A Fearless Fall

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 123

There’s an old saying which teaches: “A vessel can only pour out from what it contains.”

And it’s true what they say. It’s true that there are some people who are blessed with goodness and positivity. There’s this glow that kind of comes out of them, maybe just naturally, or probably because they have trained hard to be optimistic and not just because they have been blessed to be full of love and light.

Then there is the other extreme. The one who is constantly questioning everything around them, feeling victimised and angry at the world. Every experience shapes you to be who you are, but what you can control is how you action yourself thereafter. It just seemed like lately, I couldn’t control much of myself at all. Something was going on… my vessel was seemingly empty… and I didn’t quite know how to fill it again.

I looked at Jameela, my eyes a little unfocused as I watched her place Zaynah into the cot. She was one of those people. Always full of hope and laughter, and sometimes I wondered how she did it.

”That was a tad bit weird,” my sister murmured as she placed Zaynah in the cot, and anyone could tell that it was the understatement of the year. Hamzah’s behaviour wasn’t just weird. It was ridiculously rude.

Zaynah was fast asleep and for the first time I wished that she had taken longer to doze off so that Jameela hadn’t come in at that particular moment and disturbed the overdue exchange that was going on between Hamzah and I. I was frustrated and confused and looking for someone to blame.

Yes… it was because of everything that had happened with Hamzah but it showed how messed up my brain was when I was looking to point fingers at a one month old baby. Like she even knew what she was doing.

But at that point… I was spent. Broken and hurt and ready to throw myself and everyone else under a bus for just a glimpse of that love that Hamzah was had for me. My vessel was filled with negativity.

I immediately went to the window and watched him and Imraan get into the car. Zaid was with them, and I watched as Imraan strapped him into the car seat before they drove off.

Zaid had become like a nomad between the families. It had come to a point where I didn’t even need to pack a bag for him. Saaliha kept enough stocks of nappies and between her and my mother-in-law, they kept his cupboard full of the cutest outfits.

I shrugged as Jameela looked at me, my annoyance fading slightly as she walked toward me and guided me to sit back on the bed. I needed it. I could see that she was feeling bad, and didn’t know what to tell me. After all, it wasn’t her fault that my husband had become a screw-up.

“I know you are probably sick of hearing this,” she said quietly, perching next to me as I shifted backward against the continental pillows. “But maybe you need to give him some more time. Hamzah is not a bad person. I promise he will come around.”

He’s not a bad person? Do good people do the things he does?

I scoffed, not believing her. She was just so sickeningly positive about everything.

That’s exactly what everyone had told me. Give him time, time, time. Time was gone. Time had morphed into over two months and Hamzah wasn’t ready for the game.

”He’s been through a lot,” she said, her voice even quieter. “It’s been tough for him. He didn’t think he would make it back here alive.”

“And what about me?” I retorted, my heartbeat racing as I thought about everything he put me through. “How must I just pull myself together? What about my heart?”

Jameela was looking at me sympathetically but I could see that she was still thinking about the exchange with Hamzah. It was probably the first time she had seen him since he was back and I didn’t blame her. I myself was a little shocked at how different he looked… How worn he appeared… as if he had been through something that had taken a little too much from him and forgot to give it back.

”Zubair had said he had changed,” she continued, her gaze on me as she shook her head. “I didn’t realise how much. At least you know that he misses you. He wouldn’t have come up here if he didn’t.”

“He came here by mistake,” I said, feeling a little upset about that. “Imraan brought him and he thought I was downstairs with Zaynah. Bolted as soon as he saw her. He didn’t mean to be here with me. It was completely unintentional.”

”No ways,” she insisted, her voice rising slightly. “His heart guided him here! It was because he loves you that something in him was awoken and led him straight here… to rekindle that flame that was flickering in his heart!”

I cracked as smile and shook my head at my sister, amused at her analogy of the entire situation.

Some things don’t change. Jameela had always been the textbook romantic. That’s why I was glad that she had Zubair, because I knew that he fulfilled all her romantic expectations in every way. He wasn’t shy to show her how he felt about her, which is way more than I could ever say about Hamzah.

I sighed and breathed in deeply, willing myself not to cry.

It wasn’t worth it; all those tears. The thing is, I knew that, at some point, Hamzah would have to snap out of it. My fear was that, at that point, I wasn’t sure if he was going to opt for a permanent separation or if he would want to reunite. I wasn’t even living with much hope any more and having with that uncertainty was killing me. Did he even love me anymore?

I wasn’t even sure when was the last time he said it.

”He doesn’t have a heart,” I said decidedly, upset with him now. “He’s selfish. All he cares about is himself.”

Jameela was silent and i took the opportunity to pull my phone from the dresser and open my Instagram app, knowing that I would find a new message there that might lift my spirits. As usual, it didn’t disappoint. Three dms were in my inbox and the one was a girl who wanted to send me some baby products to advertise. Now that my followers had reached at least 20k, I knew that I could start doing bigger projects and earn better money through my account.

And the thing was, I wasn’t only wasting time on social media. I felt like I was being active and doing things that were beneficial to humanity as a whole. Besides helping other struggling mums, posting pictures of Palestine and the cause that was so close to our hearts was all well and good, and showed our solidarity, but I often wondered if social media has created a culture that rewards people for wanting to be known as the type of person who cares about a cause more than for actually caring about it.

This is why people do things like share articles without reading them. It conveys a certain type of image of who the person is. In a situation of tragedy, social media feeds the ego and makes the suffering of others another reason to bring fo­cus back on yourself.

An obvious question that gets missed is – what is the point? What is the desired outcome? What is the net positive impact of “awareness”? The truth is; these things cannot be measured in any meaningfully quantifiable manner.

The thing was, despite needing the distraction, I was kind of feeling mentally exhausted by it all. There was so much going on in my life and now I had this other life going on… Online activism becomes less and less about helping those in need, and more and more about policing who is speaking about issues and in what manner. We sit on our devices wait­ing to be told what to care about next.

And without realising it, my posts had taken a slightly dark turn. I didn’t know what I was even posting about, but feelings were pulsating through my body and I had to let it out somehow.

And there i was again, sitting on my device, waiting for some sign of what to do when I could just be laying low and thinking of how my life was going to play out from here.

Nabi 雜 said, “There will be afflictions (in the near future) during which a sitting person will be better than a standing one, and the standing one will be better than the walking one, and the walking one will be better than the running one, and whoever will expose himself to these afflictions, they will destroy him. So whoever can find a place of protection or refuge from them, should take shelter in it.’’

I knew that it was the solution and the antidote and I wished that I could grasp that concept of being less involved… but I was way too sucked in right then to move away.

I sighed, not even realising that Jameela was talking again and I probably was too zoned out to listen.

“… and it’s been a journey for us too,” she was saying. “Really. I don’t think anyone’s life is meant to be easy. And even though things aren’t perfect, Ammaar is such a darling. I would never want him to leave. I just hope that his uncle doesn’t pop up and make this dream a nightmare.”

”Sorry, Jamz,” I said apologetically, trying to get my head out of the rut. I had to snap out of it.“I didn’t hear that first part. Has there been an update from the uncle?”

I remember seeing him all those months ago and how just his presence had made my blood boil.

“Nothing for now,” she said, her brown eyes holding a certain amount of hesitation as she said it. “I’m just worried about the future, and how long we can live the fairy tale that we are…”

”Did you guys discuss whether Ammaar is his son or not?”

I had cut straight to the chase because I had been wanting to ask that question for weeks but I always didn’t have the guts or had too many other things on my mind.

Seeing Hamzah today may have been a disaster but it came with benefits of being able to take my mind off of him for a bit. It satiated something within me.

”Nope,” she said softly, moving her hand to her tummy as she turned around and looked at me. “It doesn’t matter. This baby will still be his family because Zubair and him are definitely related somehow. Theres no denying that. He needs to know that he belongs with us!”

I forgot that my sister was pregnant at times. She was so super skinny that she still looked like bones even though she was already out of her first trimester.

I nodded silently because Jameela always had amazing qualities.

”I want Zubair and Ammaar to have a good relationship,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I wish that Zubair and his father had a better bond. I always feel like I’m the buffer. They’re okay… but I wish it was better. I want to keep the family together and united. Theres so much going on and life is too short for holding grudges.”

Jameela and her kindness again. I probably wouldn’t care much about everybody else, but it was probably because of the state of mind that I was in currently.

Whilst many daughters-in-law would simple cut their husbands off from their families and pull them completely into their own, Jameela was always insisting that they had to maintain a good relationship with Zubair’s family. Sometimes we don’t realise how important it is to be someone who doesn’t try to wedge a gap between our husband and others. At the end of the day, a man still needs his family too.

“Is Zubair still angry with his father for all those things that happened to him?” I asked, really wanting to know how my brother-in-law was coping nowadays.

I knew that Zubair had a tough time, and my questions weren’t completely selfless. I wanted to know how Hamzah would fare when we was out of his situation too. I knew it was different but Hamzah’s haunted look was a little like how Zubair used to be when I first met him.
I wanted to know how long it took to heal and rise above it.

Zaynah was still stirring in the cot add Jameela had already stepped in to soothe her.

“It’s a long journey,” she murmured. “He still has nightmares about his past, but it’s become less frequent. I don’t think that it ever goes away completely though.”

I nodded. I could deal with that. I could. Even if Hamzah had to come back, I would deal with it for the rest of my life if I had to.

Zaynah had started whimpering in the cot and I knew that she was due for a feed, so I passed Jameela a bottle that I had expressed..

As amazing as it was catching up with my sister, I was feeling a little overwhelmed with thoughts right then, and also, she was heading off to see Nusaybah who had come down for Eid. I told my sister to hand Zaynah off to my mother so I could have some peace.

Once everyone else, including Nani, Maahira and Rabia, who was in good spirits, had come in to greet, I was so exhausted that I didn’t even plan on going on Instagram again. Of course, once I heard the notification of a message while I changed from the slack suit I was wearing into a button down night shirt that was good for sleeping in, removed my make up and went to the bathroom, I didn’t expect to hear my phone buzz.

I did expect Maahira to message with some juicy bits about her and Rabia’s conversation here which I was completely and surprisingly unbothered about, but what I didn’t expect was Hamzah’s message that came later that night.

Assalaamu alaikum. What can I say? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you like that.

I didn’t expect his message or even an apology. I couldn’t resist being straightforward. I was tired and a bit annoyed at him. Did he mean leave me, like per se? Or did he mean leave the room and bolt like a little startled deer earlier on today?

Wslm. So why did you? You acted as if I was poison.

His reply came quickly after.

It was like a reflex reaction. I’m scared, Mos, it had nothing to do with you. It’s the whole baby thing. But today I realised how much I miss you. You know that you’re my weakness. Can I call? 

I sighed, not completely immune to the sweet talk and really wanting to hear his voice, but also not wanting to make this easy for him. It was the first time he had reached out to me properly, over the past few weeks, but my logic was telling me to pull him a little longer in case he runs away.

What did he think I was? Some kind of joke he could just be his part-time wife without a child? Making this easy would have disastrous repercussions.

Not tonight.

I typed a brief reply and left it at that, because I didn’t want to go into the whole ‘miss you too’ scenario. That went without saying for me. The man had to dense if he didn’t realise just how much I missed him.

Okay.

It was all he said, and I didn’t reply because I knew that I had been a little harsh. He too, had surrendered so easily. I wasn’t sure why.

And as tired as I was, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling and listening to Zaynah cry in the other room, because I didn’t have it in me to message Hamzah and take back what I said, or to get our child before she morphed into some kind of fit of emotional distress. Finally, my mother brought her to me to be breastfed, and I drifted off into a weird slumber that somehow took me to the next morning.

You know that feeling you get sometimes that you know you felt before… but somehow, you just can’t remember exactly when it was that the feeling became that overwhelming feeling that it was.

The next morning, I woke up with a thought that I hated breastfeeding. I told my mother that I won’t be feeding Zaynah anymore, completely immune to Nani’s chiding when she heard it. I didn’t know what it was that had triggered it. I didn’t know that something greater was going on in my body and with my emotions. All I knew was that I had to shake myself off the suffocating emotions that had overwhelmed me ever since Zaynah was born.

I felt like a bad mother but I didn’t care. I just wanted to sleep. The days were literally a blur. I didn’t hear from Hamzah, and though I still used social media, I didn’t get that kick out of it that I usually would.

Maahira had come several times, chatting to me and trying to cheer me up with all her amazing gifts and conversations, but somehow, I wasn’t biting. She also had a few work obligations that she had to meet and though she tried to be there often, I knew that she had other things to do and left her to it.

It was a week later when Rabia came in a particularly good mood. She had been coming in occasionally but now that she had finished her first semester exams and she was free for a bit, her ideal morning was spent just bathing and pampering her niece. She was being extra chatty and i was being extra rude, but she was completely unaffected because she had Zaynah and that’s all that mattered to her. Or maybe she was just happy that Hamzah and I weren’t together. After all, I hadn’t heard from him in a week and there was no way that I was going to chase after the idiot when he was completely ignoring me.

i focused on Rabia again as she sprinkled some talcum power on Zaynahs vest.

”I just love baby scent,” she said with a smile. “It’s the most calming and relaxing thing ever.”

I didn’t have it in me to smile. I murmured something in response while I looked up at the ceiling.

What the hell was she even on? Getting high on baby powder?

She looked happy. Somehow, her permanent frown and fixation on her phone had simmered down and I could see her being a little more relaxed around me. I wasn’t prepared to extend the same kind of olive branch to her, though. I just wasn’t in the mood for that type of admin..

I let her get on with the task of seeing to Zaynah. She spoke to her cheerily as she changed her, making cooing noises and sounding a little too obsessed for my liking.

