My Friends Muslim Wife Is Grieving

Ali and I have been best friends for the past twenty years. We first met when he and his family bought the townhouse next to me. He and his wife, Jamilah, were devout Muslims from Morocco. When they first moved in, my wife and daughter did everything we could to welcome them to the community. Their way of life and religious beliefs were a lot to process when I was younger. It took me a long time to realize that women don't communicate with men that aren't their husbands. Our daughters were the same age, and if Ali wasn't home, our girls could not have playdates with each other. My wife and I did the best we could to understand these dynamics.

Over time, Ali would teach me his religious ways and how important they were to him and his family. I grew to understand while making a great friend in the process. Ali and Jamilah loved each other from everything I could see.

When my wife, Beth, passed away eight years ago, Ali made sure Jamilah helped with watching my daughter. Ali was there for me at my worst. Even though I very rarely spoke to Jamilah or even saw her face because of her hijab, I let Ali know how much her help was appreciated, through the years.

This brings me to two months ago when I heard a scream coming from Ali and Jamilah's home. I ran next door, where policemen were standing on the steps. "Are you a friend of the family?"

"YES! What happened?" I asked.

One of the cops asked, "Her husband was in an accident. He died instantaneously. We need her to come to the hospital. Do you think you could bring her?"

Instinctively I opened the door and went right to where Jamilah was kneeling on the floor crying, "JOHN, HE'S GONE! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITHOUT HIM?"

My heart was breaking, and I couldn't believe he was gone. I was trying to hold it together for Jamilah. I told Jamilah, "I can bring you to the hospital when you are ready. I will get in touch with your daughter. I will tell the police I will bring you while I wait for you on the porch. OK?"

All Jamilah seemed to be able to say was, "Yes, thank you, John!"

I didn't know what to do or what to say to Jamilah. "Jamilah, I want you to know you are not wearing your hijab. Also, I don't want to be disrespectful in any way by being alone with you." I know this is a tough moment; I am just trying to be helpful from everything Ali had taught me."

Through her crying, Jamilah told me, "John, you are a sweet man. I understand why my Ali loved you so much. Could you wait in the living-room, while I get my things together to go? Don't worry about rules right now. We are grieving."

I had never seen Jamilah without her hijab, and this was the most she had spoken to me. I remember thinking, "She is a strong woman. No wonder why Ali loved her so much." I sat on the couch waiting, unable to let any emotions out. I was trying my hardest to be strong for Jamilah.

My daughter, Maggie, and Ali's daughter, Sinal, were home for the funeral. Maggie told me, "You know Jamilah will be in mourning for four months and ten days? That is a traditional Muslim grieving time for a wife. Sinal is a mess, but she really needs to get back to school. Luckily, we go to the same college. I'm worried about leaving you here by yourself. Sinal is worried about leaving her mother too. Are you two going to be, OK?"

I was still in shock that my best friend died. I told Maggie, "I'll be OK. I just can't believe he died. Is Jamilah going to be OK for four months? Besides Sinal, you, and me, Jamilah has no one. I won't be able o talk to her. It's against the rules for her."

Maggie told me, "Dad, Sinal is trying to get her mother to give her reassurances that she has a plan in place for the next four months. She is trying to get her mother to communicate with you; any needs she may have. Sinal isn't sure Jamilah will go for it, but she's trying."

Maggie and Sinal were leaving in two days to go back to school. They would give me updates on how Jamilah was doing. Sinal told me, "She hasn't left her room for days. She only comes out to use the bathroom. I think I am making progress for when I leave. I think I have convinced mom to text you when she needs something. Is that OK with you, John?"

I was glad to hear that Jamilah was willing to accept some help. I know from losing my wife; that I would not have made it without her and Ali looking after me. "Absolutely, Sinal. Whatever your mom needs, I will take care of it. Should I wait for her to text me? Should I text her to make sure she is, OK? I want to make sure I do not overstep any rules."

"I will let you know more tomorrow. I believe she is going to listen to me, and my family has always loved you. She will listen to me, and she knows that she needs the support."

Tomorrow came, and Sinal gave me Jamilah's cell phone number, as she instructed me, "John, you can text whenever you want. Mom doesn't promise to text back right away or at all. When she needs something, she will text you what she needs. You can leave it on the doorstep. Is that, OK?"

