I couldn’t believe my sister had set me up on a date with her boyfriend’s buddy. It was embarrassing enough to be 27 and single. But to have my baby sister setting me up with some stranger was almost too awkward to handle. I knew in Islamic culture it was common to have an arranged marriage, but as an American revert I was not used to this much family involvement in my personal life.

Yet, there I was: waiting at a booth in the corner of the Thai restaurant for him. I sipped on the ice water the waitress had left on the table with the menu, and pretended to look it over, peeking over the top every few seconds. I wasn’t sure who I was looking for, but I figured I would know him when I saw him.

A few minutes passed, and then he walked in. I couldn’t believe who I saw walking over to my table. I knew him, and my memory of him was not fond. The tall, hipsterly-handsome (but definitely not a stranger) strolled over to the table and took a seat across from me, flashing me a bright white smile through a stubbly beard. He hadn’t had the beard when I had seen him back in high school, but I could definitely tell it was him.

“Hi, I’m Richard Mathis. I’m Keith’s friend.” He offered his hand for me to shake it for a spit second then pulled it back and shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I’m sorry. It was a reflex. I shake hands at work all day.”

“I’m Jenny Miller.”

“I see you wear a hijab,” he said in an almost excited tone.

“I do. I’m a Muslim,” I shrugged, going back to look at the menu.

“Mashallah! Me, too.That must be why Keith and Brittany thought we should meet.”

“Yeah, maybe. And here we are. Meeting for the first time,” I said with a little more sarcasm than I meant it to.

He picked up the menu and started looking it over, his hand shielding his eyes like it was bright in there or something.

“Again, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have tried to shake your hand and that we shouldn’t have any physical contact as Muslims. I didn’t mean to offend you. It was just a reflex.”

The waitress swooped over after giving the table beside us their steaming bowls of yellow curry, saving me from the embarrassing and infuriating conversation. The curry smelled wonderful, but my stomach was hurting, and I was afraid I might not have an appetite for dinner anymore.

“So, you know what you want? Do you want something to drink other than water?” She asked.

“Like maybe some fruit punch?” I grumbled under my breath.

“No, the water is fine. Thank you. What would you like to eat, Jenny?” He was still smiling at me, but a little less enthusiastically now.

“Curry noodle soup with tofu please.”

“I’ll try the same,” he nodded in agreement handing the waitress our menu. She hurried away and disappeared into the back.

“So…” I tried to look anywhere but him, but my anxiety got the best of me and my hand slipped off my glass of water, dumping it all over the table and spilling onto his lap. “Oh, crap! I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t do that on purpose!”

He just laughed, cleaning up what he could with the cloth napkins from our silverware. “I guess we are even now.”

“Wait. You mean you remember?”

“How could I not?” His smile faded, and his gaze returned to me, looking a bit defeated. “I was hoping you didn’t recognize me. I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

“You mean spilling an entire glass of punch on my light pink prom dress so I had to leave only a few minutes after I got there?”

He cringed, “Yeah, that.”

“You didn’t even apologize. You just ran away. What the heck was that about?”

“You want the truth? I was bringing you a glass and was going to ask you to dance with me. I knew neither of us had a date, and I had like the biggest crush on you. When I spilled the drink on you I was so mortified I ran away, hid in my car, and left shortly after.”

“Really?” I asked, my mouth agape. The water was still dripping a bit off the table.

“Yes,” he muttered, looking back down at the table and finishing soaking up the water with his napkin. His clothes were wet down the front, but he didn’t bother much with them.

He put his face in his hands, and we were both silent for a moment. I felt like such a jerk. I couldn’t believe I’d held onto that anger for so long. But now I had the truth. And it was time to share mine.

“You know what?”

“What?” he lifted his head up to look at me.

“I would have said yes.”

“Yes to what?”

“Dancing with you. I would have said yes.”

A bright smile spread across his face, and his deep dark eyes glistened at me. “Really?”

I nodded and held my hand out for a handshake. At first, he resisted with a raised eyebrow.

“Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Jenny. I’m okay with handshakes. Just don’t try anything else.” I chuckled.

“Nice to meet you, Jenny. I’m Richard.”

The waitress returned with our food, which we both ate with goofy grins on our faces. Starting over was a blessing. And this time, he got up the courage to ask me his question: Would I like to go on another date with him?

And I said yes.