I couldn’t deny that she would have made a better mother than me. She was droning on and on about how she had looked into this baby massage therapy and was even thinking of doing a course on it because all of its million benefits that didn’t faze me in the least.

”And since you’re doing some baby posts, maybe we could do some kind of collab?” She said, fastening the studs on Zaynah’s vest as she glanced at me. “If I ever go ahead with it, that is. It just seems so amazing to work with little babies all the time is a dream.”

I didn’t understand how it could be a dream. Babies were super whiny and just bloody annoying. They always needed something or the other.

I shrugged, and wondering how much more of her talking I would have to endure. I wasn’t aware at what point I had gotten up to go to the bathroom. I had left her to put Zaynah off to sleep and from sleeping all the time, I had now gone to not sleeping at all. I wasn’t sure what was going on.

Anxiety and unexplained feelings overwhelmed me, and there was many a time when I felt like I just didn’t know what to do with myself.

I wasn’t even sure why I had wondered out onto the landing that morning. My parents house always had this steep wooden staircase and though we had put a gate for Zaid, it was still a bit risky.

Because Zaid wasn’t around today, I noticed that the gate had been left open. I wasn’t quite aware of how quickly I was advancing toward the staircase until I was on the edge of the top stair, and as I hovered there, I couldn’t help but  feel a certain sense of exhilaration. It was weird and scary, but the thought of letting myself fall off the edge was strangely consuming.

I wasn’t even fully comprehending. The thought of what would happen after didn’t even strike me. Fear of pain or accidental damage was just by the way.

It was at that moment that I thought to myself; this moment could be one of two things… the moment I could finally free fall, and rid my mind of everything that had happened, or a spectacular way to just spread my wings and free myself of everything that had overwhelmed me.

All I knew was that things were a little hazy for a few seconds, and the next thing, I was already letting myself fall headfirst down the staircase.

The last thing I heard as I leaned forward was Rabia screaming for me… and then… I just blacked out.

---

Please make maaf for any errors or things I may have forgotten. I will edit in the morning

Wslm 🤍

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofEntertaining guests

Gone Again

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 122

Sometimes in the crux of life, as we go through the many stages and phases of our existence, we forget that everything we do… every action, every thought and every situation comes with its own journey. It takes time to realise that in every breath we take, the Duaas of  the angels go on, whether its day or night… either for us or against us.

And even though Hamzah was virtually non-existent during this entire period, from the painful birth and the hours after, right up to the point where the baby was already a month old, somehow, I knew that Allah’s mercy was raining upon me. In theory, everything had gone well. Despite me not being in the best frame of mind and despite the fact that I missed Hamzah, I knew, in the back of my mind, that I was so blessed. I had been forced to my parents house after hospital, and because I knew that being surrounded by people would help, I gave in.

My parents were thrilled and Nani was obsessed with making little baskets of flower-shaped pink burfee and sending them to anyone and everyone. Apparently it wasn’t acceptable not to give anything when a baby was born. I didn’t believe that but I let her be, because it made her happy and also kept her off my back.

Jameela, despite having Ammaar there, came every weekend in Ramadhaan and stayed the night whilst my brother literally sat for hours with his new niece, obsessing over her tiny fingers and loving her almost like a father should. He had taken on a whole new stance to life, and since he was in his final year of school, I could tell that he had become a more mature version of himself who took life a little mire seriously.

Ultimately, I was glad to have the support of my family and considered it a great blessing.

Indeed, with every difficulty, there is an ease. There is an ease that we sometimes don’t see, until we are forced to wake up and realise how much we have been blessed with despite our woes and trials.

“I still can’t believe that you are here.”

I looked at Maahira as she smiled wide , my eyes already shedding happy tears as she unpacked the huge bag she had brought with her. She wore this beautiful floral scarf that with a mink-coloured modest suit. She looked stunning.

Another reason to smile, to appreciate… to be grateful. Maahira would not have been here this early in the year if everything was perfect.

I breathed in as I tried to process and ignore the hurt that I felt within. The pain was one that was deep inside… a reminder that at the end of this I would still go back to my place without a husband.

“There was no way that I was leaving you alone when Hamzah is going through his crisis,” she stated, rolling her eyes as she said ‘crisis’. “I’m working remotely and Chunks is going back next week. This gig can’t go on without me. I need to be here for you, girl. You look great, by the way. That husband of yours is crazy for not being here to see it. When you are out and about again, no one’s gonna believe you had a child. You lost every single pound you put on!”

I hadn’t tried to lose weight. It all happened by itself, with everything that was going on.

I forced a grin as I watched her open her bag and pull out outfit after outfit, my heart finally warm and fuzzy after weeks as I witnessed how much my two babies were being spoilt by their honorary aunty.

Yes, it was Eid day, but not seeing Hamzah was a huge downer. I thought he would at least get over his own weird aversions to his own child as Ramadhaan ended and he had come out of ithikaaf but all I had gotten this morning was a message with an apology for himself, saying that he thinks of me but can’t see the baby right now.

Like, what the actual hell was his problem?

I had ignored him. There was no use talking to someone who made no effort to keep things afloat. I wanted to scream and knock sense into him but apparently everyone had tried and Hamzah would not budge. There was no point going all crazy on him and becoming the resident psychopath.

”I’m sure your in-laws are so excited,” Maahira cooed as she picked baby Zaynah up and placed her on her shoulder.”I can see Nani is over the moon. First great-grandchild for her. First granddaughter for your in laws.”

”Absolutely thrilled,” I said blandly, knowing that everyone loved Zaynah to bits. Hamzah’s nephew, Uthman, had become her biggest fan.  “Everyone is obsessed… except her father, of course.”

”Lets not talk about that,” Maahira said quietly, gently caressing the baby’s head as she moved from side to side and swayed her gently. “No need to upset our gorgeous little princess here. We will give her all the tips. She knows that most men are full of crap. Isn’t that right, sweety?!”

Zaynahs head turned slightly as Maahira spoke to her, and Maahi giggled as she watched her.

”This little baba is better than us both,” she grinned. “She’s looking so shy and modest. You know I heard the other day that Imaam Ghazali  tells of hayaa being the first sign of intelligence in a child. During their time, it was of the first things they instilled in their children. We need to always make duaa that our kids have that quality to be naturally full of modesty.”

”Not like us,” I said, rolling my eyes and shaking my head, not giving away the fact that my heart actually bled for my little girl and the lack of attention from her father. I could feel the familiar sinking in my tummy as I remembered the situation and breathed in, trying to dispel the feelings that sometimes overwhelmed me. It was occurring more often now, and the more time passed, the more intense the baby blues seemed to be.

I glanced at Maahi murmuring into the baby’s ear as she cradled her, and I managed to crack a smile as I noticed how much the stance suited Maahira. I wasn’t sure when she was thinking of having her own, but I just knew that she would make an amazing mother. It seemed right up her alley.

”That suits you,” I said quietly, and she looked up at me and smiled. “When are you and Chunks planning a little bawler?”

She met my eye as she placed Zaynah on her shoulder, winking at me silently.

“I’m already working on him,” she smiled, her face already lighting up as she rocked my daughter gently. “He wants to wait till we move out of the city but I’m happy wherever we are. Babies bring so much of barakah. I can just feel the love and warmth in the air here. Everyone is buzzing.”

I smiled, knowing what she meant. My cousins were in and out of the house, which made Nani ecstatic and kept her on her toes. Even though I stayed in my room, I didn’t mind because it gave her less time to pick on my mothering skills and give me beans about it. I willingly sent Zaynah down whenever they asked, which worked perfectly fine for me. I just wanted to be left alone.

“But I feel hollow,” I said quietly, letting the words the slip out as she looked up at me. I felt guilty for saying it, because I knew that I had no right to feel that way. “As if there’s so much happening around me. But inside… I’m just… dead.”

Maahira looked at me, her face expression becoming serious as she blinked. The guilt intensified because I knew that even though Hamzah wasn’t here, there was so much else going on for me.

”Have you spoken to anyone about it?” She asked, her voice dropping as I met her gaze.

I shook my head because I was too embarrassed about feeling the way I was.

“You know it’s normal, right?” She asked softly, careful to wake baby as she placed her in the cot and took a step toward the bed. “It’s normal to feel overwhelmed at times. There’s no such thing as you have to be strong for the baby. You are doing so well. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“I’m not doing well at all!” I whisper-screamed, throwing my hands up in the air, feeling like I was bearing my deepest secrets and feeling terrible about it. “If Zaynah was a more demanding baby… I would have just ignored her. As it is, my mother does everything for her. I can’t even sit with her for over half an hour at a time without getting that weird sinking feeling that makes me feel like we are somewhat… displaced. Like I shouldn’t be here. I don’t know Maahi… I think there is something wrong with me.”

I sighed as she sat on the edge of the bed and inched closer, studying me worriedly.

“I think that you may have a touch of post- partum depression,” she said, her voice serious as she crept up onto the bed and sat next to me, staring at me with concern. “I read about it once, when my sister had her baby. How are your emotions? Have you been crying?”

I shrugged, because I was never one to cry. Yes, there were lots of times when I felt like crying but I sucked it up because I always attributed it to crying over Hamzah and I’d be damned if I had to ever shed tears over a man who didn’t care about me enough to even check how the mother of his child was coping.

“I think you need to cry,” she murmured, nodding as she watched me. “Let it out and let yourself release that pain that’s eating at you. You also need to speak to your doctor… breastfeeding usually helps I heard, but i see that Zaynah is not breastfeeding as often.”

”She’s not latching properly and I don’t have as much patience as I had with Zaid,” I admitted, feeling guilty again because I was depriving my child of so much of goodness with my own selfishness. I just couldn’t seem to help it. “And I feel so bad because I’m so lucky that everyone is doing literally everything for me, while I sit and waste every spare second I have.”

I had admitted my worst flaw. My past addiction that had come back with a vengeance. I couldn’t put my phone down nowadays. I was back to the old game… the posting and the comments was the only thing that mattered to me right now.

I wasn’t reading as much dhikr as I should… wasn’t as focused a I used to be. Now that I finally could, I wasn’t even reading as much Qur’ān as I should. I knew that it was the healer and the curer, and the one thing that kept me grounded. It wasn’t only the one thing that helped me to pick up my broken bits, but it was also what made me cherish everything that i could gather.

Now, instead, I spent my precious time scrolling through TikTok while breastfeeding Zaynah and saving the dumbest reels to post on my stories. I still had the huge following who had now become obsessed with my new baby posts, and once again, @mostlymohsina had become one of the trendiest blogs to follow. I was good at taking pics that didn’t have my baby directly in it, starting discussions that consumed me, and even thought I knew Hamzah would probably flip if he knew, I continued because maybe I did want some kind of reaction from him, whatever it was, instead of his continuous silence.

Of course, the obsession meant that I would have to stuff my phone into the closest cushion cover when Nani would barge in and reprimand me for tapping while feeding.

”Stop that katchra watching and read some zikr!” She would almost scream at me, peeved that I wasn’t sitting in ibaadat everytime I breastfed. “You want the baby to be shaytaan like you, you will sit and cry after!”

Apparently, according to Nani, all the things that I saw on my device permeated into my milk and went straight into the baby’s system. I knew that it had an effect on the baby, but I couldn’t seem to stop, Whether she was right or not about the actual milk, I  didn’t know. I tried my best to but it wasn’t working.

The only thing I avoided was my mails for the last few days because I knew that I was feeling vulnerable and since Faadil had sent a congratulatory e-mail, I wasn’t too sure what to think about the entire situation. I knew that he was trying to find a way back into my good graces, but why he was doing it, I wasn’t sure.

“You are allowed to give yourself a break from motherhood,” Maahira said, and I knew that she probably didn’t know the extent of my feelings or my posting. Since she married, she didn’t seem to be  on social media discussions that much and I was a teeny bit jealous that her and Chunks seemed to have such a solid bond. “You have been going through a lot and I can’t imagine how hard it must be. Maybe read up on depression in Islam. There are uninvase remedies if you don’t want to take something. You just need to talk to someone. Your feelings are valid, Mos.”

I immediately looked up at her, guilt still consuming me as she pulled me toward her and rubbed my arm comfortingly. It didn’t help.

My feelings were not valid. I had no right to feel like I’d rather have my husband back than have my baby. It made me hate myself.

I needed to polish my heart. It was blacker than black.

“Maybe you just need to focus on something else,” she said, leaning against the headboard as she glanced at me.

”I have,” I said, not expanding and all the social media obsessing I’d been doing lately. “It’s not helping much. I still feel down when I put my phone away.”

She tut-tutted as she looked pensively at my sleeping baby.

”Rabia seems to be thrilled though,” she said with a smile. “I heard that she thinks the baby looks just like her.”

I sniggered, because that was actually an understatement . I wasn’t sure what had happened to her, but to my great surprise (and disbelief), Rabia was actually pretty tolerable these days. And yes, Rabia and the baby had a lot of similar features, and I knew that Hamzah’s family genes definitely had the upper hand here.

The upside about Rabia at the moment was that we hadn’t exchanged a bad text or sentence in over two months. And yes, I wasn’t sure how long it would last. Her Instagram profile was pretty annoying and I still loathed her posts, but because Saaliha often made sure that Zaid didn’t feel neglected with the new baby around, Rabia was actually being decently helpful with helping to change, feed and bath the new baby.

Breastfeeding wasn’t coming easily to me this time, and I knew that it was the stress of not having Hamzah around when he should have been.

She had actually come a few times and spent almost an hour pampering her new niece after her massaging sessions. I was pretty shocked.

Who knew that having a baby girl could change Rabia’s entire personality?

“Rabia’s been surpassing her brother in fatherly duties actually,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t believe that she’s being so hands on.”

