The mall was a swirling vortex of pre-Eid positive chaos, a cheerful vibe of frantic shoppers mixed with the sounds of Takbirat . Zaid felt like a leaf carried by the wind as he was pulled along by the unstoppable force that was his mother.
“No, not this one,” she declared, holding up a perfectly nice navy blue button-down shirt. “The stitching is cheap. Look, you can already see a loose thread.”
“Mama, it’s fine,” Zaid sighed, his feet already aching. “No one is going to be inspecting my stitching.”
“I will be inspecting it,” she argued, her eyes scanning the rack with such intensity. “My son deserves the best quality. And something fresh! Not the same old thing.”
This was the fifth store, and the argument was on its third loop. “Mama, all men’s styles are the same!” he groaned, runni