I had learned a lot about the Muslim faith from Ali. I understood the complications but was happy Jamilah was amendable to support. "Yes, Sinal. Thank you for talking your mom into support. Speaking from experience, she is going to need it." With this issue now being resolved, I drove the girls to the airport and dropped them off.

As I was driving home, I heard a text come through on my phone. I waited until I got home to look at it. I was surprised when I saw it was from Jamilah, "Hi John. Are you here? I want to say thank you. I promise I will try to not make you worry about me."

I texted Jamilah back as soon as I saw her text, "Hi Jamilah. Yes, I am here. I just got home. Do you need anything? You don't have to thank me. You helped take care of me when my wife died."

Almost immediately, Jamilah responded, "I do not need anything. I need to sleep. I have not slept in days."

I texted back, "Get some rest. I am here if you need anything."

I did not hear back from Jamilah for days. Then one evening, I heard a knock on my wall. I thought it had to be Jamilah knocking on her stairway wall as she was on her stairs. I texted her, "Is that you knocking on the wall?"

Her response came back instantly, "Yes. I was seeing if you were awake. Did I disturb you?"

"No, Jamilah. Are you ok? Do you need anything?"

Again, her response came back instantly, "No, I was wondering if you were awake on the other side of this wall. I still can not sleep. I don't know what to do. It is very quiet and lonely here without Ali."

"I'm sorry, Jamilah. I wish there was something I could do. I slept on the couch for a long time after my wife died. It was too difficult to sleep in the bed alone. You should try that because you need to get some rest." I did not know what advice to give Jamila.

Jamilah's response surprised me, "Will you sleep on your couch, so I know you are there if I need you?"

I responded, "Yes, Jamilah. I will sleep on my couch, so if you need me, knock on the wall. Hope my snoring doesn't keep you from getting any sleep."

"Thank you, John! Goodnight."

The next morning, I got up to get ready for work and heard Jamilah knock on the wall, then a text came through, "your alarm is loud. It woke me up. Thank you for sleeping on your couch."

"No problem at all, Jamilah. If you need anything, let me know, and I will pick it up on my way home."

For the next four weeks, this became our routine. A knock on the wall followed by a text asking me to sleep on the couch. Then in the morning, a text that would thank me for sleeping on the couch, followed by a "Have a good day." I do not know what she did during the day, but she never asked me to get her anything.

Then on a Saturday night, there was the knock on the wall, then a text, "What are you watching? I thought I heard you laugh."

I was binge-watching a sitcom on Netflix and didn't realize she could hear it or me laughing. "I'm watching a sitcom I had heard about. You should watch it." I explained to her what the show was about.

Jamilah responded that "I don't like watching TV alone."

"Well, I wish you were allowed to watch TV with someone. I'd invite you over to watch it, so you didn't have to sit by yourself every day." I hoped I wasn't being inappropriate with Jamilah. I was trying to be supportive, and because of her faith, I really didn't know what was and was not appropriate.

I was shocked when I woke up the next morning to a text from Jamilah at three in the morning, "Can I come to watch it now? I can't sleep."

I knocked on the wall. Then I heard Jamilah knockback, so I texted her, "I am so sorry I fell asleep and didn't see this until this morning."

"I realize you were sleeping. You never stay up that late. I had a moment of weakness and just wanted to not be lonely and laugh."

I felt horrible that the one-time Jamilah needed something I was unavailable. Jamilah and I went back to our daily routine of; knocking on the wall, texting then sleeping in our living rooms.

This continued until the following Saturday, when she asked, "How many episodes of that show have you watched?"

I did not have the heart to tell her that I watched all three seasons, "A couple of episodes. I fell asleep while it was on, remember? LOL"

"HAHA. Yes, I remember. Would you mind if I came over to watch with you?"

I was shocked that Jamilah asked to come over. I think she had only been in my home twice in over twenty years. "Jamilah, we are friends. You can come over anytime you want. I just want you to be comfortable, I am not Muslim, so please let me know what is and is not appropriate. I want to learn. OK?"

Jamilah responded, "It is your home and you do not have to cater to me in your house. I am a guest and need to learn as well. I will be over shortly."