“I’m shocked but happy,” Maahira said with a sly smile. “Do you think that she needed a newborn baby to fill her gaps?”

I shrugged, because I didn’t want to speak about my own gaps that needed filling. I was feeling lonely without Hamzah and I didn’t know how to tell Maahira that maybe I should consider asking him if he was ever coming back so I knew what to do from this point onwards. Maybe I could move into Zubair’s own place, because going back to the flat with two kids was making me feel like I was entering unchartered territory.

Zaynah’s little cry sounded, and as usual, I barely noticed. I was lost in my own thoughts and luckiky, Mahi was so obsessed with Zaynah that she didn’t notice my stagnant expression.

I knew that I should be grateful that Zaynah was a good baby. She was so content and she barely cried.

And like I usually did, I closed my eyes for a few seconds and blanked my mind. It did cross my mind that I may need a little more intervention to help my state of mind but I was tired of thinking and just wanted a quick fix of mindless screen time.

Maahira was just here for day but I could tell that she was a little worried about me already.

“Listen,” she said decidedly as she cradled my baby and frowned slightly. “I think you need someone to talk to, and a distraction… and I have just the one for you. I know you’re on leave now, but I got this job offer the other week… very similar to what you have but almost twice the pay. I declined because it’s mostly working remotely and getting to the head office that’s out of town, and Chunks doesn’t seem too thrilled with it, but they asked me if I knew anyone and I thought of you. It’s an international company and their head office here is in Sandown.”

I looked up at her, already at interested because the pay and location sounded like a dream. I needed the extra money. Hamzah was still sending me a good amount every month and I still had his card, but the thought of using it when our marriage was dwindling away seemed wrong.

This opportunity sounded ideal. All I had to do was send in my resignation to the company I was with and this would commence in a month’s time. I checked it out as soon as the mail came through. It required me going in once a week and their head office wasn’t far from the flat. I knew that if I had to go back there with this in mindset, everything would settle down once again. It was just what I needed to lift my spirits, and by the time Maahira left, I had already filled in my application, making sure that I met all the requirements before I sent it off.

Maahira had already told me that she would be gone for lunch to her mothers and would be back later, and not wanting to attend our own Eid lunch at my uncles, I closed my laptop and drifted into a dreamless sleep by that afternoon, not even awakened by Zaynah’s cry that seemed to go on forever. I pulled the pillow over my head and ignored her because it felt like she was always crying for something or the other.

Someone must have heard her at some point, and I didn’t bother to stir because I knew that there was enough formula to give her, and I wasn’t exactly in the mood to wake up. In fact, the thought of sleeping forever crossed my mind more often that day, that it actually began to scare me. I was slowly losing the person I was, and becoming someone I barely knew.

I wasn’t ready to see anyone. The entire household knew that they were welcome to take Zaynah out of the room and see to her, as long as I was left alone. I didn’t get many people coming in to see me nor did I expect it, even though it was Eid day. Luckily, my mother and Nani both agreed that it was still too early for me to be walking around and it made it easy for me to escape everyone’s attention.

The slight knock on the door barely stirred me out of my slumber. I knew that anyone I was prepared to see would let themselves in either way, so I ignored it as i closed my eyes and shut them out, not really caring much as I heard footsteps in the room, hoping that they would take what they need and leave me alone.

I shut my eyes tighter, even as I heard the door open and felt a slight moment on the bed. Someone was sitting near my feet, and it only took me a few seconds before I recognised the familiar scent of his oud, and registered exactly who it was.

It just took three seconds before my eyes shot open, and I couldn’t quite believe that he was actually here. Hamzah’s face looked haunted as he looked around the room, his eyes on the cot, even though I could see that Zaynah wasn’t in there.

“Sorry, you didn’t answer when I knocked and I didn’t know you were here,” he said softly, his breathing slightly laboured as he removed his hat and combed his fingers through his long, overgrown hair. His shoulders were hunched as he sat at the edge, and I lifted my body up so I could make sure that I was actually awake. “I thought you would be downstairs with the baby.”

He looked so different. I hadn’t seen him in months, and why he had come today, I wasn’t sure. He had lost weight, but his body looked leaner than ever. His hair was slightly dishevelled but it suited him just fine, and that familiar racing of my heart caught me slightly off guard as I watched him look around in a slight panic.

“Hamzah,” I said softly, my eyes burning with sleep, not even knowing how to react around him anymore because it had been that long. Who was he? Who was I? And yet, I wanted to hold him and tell him it would be okay, but his entire presence seemed completely different to what I knew about him.

“Are you okay?”

“Imraan didn’t tell me he was stopping here,” he admitted, his face giving away more than his words as he glanced at me. “The baby was downstairs and I panicked.”

I shook my head, signalling to him that I didn’t understand. I knew that he was going through something traumatic but I didn’t know why he was so scared.

He kept looking at the door, as if he expected something to happen. I knew that he didn’t mean to come see me, but neither was he running away.

“Why don’t you just chill here for a little while?” I asked, not believing that I was being kind to this man who had basically ignored me for so many months. “Until Imraan leaves.”

He looked at me from the side of his eye as I spoke, and I could see him noticing my trendy but creased set of clothing that I had fallen asleep in. It was a simple, sage, button down jersey suit that Jameela had made me pick out from my many sets of clothing I had outgrown during pregnancy. My hair was up in a bun and I was suddenly self conscious about how I looked, because I knew that he noticed.

It was a weird, but not extremely unwelcome feeling. All this time, I hadn’t cared about anything or what anyone said. For the first time in weeks, Hamzah’s presence had ignited something that I thought was dead inside me. I realised that with Hamzah, I cared. With Hamzah, I couldn’t simply be the lesser version of myself that I had become accustomed to all this time. Hamzah made me look at myself in a different light. He just had a knack of making me want to be better.

“Can I sit next to you?” I asked suddenly, surprised at myself for wanting to be closer to this man when he had hurt me so much. Surprised at myself for dropping the tough girl act, when that was what I had always prided myself on.

I didn’t even wait for his answer as I crept over to the front of the bed, wanting to scoff at my own desperation.

All aspiration of screaming the roof down when I saw his face had diminished to zero.

He nodded slightly and watched me as I placed my legs on the other side of where he sat. He didn’t deserve my grave but I still wanted to penetrate that wall he had built up around him, to break down the barrier and somehow uncover the man that had been buried beneath it. Somewhere in there, my Hamzah… the one that i had fallen in love with, was there.

”Mos,” he said softly, his hand on his lap, flexing his fingers subconsciously as he looked down. “I can’t see the baby right now. I can’t explain yet but it’s just too much right now… too soon…”

I hushed him because I could see that he was visibly broken. Consumed, torn and unable to express his deepest fears.

”Zaynah,” I said quietly, getting a little hot with annoyance as I realised that he refused to acknowledge that she was a living, breathing human. “Your daughter’s name is Zaynah.”

He nodded silently.

And I hated to admit it, but I loved this man. When it came to him, even though I felt like strangling him, I could still have all the patience in the world. I knew then that even if he gave me one simple sign, I would wait for him, however long it took.

“Is she okay?” He asked, his voice low. “Health wise? No complications?”

Did he actually care?

I wasn’t sure but now that he was there, I didn’t want to lose him. After all, wasn’t he the one to say that there was always hope?

And just as I inched closer to him, my shoulder just centimetres from his, his fingers finally reaching for mine whilst wearing him down with comforting words that I knew he needed to hear… the turning of the door handle immediately broke the spell.

It was as if something was lit underneath him, and before Jameela even had a chance to greet, Hamzah had already bolted out the door, as fast as his legs could take him.

That old and familiar feeling settled once again in my tummy as I realised what a hopeless situation this was.

Jameela stood there speechless, a whimpering Zaynah in her arms as they probably both wondered what on earth had just happened.

Just when I thought that all my patience had been rewarded, that hope was not dead and that Hamzah was coming back to me, he was gone once again.

---

Dear Readers

I’m so sorry for taking so long to post, it’s just been a busy two weeks.

I hope everyone had a restful Ramadhaan and enjoyed the peace. Please keep me in your Duaas.

much love,

A x

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofEntertaining guests

When we aren’t yet Ready

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 121

One thing I realised as I progressed on the journey of motherhood, was that our generation was becoming obsessed with trying to prove that women can do whatever a man can, and therefore, losing their uniqueness. The thing is, women weren’t created to do everything a man can do. Women were created to do all the things that a man can’t.

In a marriage, the lines often get blurred because we’re always trying to get the best deal out when we should be focusing on getting the best of each other out. Whether we are ready or not to face it, some things have to be said out loud.

Marriage is not always beautiful. It can be bloody hard. It’s even ugly, because you see the absolute worst in someone. You see them when they’re mad, sad, being stubborn, when they’re so unlovable that they make you scream. But you also get to see them when they are laughing so hard that tears run down their face, and they cant help but let out those weird gargling noises. You see them at 3am when the world is asleep except you two, and you’re gazing at some random thing that’s so beautiful and heartwarming, or having some random snack with a heart to heart in the middle of the kitchen floor.

You get to see the side of them that no one else does, and its not always pretty. Its snorting while laughing, its the tears when it feels like its all crashing down, its the farting, its the bedhead and bad breath, its the random sing-a-long ans outbursrs, its the anger and the joy. Marriage isn’t a beautiful thing, but it is amazing.

And despite Nani telling me to pull my socks up ages ago when she had been trying to give me the very relevant 411 on parenting, I hadn’t believed her until I lay with Zaid in his co-sleeper cot, watching his cute expressions as I read a book to him that he had recently become attached to, and I realised that I may have been a little hard on Hamzah stepping up. I may have expected a little too much from him. Even after he had left, he still made sure he did everything in his power to help with Zaid, and play his part. I had relied on him too much, and sometimes, didn’t give him the credit he was actually responsible for.

“Mother must be mother,” Nani had drilled into me, one day when I told her Hamzah was making Zaid his food. “Man must bring home money and women must do her work at home. This is the only way that there can be peace.”

And yes, though I would never admit it, she was mostly right. Yes, men can play a part in rearing kids, but when the dynamic gets shifted and things didn’t go the way Allah intended it, there were always problems. It was only now when I found myself doing the work of both of us, providing for our family and seeing to Zaid, that I actually gave Hamzah the credit that was due to him.

As for Hamzah, when he was around, without fail, he was always the one putting Zaid to sleep. His patience and the beauty of his Qur’ān recitation was just what Zaid needed to calm down. Now that Hamzah wasn’t around and Zaid needed some comfort, I’d had to adapt and change, and somehow, Zaid had settled into a new routine.

As for Nani, she had been on my mind recently and I desperately missed her (despite our contact bickering) and wanted to see her, but I was terrified of the kind of reception I would get if I had to break the news to her now when Hamzah wasn’t around.

Also, I knew that Jameela was planning this big do with the families at her gorgeous new place and she planned on inviting us all.

Zubair had gone from zero to hero in Nani’s house because apparently even Nasreen and her in laws knew about this apartment block and it was the best place ever.

My sister had already forced me to answer her call earlier that week, even though I had scoffed at my phone several times as she called, wondering what exactly my sister wanted right then.

She had already babbled off a load of incoherent information and I shook my head as I attempted to understand.

”Wait,” I said to my sister, unable to process what was going on in her brain. “This Saturday? And Nani’s going to be there? What will I even tell her?”

”You don’t have to say anything,” she stated obviously. “Your stomach is obvious enough. Just let things pan out by itself and stop being so emotional. You have to tell Nani at some point…”

I wasn’t ready for all of that. I wanted to hide away and not come out till after the baby was born, but I knew it was ridiculous and impossible. How I had kept this from Nani for so long was beyond madness.

I wasn’t sure if Hamzah would return yet. There were no certainties. The hardest thing to accept was the loss of someone who was once so much a part of your life. I knew that at some stage I’d have to accept that he was gone, but I was still holding onto hope that he was going to find his way back to us.

And as if the answer to my hopes was imminent, my phone buzzed on the dresser, but I ignored it because I had decided to leave my phone aside when I was with Zaid and I was trying my best to fulfill my own promise, but I couldnt resist taking a peep.

Tell me that you heard the good news.

I leaned over slightly and typed two question marks in response. I hated when Maahira did that.

They found him.

I only glanced at phone as it buzzed, and Zaid’s chocolate brown eyes popped open because he had somehow heard the device, obviously thinking that everything that happened on it was for him.

I knew that she was privy to the information because Rabia posted everything on social media before anything else, but it hurt that no one else had told me first.

And despite the hurt, the joy that accompanied the news was unparalleled.

I had sighed in relief because I had been tormenting myself with the idea that Hamzah had been taken to some remote location and tortured brutally before he died.

All this time… I wasn’t sure how to explain my feelings to her. She was too far away, and too busy with work and the extremely romantic Chunks to invest in my problems. I didn’t want her to stress over me. She had an amazing life she was living, and though I knew that she cared, I was pulling away on purpose. Besides, Rabia was being a downright Karen since day one and I wanted her to stop filling me in in her posts, because I just didn’t want to know about her.

“What else did she say?” I asked, edger for any other information despite the source. “I wished that I had heard from one of my in laws at least.”

And I knew that I was being dramatic, because it was only twenty minutes later when a call came thorough from an unknown number, and that’s when my mother-in-law had called to give me the good news that they were sorting out  Hamzah’s paperwork and he would soon be back home. I had wanted to know if he was hurt or if he was something had happened to him, but she cut me off and told me to relax, and I already knew that they had probably been given strict instructions from Hamzah to not give me any information that may potentially stress me out. If only he knew how much I had already gone through in the past months while he wasn’t here.

I breathed in as I paced the apartment, trying to ignore the movements in my tummy as I did. It felt like the baby was doing gymnastics in there, and my brain was following suit.

