Musa clearly paused, then actually chuckled softly. It wasn't a loud laugh, but paired with his deep, resonant voice, it gently dissolved my earlier excitement. I could almost picture him on the other end, eyes crinkling with warmth, lashes fluttering slightly. But then... was he still wearing that seemingly "confining" white thobe?
The thought sent a jolt through me, snapping me back to reality. "What are you laughing at? Is my question funny?"
Musa's laughter faded, but his tone remained amused. "The question isn't funny. I'm laughing because you make Dubai sound terrifying."
"That's what we hear back home," I countered. I'd researched plenty before coming. But Musa's tone suggested otherwise? Confused, I asked, "Isn't it true?"
"In Saudi or Iran? Definitely possible. I know a Saudi guy who didn't know if his bride was round or flat until he lifted the veil on their wedding night – he immediately demanded a divorce! But Cece, this is Dubai! Many Muslim women don't even cover their faces anymore! Locals might be conservative, but at the very least, you get to see your bride's face before marriage."
Musa seemed eager to dispel my misconceptions with Dubai's openness, but his explanation had the opposite effect. I licked my dry lips, hesitating before pressing further. "Just... see her face?"
"They can interact a bit too, under parental supervision."
I gasped in surprise. "Under their parents' watch?!"
My barrage of questions seemed to stump him. After a long pause, I heard him speak with grave seriousness. "Observing the teachings of Allah is precisely how it should be."
That word "Allah" instantly silenced my bubbling curiosity. I realized whenever Muslims invoked "Allah," "God," or "faith," I clammed up. Not for lack of things to say, but for fear of accidentally trespassing on sacred ground.
Still, the conversation wasn't fruitless. At least I knew Dubai grooms saw their brides' faces, so Lia didn't need to worry about handsome men marrying "ugly wives."
Thinking of this, I couldn't help a private smile. In a world obsessed with early romance, Musa was a genuine rarity – someone with almost no experience interacting with women! I couldn't resist remarking, "You Muslims live... such constrained lives."
"I don't feel constrained, because faith resides within," Musa countered firmly. After a beat, he added, "Actually, many Muslims with less firm faith don't follow these rules at all. As you know, over eighty percent of Dubai's population are foreigners. Locals inevitably get influenced."
I wasn't sure I followed. "Influenced how? Can you give an example?"
He didn't answer directly. "Go visit Jumeirah Beach this weekend. Then you'll understand what I mean."
I'd definitely heard of Jumeirah Beach! Home to the world's only seven-star Burj Al Arab hotel.
I nodded. "Alright, I'll make time to check it out."
Though I agreed, my curiosity was burning. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "But what about you? How have you been influenced?"
The initial anger and tension from our call had long faded, making me speak more freely. Only after the words left my mouth did I realize how intrusive it sounded. I clapped a hand over my mouth.
Luckily, Musa didn't seem offended. He was quiet for a few seconds, then answered slowly, "I drink alcohol."
His calm, almost confidential tone relaxed me further. Muslims seemed surprisingly friendly and approachable. Musa added, "Actually, it's not entirely... uh, not entirely against faith? Because I mostly drink wine."
I'd heard before that Islam's Quran strictly forbids alcohol, but is more lenient towards drinks made from dates and grapes. The ban primarily prevents drunkenness or missing prayers, so controlled wine consumption, while not strictly compliant, isn't considered a major sin. This fit perfectly with my analysis of Musa's contradictory nature! He was fundamentally traditional and rule-abiding, yet able to navigate decadent social scenes, like a thin barrier separating the two. And he had gently pierced a tiny hole in that barrier.
Back then, I had no idea that in the future, I would be the one to tear that hole wide open.
***
Weekends in Dubai are Friday and Saturday. Remembering Musa's words, I dragged Lia along to Jumeirah Beach for an eye-opening experience.
August sun in Dubai is brutal. We waited until late afternoon before daring to leave the air-conditioned hotel, taking a bus to the beach.
It was my first Dubai bus ride. I was amazed to find bus stops were enclosed, air-conditioned glass rooms! No need to roast in the sun while waiting; we sat comfortably inside, shielded from the scorching heat. Of course, these waiting rooms were also gender-segregated.
