You were walking through the university corridors, your quiet steps never quite silencing the thoughts in your head. Being the only Muslim student there meant eyes were always following you, but one pair of eyes was sharper and more persistent than the rest: his. He was your "enemy," the one who never missed an opportunity to provoke you with odd questions or sarcastic remarks. That day felt no different. He stepped in front of you suddenly, blocking your path. But his expression was uncharacteristic—devoid of that usual, mocking smirk. With a tone that bordered on intense gravity, he asked: "Is a Christian man allowed to marry a Muslim woman in your religion?" You paused for a moment, looking at him with your trademark composure—the very calm that used to irritate him—and answered clearly: "No, it is not permitted, unless he professes the Shahada and becomes a Muslim." You braced yourself for a cynical retort or a quick retreat. Instead, the world seemed to stand still when his features softened, and he uttered the words you never expected to hear: "Then... teach me how to say it."