I turned and watched our son, his brown hair flat on his head as he sunk into the little pillow I had bought him for his cot, his eyes heavy as he sucked his thumb more vigorously and kicked his covers off and drifted off once again.

My heart lurched as I processed it all again, not knowing what to expect from Nani or even Hamzah. This whole situation was all so out of my control that I couldn’t actually believe it was happening to me. Was Hamzah going to see Nani? Was he going to come on Saturday? Would he actually arrive in flesh and blood, after being gone for so long.

I didn’t realise how much I missed him.

He had sent me a brief message from his brothers phone a few days back to say he would be home in two days, and now that he had arrived, I wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Salaams. It’s me. I’m messaging from Imraan’s phone because I don’t have any device. I hope that you and Zaid are well.

And that was it. No ‘I love you’ or ‘Missed you’. Simple and straight to the point. It left me more confused than ever.

Did I go there and welcome him, or did I give him space to adjust before I brace him with my gigantic presence? I knew that he would want to see Zaid but I wasn’t quite sure whether he would be too tired to process our presence.

“So do I go demand to see him or not?”

The question was aimed at myself but I said if aloud because I had already dialled Jameela and I wanted someone to tell me what to do.

It’s what I missed about Hamzah right then. Somehow, he just had that hold over me… the ability to take control and coax me into doing stuff, whether it be getting out of bed or getting into my Qur’ān, I missed him so much right then that it physically hurt.

I mean, I knew the value of Qur’ān. Ever since I had heard the news about him, I had trashed Netflix and started on my Qur’ān once again. It was only the Qur’ān that set me straight again.

It was because of the Qur’an, that many miracles came into existence. It was because of Qur’ān that Rasoolullah was able to cope with all of the trauma in his life. And there is no way anyone can claim to have a life worse than his. He experienced mental, emotional, physical and even spiritual trauma throughout his life but never did he utter words of hopelessness.

Because He had the Qur’an. He found the answers he sought in the verses that were revealed from the Heavens. When life became difficult and patience became a test on its own, he was reminded that Allah Ta’ala loves the patient. When poverty struck him and the pangs of hunger struck his blessed stomach, he was reminded of the food in Jannah. When anxiety and panic consumed his life, he was reminded of the sunrise and the better life that is yet to come.

Through all of his trials, he stuck with the Qur’an. The Cure from The Curer. The message of hope, healing and strength from Allah, Himself. Why then, do we lose hope so quickly?

”You need to decide that for yourself, Mos,” she mumured into the phone, and I snapped back to the present. I sighed because I wished that she had just told me what to do. “I also just heard the news and since you called… I wanted to tell you that Zubair spoke to him already. I’m not sure if he will be here Saturday but he did say that he will see Nani before Saturday…”

I wasn’t sure what that she meant but she didn’t give me my answer.

“What does that even mean?” I asked, frustrated that she wasn’t just being a little bit more forceful with me. “Does that mean that Hamzah will just swoop in and save the day?! Am I just supposed to rely on a man who left me alone, pregnant with his child, with another child who is barely able to comprehend how his father could just abandon him, to save me and get me out of a tricky situation?”

I knew I was being crazy and a little extra but it was true.

”Listen Mos,” Jameela said, her voice kind because I knew she loved me but she was probably also a little sick of my drama and hopelessness too. “Hamzah cares about you. I think you should see him alone, not when there are so many people around him, but you need to also bear in mind that the man has probably been through an ordeal. You might not like what you see so just keep an open mind and try not to let it stress you out if things aren’t what you expect them to be…”

And I know we had drifted apart before he left, but I had hoped and prayed that there was goodness in being home.. After all, there is goodness in everything. There can be beauty in getting lost. Sometimes we have to get lost to find each other and sometimes we find each other, only to get lost all over again. We can’t always control it, the thing that’s going to set you adrift. Being here without him made me miss him way too much.

Whether I was ready or not to believe it, sooner or later, I would have to.

And as much as I missed him, I wasn’t sure if I should go see him. Something within my heart was telling me it wasn’t time yet, but about the overwhelming desire to be in his presence was taking control.

I was stressed. About multiple things. I was worrying about Hamzah and Nani and even Rabia, and with everything that was going on, I had forgotten that there was so much else going on in the world because our own lives were so busy. For starters, Ramadhaan was less than a month away and the baby was due just after fasting month. I wasn’t ready and I knew that I wouldn’t be until everything was sorted out. There was a good chance that I was probably going to go into labour really soon with the amount of stress, and I just wished that everything could sort itself out so that I could focus on one thing.

I was trying to declutter my mind and my feelings, to rid myself of all the bad stuff and emotions that I sometimes let overwhelm me when the world around me became a bit much, all at the same tile. It was my aim for Ramadhaan . To open my heart and to focus on building a better state of mind.

And as much as I thought I would give him a day or two to settle in before I made an appearance, I knew that I had to show him I cared about him, so I did the next best thing after Zaid had been fetched by Imraan and Saaliha, because Zaid had somehow caught onto the fact that something was going on at my in-laws house. He was constantly asking for Imraan, who was his new favourite, and kept going to the shoe cupboard to take out a new pair of shoes to wear. And of course, I took it as a sign and quickly baked a new batch of cheesecakes before sending it with them,  for any because I knew that Hamzah was due to be coming home.

Zaid had already waddled to his uncle, his voice babbling all sorts of half coherent things as Uthman played with him and Saaliha chatted to me briefly before they headed off again. And as much I wanted to appear nonchalant, I also couldn’t help myself from asking when Hamzah was in planning on coming home.

”Give him some time,” Saaliha  said kindly as she picked up her bag to leave, and I knew that she was trying to tell me something without actually saying what she needed to. “Sooner or later, when he is ready, he will snap back.”

I nodded and took the hint, realising that Hamzah was probably not in the best spaces… still settling in, and held my emotions together as they left, knowing that soon things would change, Hamzah would get in contact and life would probably return to normal.

He had been through way too much and I was a lot for him to digest. I knew I had become huge and a little consuming to look at.

And of course I wanted to ask him questions, to ask him about what was wrong, to figure out his plan and when he was coming home to us, but for the meantime, I had to face this test and bear it with patience.

I threw myself into work that week because I knew that once my maternity leave would start, I would fall behind, and I also wanted to make the most of the month that lay ahead. And I was trying to focus on my preparation and get myself ready for it, but my mind was so off track that it was difficult to even do that.

Jameela’s housewarming came sooner than I thought, and of course, I was all stressed out about the outcome, wondering if Hamzah would pitch up at some point, nervous and excited at the same time while Nani came in and took one glance at me, glimpsing my huge stomach that was now very obvious, before she stopped in her tracks, gave me a wide smile and immediately pulled her infamous dupatta over her mouth.

And of course, I was thrown. Her reaction was nothing like I expected. I expected her to grill me or question why I didn’t tell her, but she merely shook her head as she came up to me and threw her arms around me, visibly oozing with happiness as her face broke out in the hugest of teary grins.

”Why didn’t you just tell me that time, Mohsina?” She said, shaking her head at me, but not exactly angry, which was a huge surprise. I wasn’t sure what swoony worlds Hamzah had said to her, but it had definitely worked,

”Hamzah came in the week to tell me,” she said, wiping her eyes, and making me wonder who this emotional woman was and where my real Nani had gone to. “He told me he was worried something was going to go wrong, so he didn’t want anyone to know. I understand. He’s also looking so… different. I could see how much it was worrying him. Had so many things to tell me. Now listen to me Mohsina, you must be careful now, okay? No dancing here and there and everywhere going office and all that. No lifting anything heavy. Don’t let anyone know how far and how much longer. Too much nazr will be bad for the baby.”

And yes, my mind was still boggled by the fact that Nani was so amazing about this all, and even though the outcome was good, I couldn’t help but feel the anger brewing in my chest as I thought about her words.

He had so many things to say. So much to tell her, he had even gone to see her, and yet he couldn’t even send me a single message to let me know that he was well and in a sound state despite me trying to call for him twice that week. His cell number was off and so I had tried the house phone. The once, his mother said he was sleeping, and he would call back, and the second time, Rabia had answered the house phone and I knew that there was a hope in hell that he would get to know I called.

And of course, I was a little shocked at the way Hamzah had swindled Nani as he usually would, but as long as Nani wasn’t screaming the roof down, maybe he felt that all else was cool.

Still, it didn’t appease me. I ended up leaving Jameela’s place early that night, although I was quite obsessed with it already, but I just couldn’t stomach the feelings that had come with Nani’s presence today. It wasn’t her.

It was Hamzah, and his invisible presence, and knowing that I had spent the past seven months carrying his child, and thinking of how he was behaving right then, left a bitter taste in my mouth.

And maybe I hadn’t heard from Hamzah and he was being a recluse, but with Ramadhaan around the corner, I don’t quite realise that Allah was probably giving me the time I needed to prepare myself for this most amazing month. And He knew how much I needed it.

When Allah loves a servant He shows them the emptiness that this Duniyaa can cause you.

Its the narrative they were spilling at Taaleem that week, and I soaked it up as I sat there, going after weeks because I was now quite happy to show my big tummy and Nani was equally excited to show everybody else it too.

Ramadhaan was around the corner. On our doorstep. That beautiful breeze from the heavens could be felt.

“Surely Paradise is decorated the whole year for the Ramadan to come. When the first night of the Ramadan comes, a wind called “Musira” blows from the bottom of the Skies.

The door of Paradise belonging to those who observe fasting

Sahl Ibn Sa’d reports from Hazrat Muhammad (pbuh):

There is a door in Paradise called Rayyan. Only those who observe fasting can enter that door on doomsday, nobody else can enter with them.

Then, a voice is heard ‘Where are the ones who observed fasting in the world?’ They come and enter paradise from that door. When the last one of them enters, the door is closed; nobody else is permitted after that. Whoever enters Paradise from that door never gets thirsty again eternally”(Bukhari)

And with this, with the promise of eternal rewards, and amazing success, comes the realisation that there is nothing more beautiful than the obedience of Allah.

You can have the ‘latest’ of everything. The newest model of phone, car, that new bag, new shoes, those cool people who added you on snapchat. The parties, the dancing, the haram meetups. You could literally be living your “best life” according to some people but inside youre so empty. And that emptiness will never be filled by what this dunya has to offer. Because that dark space in your heart has been filled with all the wrong things.

Chase as much as you want- you may be temporarily distracted but never fully satisfied. That’s why Allah calls this life an illusion. The true believers know that true contentment lies in one sujood and they would gladly give up this “best life” for a better one.

And I was trying to be better. To deal without Hamzah and to maintain the best state of mind. Nani, strangely, was helping with her reminders that I usually found annoying. She made sure I came with her to her Tafsir class and even forced Muhammed Husayn to accompany us to buy some last minute baby stuff.

There were all sorts of emotions that I was dealing with to go with it, because knowing that it was the anniversary of Liy and Layyanah’s death was something that stumped me every time.
As the day passed and I remembered the despair we faced and all the trauma afterward, I was kind of sunken into a slump for a few days afterward. Maybe it was the stress of maybe I was just a little  overwhelmed, and I knew that the doctor had warned me about getting anxious and worried, but when I eventually woke up the day before Ramadhaan was due to start with a incessant cramping in my abdomen, I knew that something wasn’t right.

All I could think about was Hamzah and where he was ready for this, and if he would be when it happened.

But none of it mattered. Whether we were ready for it or not… as I felt a trickling down my legs… I could already tell that the baby was coming really soon…

---

Dear Readers

Please make maaf for the delayed post, I meant to post yesterday. I hope that it’s not too much of a cliffhanger, and although it’s exciting, we hope that much goodness is coming for the couple soon InshaAllah.

Please keep me and my family in your special Duaas, as well as our ummah that is going through great ordeal around the world. Hope everyone is ready to have a most uplifting month! Till after Eid, InshaAllah..

much Love,

A x

 

Mission Sunnah revival: Boycott sin 

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofEntertaining guests

 

When things Work Out

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 120

“Can I look already?” I asked impatiently as Zubair’s hands covered my eyes and his subtle and familiar scent enveloped me.

”Patience is not your strongest virtue, is it?”

His voice sounded serious but I could hear the humour laced with the words as he pushed me through what felt like a door and then made me sit somewhere nearby on one of the softest couches I’ve had the pleasure of sitting on in a long time.

“Keep your eyes shut,” he demanded as he took a few steps away while I lounged around blindly.

All the couches we had at home were sunken and either too soft or too hard.

This was just right.

“You okay there?”

Zubair’s voice was carrying through the room and I could hear him pulling up some blinds and shuffling around as I tried to feel my way around me. The next couch was a bit firmer and I got up and pressed my hands into it to figure out which part of the house I was in. It seemed like the sitting room.

”I’ll be better if you take out the blindfold,” I stated obviously. “I feel like a blind Goldilocks, feeling up all the couches to figure out which is the best one for me.”

He chuckled and walked toward me, his footsteps obvious on the what-seemed-like-wood floors. This time, he stopped right in front of me and bent down, promptly grasping my hand as he spoke.

”You can open now,” he said quietly, his voice sounding slightly nervous as he did. “I know it’s not the most trendy, but I hope you like it.”

And as my eyes opened and took in the beautifully upholstered couches and classic Persian rug, my heart just kind of did a little skip because it was so enchanting. The curtains were light and flowy with the prettiest and softest colours and the vase of lillies on the coffee table was the icing on the cake.

Zubair had smiled as he finished off with unpacking the last box for the cabinet in the living area, and tossed the empty box toward the door. It was a few odds and ends that I had brought and some things that Zubair had kept from his past life. He had told me that the vase had belonged to his mother, and it looked stunning on the centre table.

