibati, I spent the morning running around the office in crisis mode with my shirt inside out.“ I giggled and leaned into his arm, my head dropping on his shoulder, “You did”. “And somehow people still let me lead projects”. I shook my head. He had a point.

“You had notes at our meeting.”, he took my chin and gave it a little wiggle. “I had a few notes.”, I looked away. “You had an entire folder, habibati”.

I swatted his arm, the cat looked up, he laughed. He wasn’t wrong. I remembered sitting at my desk years ago writing questions, rewriting questions, reading articles, making lists and asking married friends for advice. At the time it felt like my entire future depended on getting everything right.

“What?” he asked. “Nothing.” “No, you’re thinking.” “I was just remembering how nervous I was.” “Oh, you were so terrified.” “I was not terrified.” “You were so sweet you brought backup questions.” “Okaaay, maybe.” I admitted, “You know, I think I spent more time worrying about whether you would choose me than asking myself whether I was actually ready for marriage.”

I gazed at the cat. It went back to sleep with its head resting on its front paws. Back then I kept asking myself questions like: Would he like me? Would I embarrass myself? Would this work?

But I don’t remember asking myself things like: Am I patient? Can I handle disappointment? Do I know how to communicate when I’m upset? Is my cup full enough to share my life with another human being?

My husband nodded slowly. “I think that’s normal. Most people focus on just finding the right person and fewer spend time becoming the right person.”

For some reason that sentence stayed with me. Every person hopes for certain qualities in a spouse like kindness, patience, maturity, respect, reliability, safety and yet I wondered how often people stopped asking themselves: would somebody with those qualities be looking for someone like me?

The next day arrived quicker than I expected. Soon, In sha Allah, I was going to meet the sister. I stood in front of the mirror adjusting my khimar for the third time. A stubborn wrinkle sat right across the strap above my forehead. I had hung it carelessly a few days ago and now it seemed determined to bite me for it. The cat watched from the bed with the same judgmental expression it seemed to reserve for all human activity. “Don’t start,” I told him. He blinked slowly.

I grabbed my bag and keys and quickly turned the sprinklers on. It was hot. The drive into the city was uneventful. I chose the route by the fields at the edge of the city. Occasionally sunlight spilled across the windshield as the avenue opened between rows of trees.

Lush birches swayed in the soft breeze. The closer I came to the city centre, the more people hurried between offices, buses and shops. Cyclists weaved through traffic with a level of confidence I could never understand. Somewhere a delivery driver was double-parked in a place that was definitely not a parking spot.

Normal life. I always found that comforting. Everyone was carrying something. Deadlines, families, dreams, worries, marriage interviews apparently.

By the time I arrived at the café, the sister was nowhere to be seen. Which meant one thing. I was early.

The smell of freshly baked carrot cake and cinnamon greeted me immediately as I stepped inside. A display case filled with pastries sat beside the counter. People worked quietly on laptops while others talked over half-finished drinks. I ordered a cinnamon roll and settled near the window.

A few minutes later the door opened. A young woman in jilbab nervously stepped inside, she almost tripped at the small stair leading in. After a glance around the café, she immediately spotted me.

For a brief moment I saw myself years earlier. The same nervous smile, uncertainty, the same feeling that one conversation carried the weight of an entire future.

She approached the table, “Assalamu alaykum.” “Wa alaykum salam wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh”, I replied.

She sat down, for a few seconds we both smiled politely at each other. Then she exhaled, “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. When I think about this proposal I feel like crying and at the same time vomiting. Is that even normal? “

I couldn’t help smiling, “Actually, that’s more normal than you think.” Her eyebrows lifted, “Really?” “Yeah, I felt the same before meeting my husband. By the way, I took the liberty to order you a lemonade.” Her shoulders visibly relaxed, “Jazakillahu khairan”. “Wa iyyaki”. She took a sip of the lemonade.

“So…” she looked down at the table. “What should I ask him?” I smiled, “Can I ask you something first?” “Sure.”

“Why do you want to get married?”. The question seemed to catch her off guard. She blinked, “I don’t know.” “Try.” She fiddled with the straw. “I guess… companionship?” “Mhm.” “A family one day.” “Mhm.” “And…” she hesitated. “I want someone to share life with.”

I nodded. Those were all good answers, but something told me there was more. “Let me ask it differently.” She looked up. “What kind of marriage are you hoping to have?”

For a moment she was quiet, then a small smile appeared, “I’ve never really thought about it that way”. She leaned back in her chair.

The noise of the café briefly filled the silence between us. Somebody’s chair screeched loudly against the floor. A coffee machine gurgled and sputtered in the background. The waiter brought a cream-filled cupcake piled high with a mountainous swirl of frosting and a glossy red cherry perched perfectly on top, “On the house”. We both thanked him.

“So…” she looked down at the table. “What am I supposed to think about?”. I thought for a moment, “When you imagine being married ten years from now, what do you see?”

She looked surprised, “Uh, I actually don’t know yet and I don’t know him yet” “Well, that’s okay.”

