This was a wild discussion at a diplomatic function in Washington hosted by a former diplomat.

Outside, a thick blanket of snow had covered the roofs, streets and cars. Jali looked out the window and felt now was the time to leave. It was already minus 7 Celsius.

“It will be difficult to drive on these icy roads,” he said to his hosts. “I need to go home now.”

But he did not. Instead, he went to another party. The night was frigid but it was still the beginning of the weekend. The snowstorm had forced many to stay indoors but not the young. They were still partying.

Jali drove to Southwest Washington, close to the Capitol, parked his car on the street and walked into the apartment where the party was. A mixed smell of alcohol and food welcomed him. Some people were standing along the wall, while others were dancing.

One of the hosts handed him a glass of whiskey. “No, thanks, I have to drive,” he said and picked a soft drink.

“So, you don’t drink?” asked a man, who later introduced himself as Abdullah, an Egyptian who was studying mechanical engineering at one of the local universities.

“Jalil, Abdul Jalil,” said Jali.

“Good, so you are a Muslim too,” said Abdullah and then repeated his question: “You do not drink?”

“I do, occasionally,” said Jali. “Oh,” said the man and moved away.

Abdullah came to him again while Jali was talking to Afra, an Arab-American woman who was working as an intern at a congressman’s office. Afra was holding a bottle of beer.

Abdullah introduced himself to Afra and then said to both: “Muslims should not drink. You know that, right?”

It had an immediate impact on Afra who put her bottle on a nearby table and walked away.

Abdullah now addressed Jali: “Good that you are not drinking tonight. Try to give it up.”

Jali told him that he did have a glass of wine earlier in the evening.

“But I do not smell alcohol,” said Abdullah.

Jali smiled and said to him, politely,” I understand your concern but others may not. They may get offended.”

“They may but it will please Allah,” said Abdullah.

“Thank you, I appreciate your concern,” said Jali and moved to another corner.

When Jali came out, the snow had turned into a solid slate of ice. He skidded but someone held him from behind. He looked back. It was Abdullah.

“You are welcome,” said Abdullah as Jali thanked him. “Good that you were not drinking or you could have hurt yourself,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Jali and tried to move away.

“I was like you but I realised that I was on the wrong path and I am no more an alcoholic,” said Abdullah.

“But I am not an alcoholic,” Jali protested.

“I was but I have changed. You can too,” Abdullah insisted.

“I have nothing to give up. I am a social drinker,” said Jali, who was now visibly irritated.

Later, while driving home, Jali thought about another young man he had met years ago at an Internet café in Islamabad. Actually, it was a young couple.

Jali first met the man, tall, handsome and well-dressed. So he was not surprised when one day, a young woman came asking about him. They often met at the café. Once or twice, Jali helped them meet outside the café as well.

Once the woman told Jali that they were planning to get married and that her parents had already met and approved the man.

But one day, the man disappeared.

The girl still came, asking for news about him. Jali had none but she kept coming. When Jali was beginning to forget about him, somebody knocked at his door one morning. Jali opened the door and saw a bearded man in a long shalwar-kameez, several sizes bigger than his. He thought the man was a visitor from the local mosque who had come to persuade him to come to the mosque for prayers.

Jali showed him the courtesy due to such visitors and asked him to come in.

Jali recognised the man only when he spoke. “What happened to you? What’s this,” Jali asked him, pointing at his garb. He smiled but did not answer. Instead he asked for a cup of tea.

After a few sips, he said: “I want you to do something for me. I have heard that the girl still comes to the café. Can you please tell her to stop doing that and to forget me?”

“But why?” Jali asked.

“Oh, I am beyond such things now,” said the young man. “I am a mujahid.”

“What?” Jali almost shouted. “Are you one of those who go around shooting people?”

“No, there are various forms of jihad and I am still a student. But I will do whatever my teachers ask me to do,” he said.

“And what do you do now?” Jali asked.

“I have joined a circle of people like me who have been shown the right path. We are taking lessons from a sheikh. When we are ready, we will do whatever we are asked to,” he said.

“Does it mean doing jihad with a gun as well?” Jali asked.

“That’s not my decision. It is the sheikh who decides who does what,” said the man.

“And what about the girl?” Jali asked him.

“Please tell her that I respect her feelings but I have no time for such affairs. I have greater things to do,” said the young man.

He finished his tea and left, as abruptly as he came without giving Jali the chance to ask who he was with and how to contact him.

Jali never met him again.

He often met the girl though, in the market near his home. She always asked him about that man but Jali never dared to give her his message. He did not know what to tell her.