”This is gorgeous!” I breathed, my hand flying to my heart as I looked beyond at the amazing interior. Zubair watched me and smiled as I studied the tones of blue and cream that surrounded us, and I wondered if Zubair actually had it in him to make this place how it was or if he had gotten some very serious help from Nusaybah’s friend.

It was exactly like I imagined my own place to be like one day. Simple, but tasteful. The floors were wooden and the rooms were simply done, with just the right amount of cosmetic enhancement to take it to the next level.

The main area was neutrals and olives with a tasteful accent, and the flowers caught my eye again as I walked back into the room.

How could he not have brought the flowers?

My absolute favourite.

“It’s so beautiful, I can just stare at it for hours,” I murmured, taking in the charm that it exuded. I wasn’t really a fancy person, and this was definitely more down Mohsina’s lane, but I loved the prettiness that was on display.

“Ditto. I can stare at you for hours,” Zubair deadpanned, and I blinked at him as he uttered his cliched remark until I saw how seriously he was staring at me, almost as if he was trying to live in that moment and capture it as it was.

“Super smooth,” I said with a raised eyebrow, shaking my head and smiling as I raised my eyes away from his, looking out at the view of the city that was apparent from the window, and my mind obsessing over how spectacular that view was.

Although I was obsessed with nature and farm life, I loved apartments for this sole reason. The stunning views that were always the highlight and sunrises and sunsets always featured somewhere in the mix. Those views are what I lived for, but Zubair was still gazing at me, and I couldn’t help but narrow my eyes at him with a curious expression.

“What’s up?” I said, flicking his nose with my fingers. “Quit the staring.”

”I’m just thinking about how beautiful you would be in Jannah,” he said simply, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him for real this time. He was becoming a proper charmer. “Where everything is intensified. Like a million times.”

“Really?!” I smiled, shaking my head at him and wondering why this man’s focus was always on the next life.

I mean, I knew that we were supposed to be this way, but how did he do it? He was next level.

“I can’t wait,” he said softly, and I smiled as he continued. I wasn’t sure what it was but something about the way he said it was just so… wistful. Almost earnestly longing.

“I’m also thinking of how amazing it would be because each day would be better than the day before and things will just get better and better, and honestly, I feel a little scared because I don’t know how it could get much better than this…”

I blinked as I watched his expression change, as his hands forked through his beard and he turned his sturdy frame away from me as he looked at where Ammaar was asleep.

”I want to show you something,” he said quietly, his head gesturing towards the door that was behind us and wondering why we were going back out when we just came in. “While he is still asleep.”

The lift moved upwards almost in slow motion after we stepped in, and as I awaited the sight of another part of the apartment, instead, the elevator halted right at the rooftop, catching me slightly unawares. And as the doors slid open, I was kind of stumped for words. I stood almost like a statue, gaping ridiculously at the beauty of the setting ahead that swept me away to somewhere near cloud nine.

Amidst the escaping horizon, were beautiful wooden benches, topped with an array of the most gorgeous potted flowers. Some were already in bloom. The colours mesmerised me, as I stared at Allah’s beauty amidst the gorgeous blue skies. From red anthuriums to yellow daffodils… It wasn’t just a feast for the eyes, but the sight that was spread before me made my heart leap with joy. This man was going to undo me solely my satiating my fetish for flowers.

Like a secret garden, fairy lights, in their twinkly beauty, hung from branches of tiny potted trees. The terraced walls were adorned with a thick layer of delighted creeper, and as my eyes made their way through all the overwhelming amazement, they finally settled on the most beautiful two-seat swing that stood at the corner, overlooking the most spectacular of scenery.

“Welcome to the garden,” Zubair’s low voice  cut through my thoughts, with a small smile, as he gestured to a handmade wooden sign just above us that said ‘The Garden’. I was so amused. “There’s a cute story behind this place, but I’m not sure if I should tell it to you now. It’s a little bit heartbreaking.”

I smiled weakly, even though I could barely move, because I was so obsessed right then.

“Did you do all this?” I breathed.

I was in awe. Where did this place end? The entire place seemed endless, and I wasn’t sure who maintained this but it was mind-blowing.

“From the way you are staring at it, I wish I did,”  Zubair laughed. “But no. I only help to maintain it, from a few months back. That was the deal Khawlah made. I restore the garden and I can use the place. She wanted it back to how it was originally, when Aadam, her husband first built it and I tried my best. I only had a few pics to go with, and I don’t think I did it justice. Apparently he handcrafted every wooden piece here.”

I walked up to the swing at the edge of the rooftop, admiring in its smooth finishes and amazing workmanship. Around each rope was a variety of roses, tied carefully to create the most eloquent touch, and I could tell that Zubair had done that this morning else they would never have been so fresh.

”Does she still come here?” I asked, sitting on a nearby bench that overlooked the view of the city and not believing that she could leave this a place so beautiful and not want to return.

“It must be painful sometimes,” he said softly, and I understood because to lose someone who loved you so fiercely must be like a punch in the gut. I knew that she had a daughter and Zubair had told me that she had also had a son from her new husband. “She has her own garden where she is now, as you know. I don’t remember too much about Aadam because I was quite young but I know that Nusaybah had always said that he was too good for this world. Anyway, it was all before I went off track and lost the entire plot…”

I glance up at his handsome face, not expecting his expression to be as it was.

It was a look I saw in his face often. Resigned, with an undertone of despair that I couldn’t quite figure out. It let me know where his kind was at. The nightmares would still consume him at times and I knew that he simply couldn’t forget about how much he had done. How far he had gone. What a dark place he had been in.

I knew that he had done some really bad things and I wished that I could relieve him from that pain when he would revisit that place, but every night was a challenge for him, and every night he would cry in his sleep, almost as if he was back there and he couldn’t quite escape it.

”I know I pulled a fast one on you with Ammaar,” he continued quietly, meeting my gaze as he seated himself next to me. “The way that you took him in with no complaints or questions, Jameela, I don’t know if many women could do it. I know it must hurt you to think of what happened in the past. You and your sister seem to have the same kind of heart… taking in kids and making them you own… Its amazing.”

I shrugged because I didn’t know what to say. A gust of wind sashayed through my scarf as we sat, and he immediately moved closer, almost as if he was protecting me.

Ammaar was a part of us now and nothing could change it. Even if he wasn’t Zubair’s blood, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Also, I didnt want to think about Mohsina right then. It made me think of her and Hamzah and what she had told me a few days ago.

I sighed again, focusing on Zubair again as he touched my cheek.

“What are you worried about now?” He asked softly, and I shook my head as he narrowed his eyes at me, and I could see his mind already working, as if trying to conjure up some comfort for me.

I shrugged and squeezed his hand, not wanting to get into the Mohsina fiasco, but Zubair’s mind was already on his own hangups.

“I want you to know that I will never go back to the kind of life I had before this,” he murmured, his hand venturing out to hold mine and the green of his eye more prominent as the light shined straight into them. “That even if I have to risk everything, I would never want to be the kind of man who was so out of control that he didn’t even know if he had fathered a child or not. I wish that I could take it back, I really do. I know that you haven’t asked me, but I tried to find his mother once afterward, because I knew there was a chance. She didn’t want me to know that he existed. I dont’t know if she was forced to keep it a secret or if she was hurt… but I know that I should have tried harder… I don’t deserve anything good, Jameela.”

His breathing was shallow as he shook his head and swallowed, his eyes saying a thousand words, and I couldn’t help but reach for his hand and squeeze it because there was no way that he should ever regret something like this.

“Allah planned it this way for a reason,” I half-whispered to him, shaking my head at him because the way he was retreating into his own head was scaring me a little. “I know that it’s hard to accept what happened… but see how many things fell into place once your life changed. It’s not by chance. Ammaar is a gift and so is this baby of ours. Stop stressing and thinking the worst. I’m not worried about you or your past. You have such an amazing heart, Z. Everything is happening just the way it’s supposed to.”

And I wasn’t exaggerating. Even though Zubair was so worried, I knew for sure that it was because his heart was clean that everything was working out for the best. Even things with his father had fast evolved into something more intimate because Zubair had just opened his heart and accepted that his father had made a mistake without any other questions. He didn’t hang onto old grudges and past issues because he knew that it would be counterproductive to what he wanted from his life. He had, on many occasions, mentioned that his time was limited, maybe more so than others, and the only way that he could live with himself is if he surged on with no hang ups of the past. He had one of the purest hearts that I had come across. The only person he couldn’t seem to forgive was himself, and that was precisely what I was working on.

“So since you’re not worried about me, this means that you haven’t you solved your Nani dilemma yet?” He said obviously, and he was spot on, because he knew that was the only thing that could be on my mind now. Also, he was never wanting to talk about his good qualities in excess and he proved it as he got up and we walked back down, leaving the beautiful garden behind for now.

Once in the apartment, he had already walked toward the kitchen to presumably put the kettle on. Anmaar was still sleeping but he would probably wake up soon and definitely want a cup of tea when he did, just like his father.

“My father said that he will come next week with Nusaybah, so there really isn’t any need to invite him on his own,” he said as he came back into the sitting area. “You just need to decide what to do about your family…””

I knew what he was referring to. I had shoved the problem to the back of my mind because I didn’t want to talk about it. Zubair was really excited about our new place, so much so, that he really wanted everyone to come and have a meal with us. Especially Nani, because I got the feeling that perhaps maybe he wanted to impress her, even if its just a little, despite how she continuously treated my saint of a husband.  This apartment was absolutely beautiful and so airy, that I already knew Nani would love it.  And though I was so grateful that everything with his father had been resolved and that the kind of heart that Zubair had made it easy for him to forget the past, for me, things weren’t as simple. The problem was that Mohsina was literally in hiding from Nani and my father and there was no way that she would come here if she knew I was having a tea for the entire lot. Mohsina would never come if they were all going to be there, and there was also no way that I could invite Nani and my parents and brother without Mohsina here because it would raise so many questions that I wouldn’t even know how to start answering them.

She had been distraught when she had find out via social media that Hamzah had been arrested for some misunderstanding on the Egyptian border. I couldn’t understand how or why it had happened but I had thought that it was such an extensive measure take n for someone who was only there for humanitarian aid.

I also thought that my sister was going to go into labour right there and then when she heard the news, from the way she was hyperventilating. She had experienced some complications and a little bit of excessive cramping, but for now, the baby was fine. Mohsina was hanging on by a thread, waiting for news, but there wasn’t much that anyone could tell her, even after she put herself under so much of strain when she rushed to her in-laws place with her ridiculously huge stomach and started demanding answers.

I felt like just not inviting anyone, but if Nani had to hear through the grapevine that Zubair’s family had come and I didn’t invite her, I knew that there would be drama. The other issue was explaining who Ammaar was, because no-one could deny the resemblance between him and Zubiar, but that was something that Zubair was fully prepared  to handle. He had made it clear that he had a past, and he was adamant that nothing but the truth would do.

“Maybe you should just invite Mohsina separately and say she was busy with work when Nani comes?” He said as he placed down his cup of tea.

I sighed because I didn’t want to think of the drama that would unfold if I had to invite my sister on her own. I’m sure she would probably also be sobbing her heart out because of all the stress she was dealing with after hearing that Hamzah was in in jail for almost a month and no-one could find him. I wasn’t even sure how she was coping but I knew that I needed to call her later to check on her, or at least go and visit. Things weren’t looking up for her at the moment.

“I don’t know,” I responded to Zubairj, totally stressed out about something that was supposed to be so elementary. “This whole thing is just getting me stressed out.”

“Stop. Just relax,” his soothing voice said, and just hearing him say it made me do just that. He was always so calm about my weird problems, probably because his problems were so much more complex. “Everything will work out. Its not a big thing but if you just turn to Allah… make Duaa… I can assure you that you’ll get some solution come to you really soon. You know you have that gift Jameela, when you ask for something. Everything you want, Allah just gives you by your wishful thinking.”

He knelt down and pecked me on the cheek and winked, almost as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. Alhumdulillah, our problems were really meagre in comparsion to the world around us, but sometimes they consumed us. Zubair had already gone to take Ammaar to the bathroom because he had just gotten up, and I smiled as I watched them come out, amazed to see how this man who had once refused to have his own kids was now fulfilling that amazing role with such excellence.

And thats when it struck me. What he had just said, about me and making Duaa, and how Allah surely never turns away the one who asks of him wholeheartedly with sincerity. I mean, there had been so many occasions when Allah had answered my Duaa without me even realizing it. I had swooned over Zubair for so long and wished for him to just notice me, when Allah gave me the purest form of a bond with him. I had yearned for him to chamge his heart and want children, prayed fervently for some kind of resolution when it felt like we were just at loggerheads with each other and Allah sent Ammaar to change the whole dynamic. I had also wished and prayed, so fervently, for some relief and recognition from Nani for Zubair, and Allah had so mercifully sent this beautiful flat which I was usre would be a win in that department.

Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said: “He who turns to Allah alone for help, Allah Taála takes charge of the responsibility of fulfilling his needs and gives him from  where he could never imagine and he who makes this world his only worry, Allah Taala leaves him to the world. (he is left to struggle on his own without help form Allah, and he will earn according to his effort.)

I knew that Allah could make the impossible happen , just by virtue of asking for it. I placed my hand on my still flat tummy, sometimes still not believing that there was life inside of it. I could even see Zubair getting excited about  the baby as the days went by, and it warmed my heart to see how much he was looking forward to this new journey we would take together. I knew that Duaas that I had made were powerful, and I wasted no time while Zubair went to mosque to feed Ammaar so that I could read my Asr and make some intense Duaa. Ammaar was always occupied with food when it was placed in front of him, and I assumed that it was because it was a novelty, but it had at least given me a good few minutes to sit and make a sincere Duaa for everything that was on my mind. I wished I could be like Zubair, who dealt with things in the moment and never let it bother him after that, but I also knew that there was a beauty in asking from Allah and acknowledging the gifts that He would bestow thereafter.