I knew that this was going to strange for me, so I could not begin to imagine how uncomfortable Jamilah would feel. I was nervous that I would do something that would be deemed disrespectful or offensive. I decided to ask her, "Have you eaten yet? I was going to order takeout?"

"No, can you order me something? I will bring you money."

I found it strange that I had known this woman for twenty years and had no idea what she would eat. I took a shot, "I don't need your money. Chicken Caesar wrap work for you?"

"Perfect, John. Thank you! Be over in a few minutes."

I told Jamilah, "The door is unlocked let yourself in."

When Jamilah came over, she was exceptionally quiet, and even though her face was covered by her hijab, I could tell she was uncomfortable. As we headed towards the dining room table to eat, I asked Jamilah, "As I told you, I am trying to learn. Am I supposed to see you without your hijab?"

Jamilah took a deep breath before responding, "John, no, I am not supposed to let any man see me with it off. I am not supposed to be alone with a man until after my mourning period. I am sad, depressed, and feel all alone. I know you understand those feelings. You are a good man, Ali loved you, and I love you. You have always been a good friend to us. I appreciate that you try to understand. I just didn't want to be alone. So, if it is OK with you, I am not going to wear my hijab tonight. If it is a problem, please let me know."

Again, this is the most I have ever heard Jamilah speak. I was unsure of what my response should be. I decided to be my smartass self, "To be honest, Jamilah, I probably wouldn't know who you were without your hijab. All these years, and I don't even know what you actually look like. You don't need to ask me permission, do what you would like to do. Plus, how would you eat your wrap?"

I chuckled to get a response and help lighten the awkwardness between us. Jamilah waved her hand at me in a jokingly way, and I thought I could see a smile in her eyes. Then, she took her hijab off, while telling me, "You saw my face that night. You reminded me to put it on before you drove me to the hospital."

As she was talking, all I thought was how pretty she was. Her hair was jet black, which complemented her olive skin and dark eyes. I stole glimpses as we were eating our food in complete silence.

Finally, I asked, "Do you need anything to drink before we watch the TV show? Ok, another question, are we allowed to sit on the couch together, or should I move the TV so we can both see it?"

"No, you don't have to move anything. I will sit on the couch with you." I could tell she was tense and that I was making it worse by asking her a bunch of questions. Then she asked, "How about we just do not ask a lot of questions? All of this is not normal for me and against all my beliefs. I don't want to think about my religious vows being broken. Can we just keep each other company without making each other feel guilty about everything? I would like to forget everything for a little while. I have not slept in over a month. I am tired and in pain. I don't want to add feeling guilty to my list. I am in your home and don't want you to be uncomfortable. Can we do that?"

In my obsession to keep everything respectful, I never thought how uncomfortable I was making Jamilah. I had to stop overthinking everything and treat her like any other person who was grieving, "I'm sorry, Jamilah. How about we both just relax and watch TV?"

Jamilah looked relaxed for the first time tonight, "Yes, John. Perfect."

I put the TV on and watched Jamilah laugh during different scenes. Her laugh was contagious, causing me to laugh as I continued to watch her. After about five episodes, I could tell she was exhausted, needing to sleep. I got up to retrieve a pillow and blanket, placing the pillow at the end of the couch, telling Jamilah, "Lay down, get some rest you need it. I will sleep in my recliner unless that makes you uncomfortable?"

Jamilah responded as she started to lay down, "No, John, that would be nice. Thank you." I covered her with the blanket, and she looked up at me and smiled. I went to my recliner as we both passed out.

The following morning, I woke up and looked over at the couch, and Jamilah was still there. Her abaya had risen up her legs. I was shocked at how toned, thick, and smooth her legs were. I felt a twitch in my groin when the guilt started to flow through my head. I then saw that she was awake and looking directly at me. I flinched, then asked, "Would you like some coffee? By the way, good morning. Sorry if I woke you." I felt that my face was beet red, and my embarrassment was noticeable.

"No, John. Good morning." And with that, I heard her get up and leave.

I felt horrible that I made her uncomfortable. I thought that I would not hear from Jamilah again after being caught looking at her lustfully. I wanted to make it right with her when she texted me, "Thank you for sitting with me last night. I'm sorry you had to sleep in a chair. I hope your back is, OK? I was watching while you slept, and you looked uncomfortable in your jeans sleeping in a chair. I feel bad. TV on the couch tonight?"

