The Masjid Matchmaker

"You've found partners for everyone but yourself."

Parveen looked up from her notebooks. The new imam—Yusuf, widowed, her age—was watching her with gentle eyes.

"That's not how it works."

"Isn't it? You understand love better than anyone. Why deny yourself?"

"I'm not—" She stopped. "I'm old. It's too late."

"It's never too late." He sat beside her. "Allah doesn't set expiration dates on companionship."

He kept appearing—at her matchmaking consultations, her community events, her quiet moments in the mosque garden.

"You're following me," she said.

"I'm being strategic." He smiled. "I learned from the best matchmaker in Birmingham."

"Strategic about what?"

"Convincing you that sixty isn't old. That widowhood isn't permanent. That someone might want to share your remaining years."

"Someone?"

His silence was answer enough.

She resisted for weeks. He persisted for longer.

"One dinner," Yusuf said finally. "Properly chaperoned if you want. I'll involve the entire masjid committee if necessary."

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm determined." He took her hand. "Give me a chance, Parveen. Please."

Dinner led to more dinners. More dinners led to his sitting room after taraweeh prayers.

"This is scandalous," Parveen whispered as he held her hand.

"This is halal. We're both adults. Both single." He raised their joined hands to his lips. "Let me make it official."

"At our age?"

"Especially at our age." His eyes were serious. "Every day matters more now. I don't want to waste them alone."

They married quietly—nikah at the mosque, witnesses from the community.

"The aunties will lose their minds," Parveen said afterward.

"The aunties will be thrilled. Their matchmaker finally matched." He pulled her close. "You found everyone else happiness. Now let me find yours."

The community celebrated for weeks.

The imam's wife became the most sought-after matchmaker in the Midlands.

Best match she ever made—herself.