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Only people who connect with each other can see profile photos; and even then, photos are not required. The only dates I’d ever been on were arranged by my friends, or with men who approached me on their own.

It became clear that I wouldn’t be dating anyone on Ishqr or even perusing my options.

In their eyes, online dating probably wouldn’t be halal.

Within a few hours of me registering for the app, I found out I was talking to a distant family friend. This experiment to see if I could bridge the values of my hyphenated identity left me feeling empty. I could’ve stayed for as long as it took to feel normal, or at least get used to the idea.

There were very few people who lived in my city, much less my state.

The chances of me physically meeting someone was close to zero.

I’ve left behind my parents’ list of prerequisites.

Pussy pics will awoke the most sexy fantasies right in your head and it will surely reflect on the hardness in your pants.

“Down for halal sex.”I snorted and sank further underneath my cherry-red duvet.

To him, all of America was racist, so there was no point in me living there. I shouldn’t have accepted his connection request in the first place, but I was curious.

If a guy who hadn’t even graduated from high school yet wanted to get married, where did that leave me?

The midafternoon sunlight pushing through the blinds cast a glare on my phone, making it hard to view the man whose dating profile I’d stumbled on.

This was a profile on Minder, a Muslim dating app that mimics Tinder but is aimed at helping Western Muslims find a spouse.

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