I wasn’t sure what exactly would unfold, but knowing that Nusaybah was coming down the following weekend and how excited she was about Ammaar, I was also trying to prepare him for my sister-in-laws boisterous personality. Ammaar had been through a lot, and both Zubair and I were super conservative in how we approached everything with him. Though he was good, he had moments where he would shy away and just want to be alone. He also wasn’t too wordy and I knew that Nusaybah’s daughter, who was around the same age, was really chatty. I just didn’t want Ammaar to feel overwhelmed with meeting his fathers family, as amazing as they were.

The next few days whizzed by with unpacking clothes and setting up a small toy area in the living room.  We had found some toys in storage that Khawlah had said we could use. It had apparently belonged to her nephews who used to stay here quite often when her husband was still alive. The games were all in good condition and so were some of the toys. There was an amazing car track that looked almost new, that Zubair took pleasure in  for Ammaar in no time. I watched as the two played in the main area on that Friday afternoon, my mind on how times change so drastically, that no-one knows exactly what could happen in five or two or even one year from that very moment.

Life was strange and beautiful but ever-changing. It is made up of moments. We may not recognize them at the time, but the decisions we make every day open new doors and send us down the paths that shape our lives. Moments in time. Chance encounters. Decisions. Life-changing diagnoses, or heartbreaking accidents.

Moments. This is what life is made of. The moments are what we carry with us, through our journey. An array of moments that bring you to a place that helps you to understand the world, why you are placed here, and everything that comes with it. A collection of memoirs that you will, someday look back on, and although you’ll never capture that exact feeling of elation that it brought, its inspiration will live on for life.

Like Liyaket and Layyanah once had their life, once upon a time, another family once had lived here, in that very space, and suddenly, something had happened and all their lives had suddenly changed. Right now, we were here, in this moment, but who knew what would be of us and our little unit in another year or so?

I shuddered as I thought of ever losing Zubair, wishing that we could just run far away and live this fairytale life, without any worry of what could happen if we stayed here.

And I was so deep in thought that I didn’t even hear Zubair’s phone ringing or him answering it as Ammaar tried to assemble the last piece of track that was still left. It took me a few minutes before I realised that Zubair was talking seriously to someone on the phone, and another few seconds to process what exactly he was saying.

”Of course I’ll ask him,” he was saying, looking at me as I looked up at him. Somehow, I could tell that this was connected to me, but I wasn’t sure exactly how.

“Your Duaas are really strong, aren’t they?”

I shook my head, signalling that I had no idea what he meant. I was trying to get Ammaar to change for bed and he wasn’t exactly keen on having a bath until the track was complete.

“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning at him as I sat up again and looked at Zubair.

“I think that your problems have just been solved,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face as he placed his phone on the coffee table. “They’ve just found Hamzah.”

---

Mission Sunnah revival: Boycott sin 

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofEntertaining guests

When Hope brings you Home

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 119

Forbearance. Fortitude. Grace. Hope.

The qualities that were built within me, through what was happening around me, were multi fold.

And somehow, these qualities that had built because of that were born out of a dire situation.

I owe those prisoners, those health professionals, those civilians I met, and those I didn’t, so much. The ongoing conflict continued to be a major test of faith for every being, as acute daily suffering is a diet which wearies the soul, and drains the joy.

And I could feel it draining me.

Most days, I saw only hues of grey. Grey all around.
Grey rubble. Grey officials. Grey skies commiserating losses so big, reading their names would take days. I lived through the examples of those living trials I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy, been reminded of the only truth which stands firm through this all.
There is only one rope to hold. Only One direction to turn through the horrors. Only One God who stood by us throughout the every test that stood tall and overwhelming.

Yet, the darkness was consuming. Days blended into nights as I sat, with only a basic meal given at some point in twenty four hours for me to distinguish day from day.

The lessons in humility we learn from experiences… from those whose pain we share without sharing, can be soul-cleansing. Whose losses we feel without losing. Or maybe we do lose, without realising.

We lose parts of our humanity when we allow that of others to be so diminished, so degraded.

And yet you when you are there, the divine sabr that stems from those around you is unquestionable. The love that finds its way into the heart despite all the hate, the unity despite all the destruction, the emotions that somehow take hold, is not purely coincidental. It is a great miracle that is sent from above, a work of the Master of Creation and a relief that comes like rain after a scorching drought.

It brings you hope amidst pain. It brings you peace within the war. It brings you a solace amidst the bombs that are falling from the skies.

But.

We can also lose hope if we are not careful to cultivate that which bind the senseless fragments into sensical frames. If not sensical, it may be beyond our senses. Sometimes, as we sit in the darkened cells, on our corners of oblivion, nothing makes sense. It is of meaning that my limited senses, at that frame of mind, can’t grasp.

There were times when I was lost. Broken. Hopeless. Unable to comprehend.

And suddenly, there would be a breakdown. A turbulent rush of emotions that would find its way to the fire. When prayers would turn into torrents of tears and streams of sadness, I would sit back and remember the image of a grandfather’s tender smile and the beautiful children he laid to rest, with an other worldly fortitude which only the firm heart can display.

The “soul of my soul” he had described her, the day I saw him at the border camp. And as a father, it went straight to my own soul of souls.

I wouldn’t dare think of back home. My thoughts often went to my parents and grandparents, those I loved all my life, but my mind refused to dwell in a space that hurt me the most. It was too soon to dwell on all of that.

Mohsina crossed my mind more often than not, and yet, I didn’t want to remember what kind of situation she was in now. I hoped that she had pulled through. I hoped that my presence lived within her, reminding her to egg on, and to keep being the source of strength that she had proved to be throughout the years. She had grown so much, and I hated that I was a source of more pain for her, yet I believed that she was so much stronger than she thought. I knew that something good would come through every trial that stood in our way.

And as for me, not much could be said about my state of mind. It was only Qur’ān that kept me afloat, when I was in my darkest place, and darkness for me was not just a figurative state.
There was darkness all around. For how long, I wasn’t sure, but I assumed it was around two long weeks that I had been sitting in an isolated cell. The bombing of a humanitarian aid centre next to us is what shed some light on the reality I was in. This was when I saw the faces of the men and boys whose voices I would sometimes hear moaning in pain or calling out for help. From what they said, they were lucky that we were here and not in some other facility where the conditions were deathly and inhumane. We were, essentially, one of the lucky ones.

The language barrier kept conversations short and basic, but even without words to explain. I could hear their unshakeable faith and perseverance that baffled the enemy who would try everything in their power to break them.

It was on the second day in captivity when I was moved to a cell, and while I was just blindfolded, I soon came to learn that my neighbours had shackles on both their arms and legs.
Sounds of screaming prisoners, dogs barking, American soldiers swearing at us in Arabic words they could barely pronounce surrounded us.

Hands behind their backs, legs facing forward, I watched them as I found a place to sit in my cell, observing as the guards would throw food at them and force them to shower in a cell that would expose them to every passer by. I never thought I would witness it, but the sheer torture that this alone brought was enough for me to feel like there was no justice in this foreign world.

It woke me up, distracted me from my own life for a bit, and even broke my own obsessive attachment to the life I had left behind.

And then next to me, where I find myself seated on one of those freezing nights, was a brother who spoke next to me.

And all he said in Arabic was:

”Brother, Assalamualaikum.”

And I blinked as I heard him, because I wasn’t quite ready to chat right then.

“Brother, where are you from?”

I answered him briefly, because I couldn’t think beyond the now.

All I wanted to do was ponder and dwell over what was happening to me. All I was thinking about was whether I would die here or be moved to some state facility. All I wondered was whether I will see my family again.

But in his mind… this guy who called this place we were in his home… he only knew one thing.

“Brother,” he whispered, still speaking Arabic. “I think it’s time for Maghrib salaah.”

And honestly, I was thrown. I couldn’t even imagine how this man was even capable of performing salaah, in this state. His hands were shackled and his head was covered, and yet, in his mind was only his duty to his Lord. At that point, I had forgotten Zohr and Asr, and yet this man, on his steadfastness, was only focussed on his worship.

I was blown away. I mean, I had heard of the stories of Sahaba, the stories of steadfastness and sacrifice, and yet seeing this before me was surreal.

My mind was reeling and thoughts were only on my escape, but the man next to me calmly raised his head, sat upright, and breathed the words that would bring a calming to my turbulent soul. All hope was restored.

“Allahu Akbar.”

His voice was soft and soothing as he recited, and I found myself calming down with every letter he recited in the prayer. This wasn’t just a prayer, it was a reminder. It was a message from the Healer of the broken, the Saver of the most unfortunate circumstances. It was a soothing to the distressed and a very powerful message that had come to being solace to the tortured soul that now lived within me.

And it was all I needed to reboot me. To revive me. It was the single greatest moment that defined how I viewed my time in that bracket of captivity. That, and the tales he had related to me in his broken English with my broken Arabic. Somehow, we had found a common ground, and I listened to him with interest as he told he that he was a doctor and worked at the hospital nearby. The IDF had arrested him and had abducted many other of his colleagues. He didn’t know where any of them were, but he hoped that they were well and that some day he would be able to serve the people again.

“Yes, it is very hard,” he admitted, his face still covered so I couldn’t make out his expression or even his facial features. “Sometimes not possible. But we have to keep going. We can’t let the people down. There is still hope. Alhumdulillah.”

And I barely understood. It wasn’t my home, but if it was, I probably would have fled a long time ago. There they were, holding on and not just that, even offering themselves and their lives for the cause of Allah.

I held onto hope, even in the darkness, because for them, hope was their only resistance, having nothing else. It formed the foundation for solidarity, for peace, for change. It reiterated that hope was never a mistake.

And just like that, with and through hope, the days passed by. Though there wasn’t much follow up, it was probably around day ten that they had told me that someone had come for me but they didn’t have the documentation needed for my release. It sounded like as sorry excuse, but the hope that said release would happen soon kept me going for a few days, until another raiding and explosion occurred around midnight, very close to the headquarters.

I only knew the time because I had knelt down on my way out to check a boy who was passed out, realising that he had watch that he had somehow crept into the facility. I had tried to release him… to pull him out from the rubble, but I wasn’t strong enough after days of barely eating. I wasn’t sure how I got out of my cell, or where my Palestinian friend who called himself Abu Zuhairah was. I wasn’t sure how I escaped of how my prison cell opened when the chaos ensued.

I had imagined being stuck there in the dead cell and starving while the rest of the prisoners would escape into a world that they knew so well, but yet, wasn’t that different to the place they had come from.

And even when I smelt the musty air out of the prison, I couldn’t quite process everything that was going on.

I had stumbled out, breathing in a mixture of flames and fumes, unable to decipher what was ahead of me for the few seconds. There were cries of despair, shouting from what seemed just above me as I trudged on.

I wasn’t sure how I had escaped the notice of dozens of soldiers who had been keeping a watch. Perhaps they were too occupied in retrieving the chained prisoners to notice the unchained ones who were leaving the prison.

I didn’t even realise that my arm was bleeding until I passed a teenage boy a few meters down the block who called out to me. I didn’t even pay much attention. After all, I had already passed so many people who I had blocked out, in my frenzy of leaving the situation I was in. Visions were blurred and images were fleeting.
A man with a wounded leg, getting assistance from civilians, a little child crying out of pain or hunger, a man, looking up at the sky silently, without a single word that could explain to anyone how and why he was here.

Things looked daunting. Inescapable. Overwhelming.

I rushed by, not sparing anyone a second look because I could only focus on me for now. I was past the danger zone of getting caught again but I pushed myself to lurk behind broken buildings and out of main territory.

”Sabahal Khair.”

The jolly voice in the surroundings that were so dire caught me off guard. The words of their dialect were so meshed that I couldn’t quite grasp word from word to even attempt translation.

“I don’t speak Arabic,” I said as I continued to walk, holding my arm that was now throbbing from the pain.

“You speak English?”

I glanced at him now as he walked alongside me, noticing that he had a small camera around his neck that was bouncing along with him as he walked.

He seemed appeased by my mere nod, and unfazed by his surroundings as we walked. I wasn’t sure where we were going but I did know that I had to get far enough to find somewhere to rest and then my way back home. My phone  had been taken and now there was little chance of it being returned to me, so my first thoughts were on the numbers I would have to dial to help me.

The guy next to me was on his phone, and I buried the urge in me to ask him to use it, because I wouldn’t even know who to contact here. I didn’t have any numbers with me and even getting a connection was useless to me right then.

He had just popped out the woodwork and was being way too friendly for my liking. He didn’t know that I barely had anything that he could take from me, except the clothes on my back.

”I will take you to hospital to fix your arm,” he said, his accent thick as he gestured to me. “It’s no far from here.”

I nodded and turned slightly, not quite processing everything that was happening. So much had happened in the past weeks that sometimes I wondered if I was stuck in some dream.

My response was silent but it was understood as the affirmative as I trudged along, trying to ignore the pain in my left shoulder. I wasn’t sure how it had happened but I was quite sure that the wound needed stitching and some kind of antiseptic treatment. I’d been in the dusty open air for a few hours, and I wasn’t quite sure if it was a good idea to ignore it any longer.

It didn’t take long to reach the hospital. I didn’t even realise that it was this close. But the proximity of where I was to medical attention wasn’t a problem. The availability of someone to give me attention was a bigger issue, and even as I entered and saw people rushing in, some in a frenzy as they tried to figure out where to go and what to do, I couldn’t quite believe my eyes. It was as if I was in some kind of reel of movie. I felt like I was merely an actor in a series of based-on-real-life events that seemed to take these people by storm, and I couldn’t escape it. It felt surreal as I stood in line, waiting for some kind of action, until I someone in uniform working frantically in the main area of the hospital, gesturing for staff and patients to come forward as he delegated tasks in flawless Arabic.