I pointed toward the window, “Do you want a marriage where deen is at the center?” She nodded immediately. “Do you want somebody who pushes you closer to Allah Tabarak Wa Ta’Ala?” “Of course.” “What kind of atmosphere do you want in your home?”

That question seemed to linger. For the first time since arriving, she wasn’t thinking about the brother. She started to think about the life. I could see a shift written on her face.

“So, you need to build a picture of the kind of marriage you’re hoping for.”

She was quiet. I continued, “Do you want a home where Qur’an is recited regularly?” “Yes.” “Do you want somebody who will teach you the deen? A man of protective zeal and scrupulous piety, considerate and kind? “ “Oh, yes.”

“Do you want somebody constantly hosting guests?” She laughed. “Well, not constantly.”

“See? That’s already useful information”, I leaned back in my chair, “Our ummah often approaches marriage looking for a person. They actually have such a descriptive list about their spouse’s ethnicity, looks and status, Subhan’Allah.”

“Mhm.” “The point is that you’re also looking for a lifestyle.” Her expression shifted slightly, “What do you mean?”

“Imagine you marry somebody who loves travelling between our city and Madinah every single month. Let’s say he’s a student and you hate going back and forth by plane, never really settling.”

She gave a tight-lipped smile, “That would be a problem.” “Exactly. Or imagine somebody who spends every evening with friends while you’re hoping for long evenings together”.

For a moment she watched the condensation slide down the side of the lemonade glass. Then she asked, “So I just need to ask the right questions and find somebody compatible?”

“Not really, marriage doesn’t teach everything we should already be working on before it. Like for example if somebody struggles to control their anger before marriage, they’ll struggle after marriage. If somebody cannot communicate, marriage won’t suddenly teach them how. And if somebody expects their spouse to heal every insecurity, solve every problem and carry every emotional burden…”, I smiled gently, “That’s a very heavy responsibility to place on another human being.”

She nodded. “So, preparation isn’t just about finding someone but also understanding yourself and becoming somebody.“

For a while we sat quietly. The cupcake between us had survived surprisingly long considering how much frosting it contained. She finally pointed at the cherry sitting on top.

“You’ve been staring at that cupcake for twenty minutes. So what profound marriage wisdom are you hiding in a pastry?” I laughed, “Nothing profound.” “That’s disappointing.”

I pointed at the cupcake. “Most people spend their marriage search looking for the cherry.” “The cherry?”, she lifted an eyebrow.

“The perfect person. But marriage isn’t the cherry”, I tapped the table lightly, “It’s the whole cupcake.” She frowned, “I don’t understand.”

“All of this is marriage. It’s an act of worship, the companionship, home, children, compromises, growth, responsibilities, the list goes on”. Her eyes moved back to the cherry, “And the spouse?” “The spouse is the person you’re sharing the cupcake with.”

Vrooom vroooom, vroom vroooom. She panicked as the sound in her bag got louder. Vrooom vroooom. She frantically searched it while a baby got startled and cried. She grabbed her phone and swiped. “I’m so sorry, very sorry”, she smiled sheepishly at the unamused mother. “What was that?”, I asked.

“Oh, uh that is my alarm, iPhone doesn’t have so many halal sounds. My choices were between a barking dog, crickets or a military sounding alarm that used to give me a heart attack”, she packed the phone away and zipped the bag, “So motorcycle it is. I need to go now; my dad asked me to be home earlier today.“

She stood, then she hesitated. For a moment she looked down at the cupcake, the empty lemonade, the half-finished conversation scattered across the table.

“Jazakillahu khairan.” “Wa iyyaki.” “No really”, her voice softened, “I think this is the first time I’ve felt excited instead of terrified”. Something about that made me smile. Alhamdulillah.

We exchanged salams and I watched her disappear back into the flow of the city. The drive home felt quieter. I stopped by the masjid and prayed ‘Asr. Not long and the late afternoon sun began stretching golden across the road while fields rolled past the window. Somewhere between traffic lights and long rows of trees, parts of our conversation kept returning to me. Alhamdulillah Allah has blessed me with what I have and taken care of me in my journey.

By the time I arrived home the sprinklers had already finished their cycle. The garden smelled faintly of damp grass. I turned the keys in the lock and as soon as I opened the door the cat came running with its tail pointing up. I crouched down to greet him with side scratches.

“Assalamu alaykum, he is asking what you brought for him”, my husband called out brightly.

“Wa alaykum salam, good for you my kitty, I saved some cream”. I took out a little to-go box, the cat sniffed. “I think you will love it”, I gave it a last pet before I washed my hands and found my husband sitting with my mushaf open between us.

“You escaped.” “Almost”, I went over and gave him a hug. “How was the marriage summit?” I laughed into his ear. “Surprisingly productive.” “Nice.”

He handed me the mushaf. “Surah Qaf.” I narrowed my eyes. “You enjoy correcting me.” “I enjoy accuracy.” “Wow, roasted”. He gave me a kiss on the forehead, “Now read”. I smiled and began reciting.

