"Somebody tell me that I'm dreaming," muttered Kanza as she stared wide-eyed at the numerous aisles of everything she could think of. "This is a shopaholic's paradise."

I rolled my eyes, pushing the Walmart cart forward. "Get a grip. You've been here before."

"I actually haven't."

Amira's eyebrows furrowed. "How is that even possible? This is the biggest retail company in America. They're everywhere!"

"Yeah," I agreed, "that's weird that you've never been inside a Walmart."

"My parents thought I'd break something in here, so they never took me or my other siblings," shrugged Kanza, brown eyes drinking in her surroundings. "I don't blame them. With seven kids, retail stores are the worst."

We continued walking deeper into the heart of America's prosperous names, passing typical Americans who gave us suspicious sideway glances, staring at our hijabs when we weren't looking, or whispering to each other. Amira, Kanza, and I had decided to go shopping for baking supplies so we could do our bake sale for the orphanage. 

We, as proud Muslim women, had gotten used to the stares long ago, choosing to keep our heads high and our iman (faith) even higher till we touched the sky and left ignorance buried in the soil. People would snicker at us like we were savages from some other land, posing to be their entertainers. Those types of people pretended to be the authors of our lives.

But then there were the customers that would smile kindly at us with a glint of pride. They respected us, believing that Muslim women were as free as every other women in the country, as every person, as every American. They believed in real American values, the ones where all had the right to opportunity, where minority groups weren't look down on, where being American meant more than just a religion or skin tone. 

Amira nudged Kanza, making her yelp in surprise. "Where are the sly remarks on Islamphobic people?" she grinned.

"I'd like to believe that I am a changed woman."

"Sure," I remarked sarcastically, "and I hate art. Didn't your mother ever teach you that lying was bad?"

Suddenly, the jovial spark entered her dark eyes, pale skin glowing in the artificial light. "Okay, but seriously, those assholes need to stop staring at us like we're aliens. It's a damn scarf, not a sword. Chill the hell out. If anything they should be more worried about the guns in aisle four," scoffed Kanza, going off on her rant. Her arms flew around wildly. "You don't see me eyeing every single white guy and thinking he's a rapist because not every white guy is one just like how not every Muslim is a terrorist!"

Kanza's words were loud, echoing in the large store, and all the customers in adjacent aisles turned towards her. Some, like the group of college boys nearby, glared daggers at her, fuming with fury at her outburst. Others, like the elderly couple beside us, laughed, joking about her outspoken personality. Kanza blushed, snow white cheeks tinting with a rosy pink. 

"Oops," she squeaked, pulling the hoodie over her head. "That came out a lot louder than expected."

Amira tried her best to stifle her laughter before bursting into a fit of giggles, shoulders shaking, and almost instantly I joined her. 

"You need a microphone," I laughed. 

"Yes!" exclaimed Amira. "With a speaker or microphone, she could scream it to all of Walmart. Just imagine all the butthurt faces."

Kanza grumbled. "It's not my fault people stare at us."

Shaking my head, amused at Kanza's moment of public embarrassment, I turned the cart into the baking aisle with my friends close behind me. I checked the list of supplies I made and quickly reviewed my math again.

The orphanage had about fifty kids, most were the children of fallen immigrants. Their parents barely had a chance to taste the fruits of success before their souls were taken. 

Amira's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Tasneem, did you hear me?"

"Uh... no?"

She sighed, hands on her hips. "Your head is always in the clouds."

"That's why she's the most artistic out of the three of us," remarked Kanza, walking over to the icing jars. She picked the hot pink frosting and pink crystals for decoration, beaming at me when our eyes made contact. "Can we get these? We could make a fairy tale themed bake sale."

I pondered it. I haven't thought of a theme yet. Maybe Kanza has a point.

"You just want that theme because you want the pink sprinkles," stated Amira, arms crossed over her chest as she stared pointedly at Kanza, who was an inch taller than both of us. "Admit it."

Kanza exaggeratedly gasped, placing her hand over her chest and feigning hurt. "How dare you accuse me of such despicable actions?" she said in a mocking French accent.

"How do you plead?"

"Guilty as charged," grinned Kanza. 

"Okay, children," I emphasized, "play nice. Anyway, I was thinking of a winter theme like with snowflakes and blue crystals since we're still in colder temperatures."

"Seems legit," said Kanza before her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "but where would we hold the bake sale? No one even goes to orphanages unless they're volunteering or trying to adopt a kid."

Amira nodded, her eyes lighting up when an idea popped into her head. "Maybe we should hold it at Ibrahim's business."

"I'll ask him. He said if we need anything to just contact him or Damon," I replied, momentarily distracted by the snowman cookie cutter. Picking it up, I showed the small cutting set to my friends. "Should we buy them?"

Kanza picked a crown cookie cutter. "I know we're not doing a fairy tale theme, but this cutter could be used for the ice princess," she grinned. 

"Fine," I sighed, a hand on my hip, "put it in with the rest."

For the next hour, we'd dominated the baking aisle, finding fondants, cake pans, icing bags, different icing tips, cookie cutters, blue and white sprinkles, and cupcake liners that were decorated with cartoon penguins. Somewhere along the lines I had wandered off, looking at the toy cars a couple aisles away. 

A bright red car caught my attention. I held the tiny toy in my hand, the cool metal against my skin, and I immediately thought of the young boys in the orphanage, especially the little Ibrahim. His story was exactly like my husband's. I wondered if Allah had done this on purpose, so that I may feel even closer to those kids after hearing the heart-wrenching tale of the Tarkans. 

