The Halal Mortician
"Safiya works at a Muslim funeral home, preparing bodies with reverence and care. When new hire Yousuf joins, their shared understanding of death leads to an unexpected appreciation for life—and each other."
The Halal Mortician
Death was Safiya's business, and she was excellent at it.
As the lead ghusl performer at Rahman Funeral Services, she'd washed hundreds of bodies—old women who'd lived full lives, young mothers taken too soon, children whose small forms broke her heart. She did it with prayer on her lips and gentleness in her hands.
"New hire starting today," her uncle announced. "Name's Yousuf. Be nice."
"I'm always nice."
"You scared off the last three trainees."
"They weren't serious about the work."
The door opened, and Safiya looked up at Yousuf—tall, solemn, with eyes that had seen things. Something recognized something.
"Assalamu alaikum," he said. "I'm ready to learn."
Yousuf was different from the others.
He didn't flinch at the bodies. Didn't crack inappropriate jokes to cope. He simply... worked. Quietly, reverently, like he understood what a privilege it was to care for the dead.
"You're not new to death," Safiya said after his first week. "Where did you learn?"
"My father. He did this in Karachi for thirty years." Yousuf's voice was soft. "I used to help him as a child. Before we came here."
"Why'd you stop?"
"Life got in the way. Career, marriage, the usual." He smiled sadly. "Divorce brought me back. Something about endings making you appreciate beginnings."
"That's very philosophical for a funeral home."
"It's the only place philosophy makes sense."
They worked together for months, developing a rhythm. Safiya led, Yousuf assisted, and between bodies, they talked—about everything. Religion, family, the strange peace of their work.
"People think we're morbid," Yousuf said one evening, helping her clean the preparation room. "Dating profiles run screaming when I mention my job."
"Same." Safiya laughed. "One man asked if I 'brought my work home with me.' I said only emotionally."
"He didn't get it?"
"No one gets it. Except—" She stopped.
"Except?"
Their eyes met across the stainless steel table.
"Except you," she admitted.
Yousuf set down his cloth slowly. "Safiya... I've been wanting to say something. But this is work, and I didn't want to make you uncomfortable—"
"Say it."
"I think about you. Constantly. Not just as a colleague." He moved closer. "You're the first person who's understood this part of me. Who doesn't think it's strange or scary. And I—"
She kissed him.
They made it to the office—anywhere but the preparation rooms, they'd agreed without speaking.
Yousuf pressed her against the desk, his mouth hot on her neck. "I've wanted this for months."
"Then take it."
He did.
His hands were gentle—as gentle as they were with the dead, but with an urgency that made her gasp. When he lifted her onto the desk, Safiya wrapped her legs around him.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Haan. A thousand times haan."
He entered her slowly, and they both sighed at the rightness of it. Their rhythm was steady, building—life asserting itself in the presence of so much death.
"Meri jaan," Yousuf breathed. "My life. That's what you are."
She came with tears streaming down her face, and he followed, holding her through the aftershocks.
"People will definitely talk now," Safiya said later. "The two funeral home employees, together."
"Let them." Yousuf kissed her forehead. "We know what life is worth. Why waste it caring what others think?"
"You're going to make me cry again."
"Good tears?"
"The best kind." She traced his face. "My uncle will want to know your intentions."
"My intentions are to marry you, work beside you, and spend whatever time Allah gives us together." He smiled. "Should I tell him that?"
"Maybe start with 'serious courtship' and work up to the rest."
"Deal." He kissed her properly. "But know that I mean all of it. Every word."
Their nikah was small, held at the funeral home after hours—the only place that made sense. Safiya wore white, Yousuf wore prayer, and their families watched two people who understood death choose life.
Together.