Forbidden Love Read Online Free PDF

with a Muslim man, he might not lift the fist or knife, but he would be the driving force behind my brothers’ violence.
    I was brought out of these thoughts by the front door closing. Standing nervously in front of the door was a tall, slim young woman with an impressive mane of sable hair pulled into a thick, silky ponytail that hung to her hips. Dalia was nowhere to be seen. I assumed she had gone to the break room to rest. As I stepped towards the front counter to welcome Jehan, the door opened again and in walked Michael, not maimed or killed, but it suddenly occurred to me perhaps married. Since he was with Jehan, he could only be her husband or a relative; given the hour, it was more than likely that he was her husband. My mind started racing. Why hadn’t he told Dalia? How could he bring his wife in here? What if he wasn’t attracted to Dalia at all? Didn’t he realize that Dalia was attracted to him? I knew that Michael and Dalia would never be able to marry, not in Jordan anyway, but there had seemed to be some chemistry between them. I prayed it was not just Dalia’s fantasy. Finding out that Michael was married would send her into an even deeper depression.
    Instinctively, I felt I had to protect my friend and find out what was going on before alerting her that Michael was here. At the counter, I tried not to betray my emotions.
    “Hi, can I help you?”
    “I’m Jehan. I have an appointment with Norma,” she said, confident and friendly.
    “I’m Norma, it’s nice to meet you. Are you two together?” I asked, looking directly at Michael.
    “Yes, we are,” he said swiftly, leaving me searching for something to say.
    “Come with me,” I finally muttered. Jehan followed me to my station while Michael remained in the reception area. An awful thought ran through my mind: what if he hadn’t told her he’d been here before? I had to tread very carefully. But for Dalia’s sake I also had to get some answers.
    Once Jehan was seated, I hoped that she would be like most of my clients, who used the stylist’s chair as a psychiatrist’s couch, chatting and spilling the details of their personal lives until they stood up to leave.
    “What would you like done?” I asked.
    Well, he managed to convince me that I’d look better with
    shoulder length hair, so here I am,” she said with a spectacular smile.
    \020He who?” I asked, trying to pry a whisper of useful information from her.
    “Michael, of course. He’s been recommending this place to me for weeks. He said that this is the best salon in Amman, and that Dalia is great.”
    “Oh… well, I’m glad to hear that. You must be very close if you trust his advice about your hair,” I said, still fishing.
    “Oh yes, we’re very close. He’s great and very sweet, unlike most men, if you know what I mean. And he’s so smart. His is the only opinion I value, not just about my hair, but every aspect of my life.”
    I still didn’t know if they were married, so I determined to keep quiet and hoped that she would lead the conversation where I needed it to go. I glanced over at Michael still sitting in the reception area. He’d picked a seat where he could view the entire salon. He held a magazine, partly hiding his face, but I could see he was spending much more time looking around than reading it. He was unsettled, appeared anxious and uncomfortable, which mystified me more. If Jehan was his wife and he was worried about bumping into Dalia, why bring her here?
    I tried a gentle probe to get Jehan to open up. “Where do you usually get your hair done?”
    “I normally go to Mary’s in the second circle. Have you heard of it?”
    “Yes. It’s across the street from Abu Ali’s Bakery, right? Do you live near Mary’s?”
    “Actually we live an equal distance between here and there. We live in Abdoun, next to the fourth circle.”
    “I know where that is,” I said, disheartened at the ‘we’. There was no mistaking that when she said ‘we’,