Most Dubai residents own cars, so the bus system isn't extensive, but these thoughtful details were genuinely impressive. On the bus, the first three rows were clearly marked "Women Only." Lia and I sat down, glancing back at the men standing behind us. Not a single one occupied the large, empty section reserved for women! Unthinkable back home!
I tugged Lia's sleeve, whispering, "I don't think the Middle East discriminates against women like the rumors say? It feels... quite respectful towards women?"
Lia nodded thoughtfully. "Cece, do you think separating genders in public spaces is meant as respect? I think I heard women can cut lines in Dubai?"
I pondered seriously but remained unsure. For local women, men seemed to offer both respect and control. Providing separate spaces implied independence, yet they were simultaneously suppressed from being too independent. I couldn't figure it out. Were their somber black robes a shield... or a cage?
The atmosphere felt slightly tense. Seated near us were several veiled Muslim women in black abayas. Though they likely didn't understand Chinese, discussing this near them felt impolite. After a quiet moment, Lia suddenly giggled. "Oh! I was wrong earlier! Women absolutely cannot cut lines in Dubai! Because – men and women can't even queue together!"
Her sharp observation made me laugh. We chatted about other things until we reached Jumeirah Beach.
We arrived just as the sun was setting. The long coastline stretched dramatically. The iconic Burj Al Arab, silhouetted against a wine-red sunset glow, pushed the beach panorama into dreamlike perfection. Even surfers returning from the waves paused, captivated by the view.
What truly shocked us was the beach itself – packed with scantily clad Europeans and Americans! Women in provocative bikinis, men bare-chested! Even back home on Chinese beaches, not everyone was this brazen. The scene created a stark contrast with the handful of Muslim women present – covered head-to-toe in what we later learned were called "burkinis" (modest swimwear), revealing only their faces! Not a neck or strand of hair showed! We later discovered that dressing like this was considered extremely liberal for them! Most women in black abayas wouldn't dream of swimming on a public beach!
As I stood gaping at this spectacle, my eyes caught sight of a watchtower nearby! Uniformed police officers stood atop it, scanning the beach vigilantly! Looking around more carefully, I spotted several bearded Middle Eastern men, likely plainclothes officers, patrolling stealthily, ready to pounce if any couples got too affectionate!
My mind reeled. I recalled news stories about British couples arrested for kissing on the beach. Wiping sweat from my brow, I muttered, "This is the most surreal beach I've ever seen."
Lia, however, was unfazed. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the scene, declaring enthusiastically, "Surreal? It's amazing! Sun! Sand! Beauty! Hot guys! It has everything young people dream of!" With that, she kicked off her shoes and socks, padded barefoot through the warm, fine sand, and dashed excitedly towards the sea.
Watching her joyful figure, I really wanted to remind her how, on our first day, she'd been glared at by a man in white for merely exposing her shoulders. Clearly, that man was a very conservative Muslim. Openness existed alongside conservatism, just like the lurking police behind the carefree foreigners. Dubai's openness wasn't nearly as "free" as it appeared on the surface.
Now, I finally understood why Musa insisted I visit Jumeirah Beach. It was the perfect window into Dubai's complexity! Under the "bombardment" of Western liberality, even some Muslim women shed their abayas for swimwear, yearning to splash in the waves. Yet, this influence couldn't overcome powerful tradition and faith; even in swimwear, they had to bundle up completely.
Dubai's welcoming embrace of people from all nations to live, work, and tour truly spoke of its tolerance and freedom. But this tolerance and freedom had limits! Cross that invisible line, and prison gates might await.
The sights at Jumeirah Beach left a deep impression on both Lia and me, though our takeaways were entirely different. On the bus ride back, I pondered how to "report" my "findings" to Musa. Why did I feel compelled to report to him?
My mind raced, quickly finding a justification! Since he suggested I go, showing off my understanding was only natural! Otherwise, wouldn't I seem foolish to a Middle Easterner? As a top student, that was absolutely unacceptable!
***
Before class on Sunday, I mentally rehearsed my talking points, planning to share my thoughts with Musa during our group discussion break and ask a few burning questions. Talking to men in white robes still made me nervous. So engrossed was I in preparing my "speech," I almost arrived late!
But when I rushed into the classroom just as the bell rang, I was met with an unexpected sight – only Ayub sat in the back row! The seat beside him was empty. And equally empty... was my heart, which instantly sank.
Musa... hadn't come to class at all.