"Well, well if it isn't Tasneem Uddin, the famous wife of Ibrahim Tarkan," said a deep voice behind me. 

Startled, I turned to face the intruder. A man with skin similar to Kanza's, but even paler. His visage was as white as the paints I used. His bright blue eyes resembled Thomas, but were sleets of ice, chilling me to the bones. His eyes hid a secret. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair, flashing a wide smile.

"Pleasure to meet you," grinned the mysterious man. I felt uneasy as his hand outstretched toward me in a gesture to shake it. 

I shook my head. 

"You don't shake hands either, huh?" he chuckled. "Just like Mr. Tarkan."

Narrowing my eyes, I asked, "How do you know my husband?"

"Jared Gavlik at your service, ma'am."

My eyes widened. This was the man who threatened to destroy Ibrahim, the man who wanted to strip Ibrahim of his fortunes, the man who relished the misery of others. A seed of anger planted deep in my heart, my boiling temper fueling its growth. My jaw clenched, but I tried to relax, to breathe, to ignore the hatred I felt.

"Please," I strained out, "get away from me."

He slowly smiled, placid and sinister all at once. "Is that any way to treat your husband's new business partner? I must admit, he definitely scored himself a beauty."

Oh Allah, give me the patience I need for this.

"Sir, I'm afraid you have me mistaken. My husband would never conduct business with you no matter what you may believe. Degrading a woman as if she isn't here is a poor quality for a leader."

"I'm sure you're very aware of my titles," smirked Jared, arms over his chest.

I glared distastefully at his hidden innuendos. "I speak for both Ibrahim and I when I say we are not interested in any of your services," I stated. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Turning my back to him, I began to walk away, praying that my fists wouldn't harm the devil behind me. His words and arrogant demeanor had gotten under my skin, pricking the surface with immoralities. Darkness vibrated from him, and my intuitions were never wrong.

Jared Gavlik was a dangerous man. 

"Wait!" he yelled. 

I paused, breathing deeply. "Yes?" I responded slowly, keeping my back to him. 

I could feel his malicious grin on me even without looking. "Tell your husband that it's only a matter of time. All great empires fall just like businesses," he whispered so only I could hear. The hair on my neck stood. "Till the next time we meet, Tasneem."

I flinched as he walked past me, whistling to himself until he rounded the corner. His footsteps with light, his exterior a cooling embrace to those around him, but little did they know the chilling blizzard that roared within. 

When I was sure that he disappeared, I pulled my phone from my pockets, quickly dialing Ibrahim's number. Please pick up, I prayed, squeezing my eyes shut. Jared's words echoed in my mind like a lost voice, hindering my tranquil nature. I shook, phone pressed to my ears as Ibrahim's deep voice answered. 

"Assalamualaikum-"

"Ibrahim, he was here," I whispered.

A brief silence followed. "Who was there?" he slowly questioned, voice hushed.

"Jared Gavlik."

I heard a pen drop and Ibrahim hiss under his breath, mumbling a couple of curses. "That damn bastard. I have to stop him before this escalates even more," he sighed. "For the sake of this family and my business, Gavlik has to be put down."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I reiterated my contact with Jared, having Ibrahim intensely follow my every word, his quick questions and commentary, before we fell into a painful silence. The tension between us grew thick. Ibrahim was running through every possible course of action while I patiently waited. 

Finally, he broke the tension coiled around us, his deep voice shuddering from the stress of managing the unnecessary business war that Jared started. "Tasneem, I can't lose my business," he said brokenly, "I can't lose you or Bashir. I can't force this many people into unemployment or lower wages. I can't do it."

"Shh," I soothed, "calm down. You will get through this. Everything is going to be okay In Shaa Allah (if Allah wills it)."

"I'm thinking of hiring a police officer to dig some stuff on Gavlik, but I wanted your opinion first."

My jaw dropped. "My opinion? You're the business expert here not me."

"That doesn't matter. Tasneem, we're a team, a pair, a puzzle that fits together. I value your opinion, so please, help me make the right choice," implored Ibrahim softly. "I can't do this without you."

Never in my life had a man treated me as his equal. Many men whispered lies to gullible women, telling them how they valued every word that spewed from her mouth, yet their actions proved otherwise. They robbed her of her freedom of speech. They took away her will with the illusion of love. They lied about respect.

There were women that did the same to men, suppressing their masculine nature because these women were threatened by it. They believed that femininity and masculinity could never coexist, that life was a war of superiority, that men and women were pawns to each other. Women were threatened by the presence of men even after all the equal rights they had and continued to gain, but that was wrong. 

Men and women were complementary to each other, which required respect. Both sides had to respect and work together in order for any change to happen. Allah had created us in pairs, making sure that we learn the value of teamwork and equality. 

Ibrahim asked for my opinion, for my say. He sought for my comfort. Ibrahim's vulnerability opened like a book, pages bare for me to read. He wasn't afraid of admitting defeat or asking for help. Ibrahim did whatever it took to keep the people around him secure under his tutelage, and I admired him for that. 

He respected me as a woman. Suddenly, the previous worries washed away by the purity in his words. Respect was hard to gain in a world where physical differences defined character, but there were still people like Ibrahim out there. There were still men who valued a woman because she was his blessing. 

I smiled. "Let's call Officer Malik and your lawyer."