It had taken a short while before I was gestured to sit into another queue, and I stopped as I watched the rush of people slowing down as time passed. I wasn’t sure at what point I had dozed off, but I was awakened by someone nudging me, and I started with a shock, quite perplexed that it was already looking brighter outside and somehow, I wasn’t quiet sure how I had gotten there.

Every health worker looked like death, with disheveled hair and unkept uniform, and I could already feel myself in absolute awe of what they did here every day.

And I wasn’t sure when it hit me or what I wanted to achieve, but as I sat there, I already knew that I wasn’t going to leave this place for a while.

And so I took the plunge. I knew that there was no way out right then, even if I had to wait a few days until my arm healed, but I knew that my injury was minor compared to every other casualty that was coming in here.

There were no words to describe the pain that I felt, being stitched with no anaesthetic. I could only imagine that Allah Ta’ala his own divine intervention to those who needed operations and amputations done amidst those dire conditions.

I knew that I could never compare myself to those who lived this nightmare. If you’re not in this place, if you don’t call it home. if you’ve never lost a family member or all of your family, if you’ve never been tortured, if you’ve never been starved, if you’ve never been deprived from water, if you’ve never seen bodies upon bodies stacked under the rubble, if you’ve never heard the cries of a bereaved mother, if you’ve never had to tell your child to eat less to save food for their sibling, if you’ve never had to wonder if you or your loved ones will be alive in the next five minutes, you can never say you understand the plight that they live every day. Never.

And that said, I couldn’t think of a better way to exist right then, and I couldn’t imagine what else I could do that would ever be more useful.
And so began the journey that thrust me into a position that i never, in a million years, would have thought myself being in.

It had been day in and day out, where the days blended into nights and nights into days. For every health care worker, it meant no sleep, no food and no family. As the days passed, and the siege continued, the food shortages worsened. I would spot the doctors I would see every day, and every few days, I would notice how, like me, they would break down and completely fall into despair, until they would be forced to rise up again and serve the people. They were truly the heroes, but still, were taken and threatened and abducted in mass amounts.

I made many friends, people who I would turn to and seek advice from when I needed it. I made a call, sent messages from any phones j could borrow to any numbers I could remember. I wanted to message Mohsina but I wasn’t sure if I should do that yet. Above all, I was fixated on my present. We were supposed to be safe here, but I still wondered why some of them stayed, when they could have easily left. I learnt fast, because I had to. I numbed myself to emotions, because I had to. Seeing bleeding babies was a normality for me. Witnessing the most gruesome things was almost second nature now. I figured out what to do when a patient came in injured and what not to do when there was something more serious. They needed every bit of help they could get, and as my arm got better,  I found myself carrying bodies, treating wounds and aiding people in ways I had never envisaged in my entire life. I was an accountant working as a doctor, and I couldn’t quite fathom how Allah had taken me from my meagre position in my sheltered world, to opening my eyes to this reality.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

And these people were heroes. Every single one of them. Every time I saw the hurt, the pain, the torture, all I could do was delve into the stories I knew so well, recall how Molvi used to speak about the Sahaba and be reminded of how much they had suffered at the hands of the oppressors.

Sayyiduna Bilal it was forced to lie down on scorching sand and blistering rocks. Sayyidunà Umar would sometimes call Sayyiduna Khabbäb it and ask him to turn around and lift his shirt.
Upon seeing his back, Sayyiduna ‘Umar & would cry and say, ‘O Khabbab, How did you withstand the torture of the unbelievers? I have never seen anyone with such a [badly scarred] back’Sayyidunà Khabbäb it would answer, ‘My screams could not
cool the fire of their hatred towards me, but the melted flesh oozing off my back would cool down the hot rocks.

SubhaanAllah.

And yet, then of course, as I hoped would happen, one day, as I stepped out into the open hospital passage, someone suddenly called my name.

I had thought that it was the doctor I had been speaking to that morning, giving me an update on one of their colleagues who was gone missing, but as I turned the corner, I simply couldn’t contain the excitement in my chest as I saw my very own brother after almost five weeks.

I barely expected the intense embrace he met me with as he held me, his body actually shaking from emotion as he greeted me, and then turned to look behind me to see where I had come from.

“Finally, bro,” he finally uttered, his voice so shaky that I could hardly understand him. “We’ve been looking for you for days!”

I had barely realised that coming here would have put me at a disadvantage, but now that Imraan had found me, I was quite certain that Allah had somehow sent him here for me. What I couldn’t fathom was how others existed like this, with no way out.

“Are you ready to go?” Imraan asked, his brown eyes glistening with tears as he looked at me again.

And all I could do was nod as I finally broke down, grateful and spent, even though I knew that my weakness was the only thing that determined my response… because hands down, there was no other place I wanted to be but home.

---

Mission Sunnah revival: Boycott sin 

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofEntertaining guests

When the News gets Out

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 118

Mohsina

I always had this idea that when I had a home of my own, it will be filled with so much love, so much warmth and so much tenderness, that it would draw people back to it over and over again. I always wanted my home to be that space. That place. The place where one can laugh and joke, make merry and be content. The space where one can be scared, be vulnerable, be held and be heard.

In my mind’s eyes, my home would be the one to always have abundant food, the doors always open, the kettle always boiling.  There would be touch, there would be compassion, there would be kindness, there will be abundant charity. There will be love, it will be love, and everyone will be loved.

After all, that was the house of Sunnah. Thag was what Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was about. That was precisely what the house of Nabi (SAW) was like. It was one of open doors and barakah always. This blessed home’s doors were open to all – charity was a norm. An abundant norm. As a couple, in his marriage to Khadijah RA, they complemented each other so beautifully and thought so much in synch that goodness was what they spread left right and centre.

I always wanted my home to be like this, and since I’d moved back in, it felt nothing like that. After the pregnancy news started getting out, it was very far from what I expected. The void that Hamzah had left was palpable to a point where I wondered if it will ever be filled again.

Even Zaid kept looking at the door, almost as if he expected Hamzah to walk in at any minute.
How do you explain to a twenty month old little guy why the only father he knows just isn’t coming to see him?

“Wow.”

It was Jameela who was staring at me like I was some kind of new discovery, and I could tell that she was a little overwhelmed by what she saw.

My stomach had literally popped out into a huge ball of baby and I was officially huge.

There was no hiding the fact that I was pregnant now and I knew I couldn’t even try. All I had to do now was try and keep myself away from Nani until Hamzah reappears and I’ll be in the clear.

“Are you going to come in or keep staring at me like I’m some out of this world creature?” I scowled at my sister.

My sisters face broke into a grin, and I could see Zubair smiling too as he watched her step into my apartment, leaning against the wall with little Ammaar by his side.

“You guys can come in too,” I said, gesturing to the lounge. “Zaid is playing with his blocks on the carpet if you want to join him.”

Little Ammaars face lit up as soon as he heard Zaid’s name, and he literally bolted past me with Zubair behind him. The little guy was opening up so much over the last few weeks and I could not believe that it was the same child who had come with Zubair’s uncles those weeks ago. He had filled up in all the right places and was actually looking so much happier. I knew that my sister could melt even the coldest of hearts, and her easy and gentle demeanour is what made us all just love her to bits.

Speaking of said sister, she had already made her way to the kitchen and put the kettle on while Zubair’s entertained the two smallies. I’m sure she also needed the rest. Zaid was glad to have the male company and I was glad to have any company.

Jameela had been packing the house and moving things slowly, and they were nearly at the stage where they would be moving. She had come into the area to check a few things in the apartment and had stopped by before she headed back to the farm.

Zubair and Ammaar had already settled into the lounge next to Zaid, and I glanced at them before heading to where Jameela was. I wish that I had the guts to hound him about my husband, but I knew that it would also be putting my brother-in-law in an awkward situation because he was probably sworn to secrecy or whatever. He was so good to my sister and I actually had taken to him in recent months, compared to before, and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

I just hated that Hamzah had gone without a word or letting me know. I hated that he was so far, and out of touch. I had sent a message, finally, after much deliberation, and I felt embarrassed because I hadn’t even received a reply after seeing that it was read. It made me feel as if he was angry with me and simply didn’t want anything to do with me or our family, despite the fact that we had been through so much together.

“Stop it,” Jameela said, turning around as she looked at me, slumped on the chair as she made tea for her and Zubair.

“What?” I asked innocently, knowing that she was fed up with me and my downs. I had been a bit much lately.

“You know what,” she replied, raising her eyebrows. “Wipe that look off your face and stop feeling sorry for yourself. Everything happens for a reason. Stop stressing.”

”I can’t!” I admitted, wringing my hands together over my bulging tummy and sighing audibly.

The babies movements had become stronger and more obvious, and my tummy jerked slightly as it kicked at that precise moment. I loved this child but it was torturing my body consistently.

It was almost painful. How much of life this little person had in him or her was unbelievable.

Also, I just had this sinking kind of feeling in the pit of my stomach, like something had gone terribly wrong, but I had no idea what it was.

I suppose that I could have attributed it to the fact that I had been going off-track, living through social media feeds and hadn’t been reading much Qur’ān lately.
Since Hamzah had left, my fervour for Qur’ān had diminished. My heart felt so… barren. I hadn’t even been doing much of the work I had learnt, and my aspirations were zilch.
To top it off, I felt like a hypocrite because I knew that if he had to return, somehow, that kind of amazing effort would increase and I would be an entirely different person. It was undeniable how the effect of good company changed your life, and with bad company, even if it was virtual, the effect was the same.

When Allah Ta’ala loves a servant, He shows them the emptiness that this Duniyaq can cause.

You can have the latest of everything. The newest model of phone, the wrapped car, those new Dior shoes and those cool people who added you on Snapchat. The parties, the cool vibes and the most trendy meetups. You could literally be living your “best life” according to some people, but inside you’re so empty… And that emptiness will never be filled by what this dunya has to offer.

“How’s it going in the Nani-free zone?” Jameela asked, her chin resting on her hand as she took a seat opposite me with the cup of tea.

I smiled because not having Nani around was something I actually missed. Luckily, my mother-in-law was filling that gap pretty well by ensuring that I was stocked up with enough home-made rotis and home-cooked food to keep the baby nourished.

“My in-laws have been around a bit,” I said, thinking of how nice and full the house was at that time, when my mother-in-law came with Saaliha and once, even Hamzah’s grandmother, who was absolutely thrilled at the new development.

News was getting out and it wasn’t the way I expected, but i was happy that I made them happy… glad that I had finally broken the news to them… but it felt so weird with Hamzah not being here and him missing out on all of this.

“I hope you at least stocked the house up with some nice eats to offer them,” she said, raising her eyebrows and licking her lips. “Did you at least bake some cheesecakes? Or did you offer them water?”

I raised my eyes to meet hers, rolling my eyes and then remembering the day before when I had stopped at the local convenience store because I was too lazy to enter a shopping centre for my ingredients. It was the last place I thought I would bump into anyone I knew.

I had forgotten that being in this area had kind of put me at risk anyway because I knew that his gym was in this area and he passed by here sometimes on the way.

I was innocently browsing the shelves, stocking up on whatever I would need for everyday nourishment and getting the certain brand of creamed cheese that made my cheesecake as famous as it was, when I spotted him two aisles away.

And I didn’t want to let Jameela know about it because I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed about how I couldn’t just walk away and how I still felt myself being rooted to the spot, despite knowing that he was a horrible person. I was embarrassed about the sins I had made that led to this, and put me in this horrible position. I was embarrassed that I had let myself be so easily manipulated by this man that I had compromised all my values for him.

I wished that I didn’t, but because he was so tall and impeccably dressed, his presence was always noticeable. And I wished that I had turned around and walked out immediately, but my basket was full and there was something else keeping me there that I just couldn’t shake.

I already knew that I should be, but the moment he called my name, I knew that I was going to have to see it through.

All I could think of was the e-mail I had sent to Faadil a few weeks before that, when I was in a rage about his alleged involvement in the scandal about Hamzah.

It was a very wordy e-mail that had probably knocked him for a six, and he deserved it. He had set my husband up in a most exposing way, and I hated that he even felt that he had a right to speak to me after. I had typed fast and furiously, not sparing a single thought even as I sent it.

Dear Faadil, I had typed, already on a roll.

I hope you are happy with yourself. You seem to think that you can play chess with peoples lives, switching around places and interfering with their careers as if it’s some kind of board game.

I know that you set Hamzah up. This is the lowest you have ever gone, and im pretty sure that I’ve seen you go pretty low. Those late nights and dodgy calls weren’t unnoticed.
I’m not sure what it’s all about, but I’m not stupid and I know that for some people who have no integrity, how other people get affected doesn’t matter. I don’t know if it makes any difference to you, but know that Allah is watching you and that He is fully aware of all that you do.

By the way, I’m glad I got out while I could. Hope you get what you deserve someday. 

Mohsina 

I cringed as I sent it on the spur of the moment, appalled that I had used such cliched closing lines. And yes, I wasn’t as pleased as I hoped about it, when I thought of how blunt and horrible I was, but I realised that there was no politeness deserved and if Faadil did what he did, he was capable of much worse.

Now, I was faced with the recipient of my horribly accusatory message in real life, and I wasn’t quite sure how to face him.

Obviously, he had no shame.

“Hey Mos.”

His voice was dull and lacked character, and I took that as a positive sign, because I really hoped that this was nothing more than a greeting. After everything that had happened and everything he had done, I could only assume that he had done it because he wanted to hurt me like how I had hurt him when I turned down his proposal.

“Hey,” I said, careful not to turn too suddenly with the heavy basket in my hand. “Salaam. What are you doing here?”

