The Islamic Finance Director | مديرة التمويل الإسلامي
"She runs the Islamic finance division of a major bank. He's the scholar who certifies their products as halal. Their professional disputes become personal."
The Islamic Finance Director
مديرة التمويل الإسلامي
Shariah compliance isn't optional.
Every product I develop needs certification. Every certification comes from Sheikh Tariq.
Who disagrees with everything I do.
I'm Amira.
Forty-four, Harvard MBA, running HSBC's Islamic finance division. The only woman at my level in London.
Sheikh Tariq is my nemesis.
He's fifty.
Al-Azhar educated, advises banks worldwide. His signature makes products halal. His objection kills them.
"This sukuk structure is problematic," he says.
"It's innovative."
"Innovation that circumvents the spirit of Shariah is not innovation."
"With respect, Sheikh, you're not an economist."
"With respect, Ms. Hassan, you're not a scholar."
"Then we're at an impasse."
"We usually are."
Our meetings are legendary.
The bank watches us argue like sport. Neither yields.
"Why won't you work with me?" I demand one day.
"Why won't you work with the Shariah?"
"I'm trying to bring Islamic finance to mainstream markets."
"And I'm trying to ensure it remains Islamic."
"You act like I don't care about that."
"Do you?"
"My grandmother couldn't get halal loans in Birmingham. I'm making sure my nieces can."
"That's... not what I expected."
"You expected a corporate sellout."
"I expected someone who saw Shariah as obstacle, not purpose."
Something shifts.
Our arguments become discussions. His objections become suggestions. The products improve.
"We work well together," he admits.
"When you're not blocking everything."
"Blocking is protection. You've helped me see that sometimes it's obstruction."
"Can I ask something personal?"
We're at a halal restaurant. Work dinner. Boundaries blurring.
"You can ask."
"Why aren't you married? A scholar of your stature..."
"Because I've spent my life studying sacred contracts. I wanted a marriage to match."
"And?"
"I never found one that did."
"What would it look like?"
"A partnership. Intellectual equals. Someone who challenges me."
"Someone who argues?"
"Someone who improves me through argument."
The first kiss is after a product launch.
We've spent a year fighting. Turned out we were dancing.
"Astaghfirullah," he murmurs.
"Do you regret it?"
"I regret waiting so long."
"This complicates things."
"Or clarifies them." He takes my hand. "I've been fighting you because I was afraid of this."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of wanting someone who could match me."
He undresses me in his flat.
Scholarly texts surrounding us. Centuries of Islamic thought witnessing.
"Beautiful."
"Tariq—"
"Let me show you what I've learned. About more than finance."
We make love like partners.
Negotiating pleasure, finding terms we both agree to.
"Ya Amira—"
"Sheikh—"
"Just Tariq now."
Two years later
We're married now.
Still working together. Still arguing. But now the arguments end differently.
"Best structure?" he asks.
"This marriage. It's our most innovative product."
"And the most halal."
Alhamdulillah.
For finance that brings faith.
For scholars who learn.
For products that become love.
The End.