A few verses later he stopped me. “Again. Don’t forget the Alif Madd in Wazayyannāhā”. By the time we finished revising, Maghrib had already settled softly over the house. I closed the mushaf.

“Oh.” “What?” “I promised her I’d send some questions tonight”. He nodded, “Good idea.”

I disappeared into the office and opened my laptop. For a moment I simply stared at the blank document. Then I began typing.

What role does your deen play in your life? My fingers paused above the keyboard. Years ago I had written that question because it sounded important. Today I think about Qur’an revisions, the AMAU lectures we’ve watched together, the days when he attended a dawrah ’ilmiyyah and only came home late. Gentle reminders before salah. Mercy. A home shaped around worship in a hundred small ways.

I continued typing. How do you deal with anger or stress? How quickly are you to anger? I remembered difficult days, exhaustion and disagreements. Moments where neither of us had been at our best.

How do you express gratitude? I smiled. The teas he brought me every evening when I was working or revising. I will never forget how he sighed and said “Habibati, at this point I think we’re single-handedly keeping the tea industry alive with the amount of tea you chug daily”.

What steps are you taking to improve yourself? The cursor blinked steadily, patiently. I remembered long conversations about goals. Books, memorization, periods of motivation and weakness, the effort of two imperfect people trying to move in the same direction.

Question after question filled the page. Years ago, they had simply been questions, but now they were memories. I leaned back in my chair and looked at the growing document. Then I pressed send.

Questions for your meeting

Assalamu alaykum, I promised I would send you a few questions. Don’t feel like you need to ask all of them. Some answers you can get through other questions. The goal is to understand who is sitting in front of you and whether the two of you are trying to build the same kind of life. Some things I would personally ask:

• Which Islamic lectures do you watch?
• What teachers, books and authors do you take from?
• How much of the Qur’an have you memorized?
• How much do you study the deen daily?
• What halaqat and duroos do you attend?
• What is your daily routine and what do you want to do in the future?

Note: ask really good questions because even the hypocrites pray and make sure to verify the info by asking about him through his family and friends. See what is known about him in society.

If you’re now pleased with his deen, it’s time to see whether your goals and values align. I categorized some questions for you, try to weave them in while talking.

After all, this isn’t a job interview, but an evaluation what he is like, his attitude, do you like the way he phrases things? So on and forth. That said, it’s okay to take a couple notes but focus on talking to him because you want to find out whether you vibe together.

Personal interest:

• Could you tell me about your work?
• Do you have any plans on starting your own business/expanding it?
• What makes you happy?
• If your day hasn’t been the best, how do you cheer yourself up?
• What are your hobbies? Do you do any sports?
• Ask follow up questions and also tell him little things about yourself

Personality:

• How do you express gratitude?
• How do you deal with anger, stress or frustration? How quick are you to anger?
• Are you a forgiving person? How can someone regain your trust?
• How do you react when someone makes the same mistake again?
• What pet peeves do you have? What are your imperfect traits?
• What is the best way to support you when you are down?
• At what point would you start feeling neglected in a relationship?

Organizational:

• Where do you plan on living, do you already have plans regarding Hijrah?
• To what countries would you consider making Hijrah?
• What would our financial responsibilities look like?
• Have you had in present or past any allergies, health conditions, illnesses or impairments?
• How many children would you like us to have?
• What does your tarbiya for children look like?
• When would you consider children, e.g. after Hijrah? Ask yourself whether he will be a good father to your children and whether he will teach you and them properly.

Your relationship:

• What would you do if someone were to make me uncomfortable in public?
• What are your love languages?
• What responsibilities do you think a husband and wife don’t share?
• What is your understanding of gheerah and how would you express it?
• What is the most important thing in a marriage? Do you consider polygyny?

Pay attention to his manners and character: see how he treats other women like his mom and sisters. Character:

• What steps are you taking to improve yourself?
• What are 5 qualities you possess that you believe would make you an ideal spouse?
• What is your relationship with your family like and how many friends do you have?
• How important is having time to yourself for you?

Some more advice: go with the flow and be yourself because that’s the person your spouse will be together with.

While a base attraction matters, attraction can grow through him being a good man to you as well as servant of Allah. Naturally it will grow by seeing him doing ‘Ibadah, him acting upon learnt ‘ilm, and Allah Subhanahu Wa Ta’Ala will put love and attraction between you two.

Money is important but only to the extent that the brother has a plan for you: he can provide you with your rights and his job is secure. He doesn’t have to be rich, just someone trying. I wouldn’t ask him directly about his income, consider it taken care of by your wali.

If polygyny is an issue for you, bring that up sooner than later. But handle it with care, be gentle and make your standpoint clear.

Nikkah is truly easy. If you feel pleased with his deen and character, and you feel comfortable with his answers, go for it.

Remember, you’re not trying to find a perfect person, but someone you can walk the road together striving to please Allah.