It was during our second phone call that Ovi brought up the topic of marriage. The conversation took place in the early hours of the morning, as we had been talking for quite some time and it was nearing the time for Fajr, the first prayer of the day. I sat up in bed, considering the fact that we had been getting to know each other for about a month now. Without hesitation, I expressed my enthusiasm for the idea of getting married.
Ovi was someone I had seen around before. We were a part of similar social circles, although we didn’t interact much beyond attending the same Islamic classes and events in Sydney. I occasionally stole glances at him from across the room and we exchanged a few words at the refreshments table. From these brief interactions, I formed an initial impression of him as a kind and intriguing person, albeit a little nerdy.
I still can’t fully comprehend how seamlessly everything fell into place, apart from believing that there was a touch of divine intervention involved. When I searched for him online, I discovered that he was a PhD student in a niche engineering field with an interest in space travel. However, that was the extent of my knowledge about him. Given the limited opportunities for conversation, it seemed like that was as far as our connection would go. Fortunately, I received some help from my friends, who informed me that he was single and also interested in getting to know me.
Our first “date,” if you can even call it that, had one of our mutual friends present. We shared some tea, and Ovi asked me about my preferences in a spouse. I tried my best not to appear too surprised, as observant Muslims typically view marriage as the ultimate goal. However, my previous relationships had been a bit more ambiguous when it came to the specifics of reaching that point.
After that cafe meeting, I left with his email address and a feeling of mixed emotions. His outdated Hotmail address didn’t inspire much confidence either. However, within hours, he emailed me to express his gratitude that I had considered him, but mentioned that he would be occupied for the foreseeable future and was uncertain when we could meet again. I began to wonder if that was his subtle way of rejecting me. Little did I know at the time that Ovi’s words were always sincere.
Over the next few weeks, our correspondence grew increasingly detailed and frequent. We exchanged lengthy emails, sharing our histories, family photos, and even memes. He was both funny and considerate, remembering small details about my life. However, I couldn’t help but question his intentions. Did he simply want a pen pal? Would our communication fade away once we had memorized each other’s favorite ice cream flavors and movies? Although I had given him my phone number, we hadn’t spoken over the phone or arranged another meeting.
Coincidentally, we happened to be at the same event during this period of intense correspondence. As the evening came to a close, I left without saying goodbye. However, just as I was changing into my pajamas, my phone rang. It was Ovi, who called to say hello while he was driving home. Somehow, our conversation carried on well into the early hours of the morning.
The following night, we talked again. Our discussion was relaxed and meandering, a continuation of all the topics we had covered in our emails and much more. I felt as though I truly knew this person—the essence and core of who he was, even if I didn’t know every factual detail about him. That’s why I wasn’t afraid when he asked me what I thought about getting married. And it was just one month later that we actually tied the knot.
Now, eight years later, after six different addresses and two moves across continents, he with his completed thesis and me with my published novel, I still can’t fully explain how swiftly everything fell into place. All I can attribute it to is a touch of divine intervention. Marrying a man I had only known for a few months could have ended in disaster. Yet, it turned out to be the best decision I ever made, even at 4am in the morning.