I was surprised by the text for many reasons. One reason was I thought I made Jamilah uncomfortable. The second reason was her telling me she watched me sleep. "Hey, sorry if I made you uncomfortable this morning. My back is killing me from sleeping in my chair. I meant it when I told you I'd be there if you needed anything. YES, TV on the couch sounds great!"

Jamilah texted right back, "You did not make me uncomfortable. For the first time in a while, I was too comfortable, and it felt nice. Please don't sleep in the chair again. I don't want you to be uneasy in your own home. How about we both agree to be comfortable and forget all that is disturbing us?"

I liked that she was trying to put us both at ease, "Yes, we should do that. I have an air mattress that I will sleep on in the living room. Is that OK with you?"

"John, I am not accustomed to men asking me what they can and cannot do. It is your home; you do not need my permission for this. Be yourself. I am struggling with my decisions and am not capable of making decisions for both of us."

"OK, Jamilah. See you around seven?"

"Yes!"

I heard Jamilah come into the house. When I turned around, she was standing there in a t-shirt and legging pants. I was taken aback by the sight of her. I had never seen her outside of her Muslim clothing. She had a small waist with wide hips, with a round ass. Her pants were skintight, and I could see her mound in them. Her breasts looked to be a c-cup and extremely perky. I could not suppress my feelings of how pleased I was at the sight of her.

We ate pizza that she brought for dinner while talking about nothing in particular. Then I asked, "Ready to continue watching our show?"

Excitedly she exclaimed, "YES!"

Jamilah went right to the couch and laid down. I went to the air mattress, which I had placed parallel to the couch. I laid down as well. As I put the pillow under my head, I realized that the couch was only about five or six inches taller than the mattress. We were not that far removed from each other.

After about two hours, she asked me, "Is that comfortable? The air mattress?"

"Actually, it is. I was surprised the first time I slept on it."

Jamilah put her hand on the mattress and pushed down on it. Telling me, "You're right. it feels more comfortable than the couch."

I proposed, "You can sleep on this, and I can take the couch if you want?"

Jamilah counteroffered, "I can sleep at one end, and you can sleep at the other end. I realize I haven't slept in over a month, and I've kept you from sleeping as well. We've both been grieving, and maybe this will help us get some rest."

I said, "OK, I agree. We both do need to get some sleep at some point. Let me know when you want the TV off."

"You can turn it off now. I want to try and get some sleep." And with that, I turned the TV off, causing it to be pitch black n the room. I felt Jamilah climb onto the mattress with me. Her feel accidentally hit me in the face causing her to giggle and apologize profusely. "I am destined to make you uncomfortable and do not want to kick you in the face all night. I'm going to move."

In a panic, I told her, "You don't have to leave. Stay here. I want you too."

"You do?" she asked.

"Yes!" Then, I don't know where this came from, but instinctively, I took my pillow and moved to the other end putting myself right next to her. "There, now you won't be able to kick me in the face." I was thinking about her comment of not being accustomed to men asking her what they can do. I took her advice from earlier and decided to just be me.

I was waiting for Jamilah to contest us lying there together. She said nothing as she lay there still. The room was pitch black and dead quiet. My heart was pounding, my mind racing about what to do next. Then suddenly, I felt her hand touch mine. I waited for what seemed like forever and rolled over facing her. I assumed that she was sleeping when I placed my hand on her leg, rubbing it lightly with the tips of my fingers. I felt Jamilah tighten up as my fingers found her mound, circling where her clit was under the fabric of her pants. I slipped my index finger down her slit and heard her take a deep breath. I continued doing this, waiting for a response or reaction. I slid my hand up to the top of the leggings, dipping my fingers into the top of the leggings, pulling them down to the top of Jamilah's pussy mound.

Jamilah's skin was bare from her stomach to her mound. I sat up, lowering my head to her stomach where I started kissing that area, slowly moving my hands up her stomach, under her shirt, up to her bra. I unclipped the clasp located on the front of the bra, kissing my way all the way up to her tits. Placing my lips over her nipple, licking around it, I started sucking her nipples. I felt Jamilah take a deep breath, causing her chest to heave out. She whispered, "Ali is the only man I have ever been with." I didn't know if she said this to get me to stop or if she was trying to convince herself to stop.