In “Ash-Shūrā,” we walk the cobbled streets of Old Jerusalem and see how the blend of faith, magic, and violence leads Nassim to a crossroads. Where did your idea for this story first come from?

I fought this story on and off for years, and it’s changed almost entirely, except for the two main characters. The very first draft dealt more with the westernized interpretation of genies and wishes that folks are familiar with. Still set in the same place but quite different than the end product. But the main idea I wanted to explore then and now was the dynamic between two characters like Nassim and Khaizaran amidst that setting. I usually end up starting with a character and not a single bit of plot. That’s the image I’ve carried the longest, the two of them locked in that room, what would happen, and what it meant. Their consultation.

Nassim’s social isolation and his fear of the occupying soldiers feel like they are mirrored in the design of the city itself, which has its own signs of trauma. What was it like to place a story in this location? Did you draw on any real-life experiences?

The majority of my family is from Al-Quds, or the Old City, and most of them still live there, my maternal grandmother specifically in the inner city and neighborhood Nassim lives, which for historical and geographical purposes, is along the Via Dolorosa, the path Jesus is believed to have walked to his crucifixion. So there’s a lot of historical weight in that small setting between sites like the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and the Al-Aqsa Mosque compound. I was fourteen years old the first time I ever walked those streets. It’s such a unique space. The Old City especially, its ancient walls and souks and stories.

I was a kid visiting my grandparents. I remember the first time my cousins took me down to the neighborhood convenience store for some snacks, we passed a side street where a group of soldiers were stationed, uniforms, machine guns, radios. Like it was normal. And I suppose for everyone living there, it was normal, but for a kid from the States, it was jarring. The soldiers didn’t say or do anything. Everyone went about their business on that day, but it stuck with me. You figure out real quick that anything can happen to anyone on any day. And like it is in the rest of the world, the more vulnerable members of our communities often bear the brunt of it all.

Nassim’s struggles with mental illness creates another barrier between himself and others, but his encounter with the fortune teller indicates that there was another side to his experiences. Can you tell us more about how the story explores these connections?

I went back and forth for the longest time trying to make sense of these connections and what they mean for the character and story. Nassim’s mental illness existed on the page from the start. It is simply one of the many parts of him and was never intended to shock, perpetuate stigma, or undermine his experience or the core story. He had the genetic predisposition for the schizophrenia that was later triggered by trauma: his father’s abduction along with the physical and psychological violence and rape he suffered during the home invasion. In the end, Nassim stands alone, split off not only from some aspects of his own reality at times, but his community as well. The toll of othering. There is a fine line between his symptoms and the usually unseen jinn. The key is Nassim’s insight, that even though he can’t explain the jinn’s presence, he is self-aware to see that Khaizaran exists outside the scope of his illness, that he knows it is separate from his symptoms. When Nassim realizes that is what’s in front of him, he is willing to talk to Khaizaran, despite it being a taboo.

Although Nassim’s grandmother visits fortune tellers, Nassim’s experience is much more personal and complex. How do you feel about Nassim’s choice at the end? Is magic/fortune telling always opposed to Islamic faith?

Nassim’s choice at the end is his big moment. A boy who never had a choice in anything, not his circumstances, bodily autonomy, or even the mundane tasks of day-to-day life within city walls. But in that moment with the jinn, with all three of his options laid out before him, all three resulting in heavy loss, Nassim weighs those losses and for the first time chooses for himself. He’s willing to pay the price and sign his name, willing to make that decision regardless of the consequences, because it is his. Is it the lesser evil? Possibly. With each one, there is no going back. Death, even. There is no easy choice, only what he is willing to bear.

Magic, fortune telling, anything of that sort is a big no-no in Islam. Aside from the fact it’s used to cause harm, it is a severe form of shirk, which is associating the power and attributes of God to anyone else. The God in Islam is the same God of the other monotheistic Abrahamic religions. Allah is simply an Arabic name for Him. Another reason Nassim’s choice is a big deal is because although he might not attend prayer regularly or practice other elements of the religion consistently—faith waxes and wanes—he never denies the existence of God. And neither does Khaizaran. “Ash-Shūrā” is the title of a chapter in the Quran, and it means “The Consultation.” A repeated statement throughout the chapter is the reliance on and oneness of God. Do not take other partners. Do not rely on other people to give you what they can’t. Do not seek protection from false idols. Nassim doesn’t sign the contract in an act of disobedience to God the way his grandmother buys into fortune tellers, but out of desperation, and he must live with that.

Do you have any ongoing projects that your readers can look forward to?

I’ve been playing around with some poetry. I like to pretend I know what I’m doing in that department from time to time. There is more short fiction in the works and the same novel I said I’d finish ages ago, but nothing official. The more I work on stories like this, the more I think about working towards a collection in the future. Regardless of what happens next in writing and in life, I hope for the opportunity to keep telling stories.