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He was so overcome with guilt that several times during intercourse, he would stop and say, ‘Wow, we’re such bad Muslims,’ before continuing on with the act.Afterwards he’d retrieve the frame and hang it back up on the wall, a look of deep pain and remorse across his face.
That fall, as school started up again, I found ‘The One’ I had been searching for, and he came with bonus features as well — he was a Lahori Pakistani (just like my family) and was even from the same rich neighbourhood in the city we used to live in. He was studying to be a doctor, was a year ahead of me at our university, and if all that weren’t perfect enough, his dad was also a doctor. We started dating and within the first month had planned our entire life together, like good desi children do who have been brainwashed by their families and culture.
I went along with whatever moral hoops he had to jump through in order to justify his actions.
My family and I weren’t religious or devout Muslims.
My parents were more culturally Muslim, and had raised us in a laissez-faire style of Islam. Having sex, and losing my virginity wasn’t a big deal in my eyes.
We didn’t have any issues eating non-Halal food (no pork though, of course). I was more afraid of the social stigma of it all, knowing how judgemental and unforgiving Pakistani people can be about premarital sex.