I didn’t mean to be nasty but I didn’t want to be polite either. We weren’t friends, and I knew we could never be.

All I wanted to do was go home and lie on my couch with my microwave popcorn and scroll on my phone until my eyes became heavy, and yet here I was, faced with this annoying man and his questioning gaze.

It took him a second for him to see me. To really see me. His eyes went from my face and down to my obviously protruding stomach, and then up again to my face before I saw him mentally detract. I was glad that I was dressing modestly but there wasn’t much that could hide my tummy these days.

“Woah,” he almost breathed, and I noticed his hand immediately went out to rub his scruffy neck, albeit nervously, as I took note of for the first time that although he was dressed in his usual, how unkempt and unlike himself he actually looked.

I wondered if his latest call-girl had left or if he had actually decided to stop his promiscuous ways.

I kept my gaze on the shelves as he took a step closer and then back again, looking as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do, for the first time in his life.

“You’re having a baby? That’s a shock.”

It took him a good few seconds before he actually said it, and I ignored him as I walked past where he stood, hoping that he wouldn’t follow me.

”Would you mind leaving me alone?” I asked, my heart thrumming in my chest as I avoided looking at him. “I’m trying to shop in peace.”

He didn’t answer, but yet, he didn’t move.

“I’m sorry, Mohsina.”

It had been a good few seconds of silence before he said it, and I still wasn’t sure what he was apologising for. There were people around me and I ached for a distraction or something else to capture his attention no one seemed to pay attention to us. I knew that it would take one glance at his sordid face and fake tears for me to crumble and accept his apology, so I remained silent and pulled my basket toward the till instead.

”Can I at least help you with that?”

His voice was still at the pitiful stage and I shook my head, huffing because I was angry at myself for not taking a trolley, and annoyed that I had bought more than I planned to.

He had already taken the basket as he walked me to the line, despite my protests that I didn’t need him to.

Forever the gentleman, always a first-class idiot.

“I wanted to apologise since I got your e-mail, but I didn’t understand why you had been so worked up,” he explained, his voice dropping as we passed by some people. “I didn’t know what you really thought of me. It was kind of a shock to hear.”

He was referring to the baby, presuming that the pregnancy was the catalyst in my emotions. I wanted to scream at him for interfering in my life with Hamzah and my life now, but I looked away and took in a silent breath instead.

“I know that you probably don’t want to hear it, but I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t the one who orchestrated all this. It’s been a rough time for me too, you know. I didn’t do all those things you said that I did, even if your husband says otherwise. Think about it. Hamzah is still employed. In fact, they want him back at work soon. I lost my job, but I’m trying to fix things for you too. He’s not even here when you need him the most.”

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him, wondering how he knew all this about our lives, and what exactly he was trying to fix for me. There was definitely something sinister about this, and I shook my head because I wanted to clarify it.

”You don’t know anything about my life,” I muttered, not wanting to cause a scene but needing him to leave. “And we don’t need your help.”

It was as if he didn’t even register what I was saying. His expression was emotionless as he spoke again.

”There’s always a space at my new company, if you ever need it,” he said, leaving my basket at the beginning of the line and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I want you to know that I’m always here, whatever and whenever you need. I’ll see you soon.”

Finally, he turned and walked out the shop, his back hunched in defeat as I turned my face to the counter, trying to stop myself from breaking down. As much as I knew how crazy this all was, reminders of the past always stirred emotions.

I breathed in as I looked at my sister now, badly needing a distraction from what was on my mind. When you get into haraam, it was so hard to get your mind out of it, even as time passes. It’s like anything that kicks up old dust is an opportunity to revisit all the crap you’ve done. Anything that happens is an opportunity for it all to start up again.

I knew that a way to counteract the sin is to do good. I wish that I had the energy to be consistent with the good though. I just felt so empty…

I wanted to forget my past and all the wrong that I did, but reminders of it like this made me feel like I was somewhat hopeless. I was so confused. Was Faadil telling the truth? Was he really not involved? Why would he say all those things about Hamzah, as if Hamzah was the main perpetrator here?!

It just wasn’t making sense.

“You know, Hamzah is so brave,” Jameela said suddenly, her voice quiet, almost to herself as she picked a biscuit out from the Tupperware on the counter, not even noticing how I had zoned out for a bit there. “For doing what he did.”

I narrowed my eyes and looked at her, annoyed that she was calling my husband brave when he didn’t even have the decency to reply to my messages.

I wondered, for a minute, but not for the first time, where he was and whether he was thinking of us too. I wished that I could just see him… chat to him for a little while…  so I could understand what was going through his mind. I wanted to know why he had suddenly ghosted me after he had left us alone… knowing the kind of predicament that I was in and how much at risk I was of losing this baby if put under all this stress.

The truth was, I was selfish too. I wanted Hamzah on my terms and I wanted him to love me unconditionally, even when I didn’t do the same for him. I wanted him to understand me and how I felt, even when I didn’t make the effort to understand him. Often, I would think of the sahabiya and how they would sacrifice tooth and nail to make their spouses happy, how they would put everything aside just to fulfill their husbands needs.

I still could not fathom their bravery and their desire to please Allah through their actions. Where we made everything an issue and an obstacle in pleasing our husbands, they would forsake their comfort and put even their most overwhelming emotions on hold just to please their spouses.

“He left me,” I said bitterly, feeling even more upset because Jameela was admiring him for something that I couldn’t fathom. “He knew that I was in a risky situation and he still left. Is that brave?”

”Zubair said he went to Egypt for humanitarian aid,” Jameela said quietly, and I raised my eyebrows because not even my in laws have offered me that much. “He didn’t know what else to do with himself. Imagine losing everything and then not being able to deal… and then deciding to do this. He may have gone but I don’t think he forgot you, Mos. I just think that maybe others need him more right now.”

I swallowed, because as much as I hated that he was gone, I couldn’t deny the fact that he was brave and unyielding. Hamzah had always been unapologetically determined, and it was one of the qualities that I always admired about him, even back in the day when he was at Hammonds.  Although he was always the quirky rule breaker, he was also the most driven guy in the group, which probably made him more of a threat to Faadil as well.

The fact that he had channeled that quality into something that had driven him to do such good work was mind-blowing. And though it was amazing… the reality of what could happen made me feel uneasy because now that I knew where he was, my next thoughts were… why on earth hadn’t he been in contact to let me know? What if something had really happened at work that made him run away?

And of course, I was only a woman. I couldn’t stop my mind after that, even after Jameela had left. Distractions were running out and my Netflix addiction was taking over.

I hadn’t been the best. I was trying to avoid it as much as i could, and though it was not easy, it was actually easier than I thought when I found other things to distract me. Jameela had left behind some books and I was trying my best to use the time productively, but social media was still the main distraction to stop me from becoming a class one recluse.

I had just put Zaid off to sleep and retired to the couch with a cup of coffee and laptop in front of me to finish off a few budgets, when my phone notifications went off with about ten different messages at one time, signalling that someone was quite determined on annoying the hell out of me.

Hey girl. Assalamualaikum. 

Maahira. I breathed a sigh of relief and read her fifty other messages.

Been missing you!

How’s da bump?

Where the hell u at? I sent a DM like ten hours ago. Didn’t U see it.

whats goin on with the non-existent husband? is he still missing in action?

I sent u your sils story,  better have a look.

And of course, I was on Instagram faster than two ticks, only to see that it wasn’t available to me because… well, everyone knew what Rabia was capable of and I didn’t want to be exposed to her vibe. Why Maahira was, I didn’t know.

Whatever it was, I really didn’t want to find out this way…

I can’t see it, I typed to her, getting a bit stressed out now. The story has been removed and I’m not one of her followers anyway.

Her message came back fast.

Oh gosh. It’s been removed anyway.

The anxiety within me was building by the second. The baby kicked, almost signalling its unyielding support for me.

My phone buzzed again.  Buzz buzz!

It said, please make duaa for my brother. He was arrested at the Egyptian border and no one knows where he is.

My heart was in my throat. I could barely breathe.

Please tell me that she isn’t talking about Hamzah!

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: Boycott Sin 

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofEntertaining guests

When the Darkness starts to Lift

Bismihi Ta’ala

Rabia

Part 118

You know how they say ignorance is bliss.

Well, they lied. It’s not. Ignorance is not bliss. Ignorance is tragedy. Ignorance is devastation. Ignorance creates lack. Ignorance creates illusion. Ignorance will shorten your life. Ignorance will empty your life and leave you with nothing to account for.

But I didn’t quite understand it at the point when the reality of my life was becoming apparent to me. And this time, sometimes I wished that I actually didn’t know how ignorant I had been because when certain things happen to bring this to light, it’s never how you expect it to be.

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

Mohsina could not be buying baby clothes, while I was still stuck on a mission to obliterating my singledom.

Unsuccessfully, might I add.

And I know that the best solution to counteracting the negative emotions that seemed to build up within me when I saw this particular post was to just put the phone down and move on, but I couldn’t.
I was too sucked in.

The thing was, social media for me was always my go-to.

I mean, it was a no-brained that day-to-day family life is not particularly exciting when you think about it. Everyone has to wake up to get to school or work. Breakfast must be served, lunches packed, and dishes put away. Then there is the vacuuming, the cooking, and other chores. A family meal and an hour of recreation such as a games night are often the most exciting parts of an average day.

By the time those are done, everyone is exhausted and it is time to go to bed and do everything all over again.

On the other hand, our phones are always exciting. There is always a funny reel to watch. There is always a fascinating debate or argument happening in our group chats. There are funny pictures that need our witty comments. There are people saying things about Islam and Palestine that are wrong on the internet, and so we have to jump and do the important work of correcting them. It was our duty.
It’s not just that phones are entertaining, they’re also an escape.

And that’s exactly what I was doing as I sat in my corner of the lounge, hoping that no one would notice me so that I wouldn’t have to actually be social with anyone who I actually had to have contact with.

”Earth to Rabia.”

It was my annoying older brother who had literally shoved his face in front of mine while I tried to swat him away.

He was like an irritating fly that didn’t die.

”I’ve made salaam three times and you just completely ignored me,” he said with a raised eyebrow as he pulled back and sat next to me instead, rudely peering directly into my phone.

”Until you put your disgusting breath in my face, ogre!” I shrieked, turning my phone so he couldn’t see what was on it. Thank good for privacy glass, but I still didn’t trust him.

He even had the audacity to chuckle as I dodged his ear flick.

“I’m working on my post, do you mind?” I said with gritted teeth, hoping he would disappear. “I didn’t even hear you anyway. Stop acting like the damn haraam police.”

“Spread salaam, Rabia,” he started singing in a weird tone of voice. “When you spread salaam all our problems will be solved, You will see your heart calm … you entire life take shape… everything will change…”

Oh my gosh. Could he stop already?

My twin brother had basically taken off into the unknown and the one left had clearly lost his marbles.

My entire family was dysfunctional.

He had put on a bayaan voice and was in a really jolly mood, but all I could do was raise my eyebrows at him and shoot daggers because I was really not in the mood for his psychotic bullcrap.

All I wanted to know was if he knew the big news before me.

”Did you know that Mohsina is pregnant?”

He didn’t flinch at the directness of the question, but merely looked at me and nodded, and then shrugged when I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Why didn’t you guys tell me?” I asked, frowning as he shrugged.

“Mohsina wasn’t really wanting everyone to know,” he replied non-committedly, not meeting my eye. “It can’t be the most fun thing to have your husband disappear when you’re at the most crucial time of your pregnancy. If Hamzah had told me before he left, I would have never allowed it. I don’t understand how he could do this -“

“She probably didn’t even tell him,” I cut in, knowing how difficult Mohsina could be. “You know what she’s like.”

I mean, why would he hide the pregnancy from everyone? I know that we weren’t on the best on terms before he left but he could have at least told us that.

The only reason we weren’t okay was because of Saaliha who had blamed me for all his dumb antics being exposed on the company server. It wasn’t even me but no one would believe me. It could only be the work of my controlling sister-in-law.

”I think that maybe you don’t know the entire story,” he said, frowning back at me. “She’s probably not as bad as you think.”

”She’s probably worse,” I scoffed without a pause. “You don’t know her like I do.”

He doesn’t even know the half of it. Wait till he finds out about how she betrayed my brother with his boss and then went running back to him when it didn’t go the way she planned. Maybe he knew some of it but the dirty little titbits were all still very illusive.

Imraan was narrowing his eyes on me, but I kept scrolling mindlessly because I didn’t want to meet his eye.

“Thats a bit harsh,” he replied, not looking impressed as he frowned at me again.

“Maybe I just haven’t had a great couple of years and I know better that to trust people blindly,” I retorted, knowing that he may have been right but not wanting to accept it. “I also know things that you don’t. People aren’t always what they seem.”

He was silent for a long time, and I almost thought he was going to walk away until he spoke again.

“You know that there’s a piece of flesh in the body,” he started, and I already didn’t want to hear the end of it because his tone of voice suggested that he was in lecture mode. “If it’s sound, the entire body is. Maybe you just need to work on the heart.”

Verily, in the body there is a piece of flesh. When it is sound, the whole body is sound and when it is corrupted, then the whole body is corrupted. Verily, it is the heart.

If our hearts are sound, at peace, in a serene state, then the rest of the body will follow.

I had heard the Hadith before, but honestly, Imraan didn’t know what he was talking about right now and I was going to call him out for it. How dare he insinuate that there was something wrong with my heart?

“Did Maulana die out there in Jihaad and make you his successor or something?” I retorted mindlessly, not caring if I was being unemotional or a little insensitive either.

I mean, it was that I didn’t care about Maulana Umar. He was actually a nice guy, and he was actually the Maulana that tried to intervene in my marriage when it was heading south. But still, I mean, what was up with my brother and his bayaan mode?

”Rabia,” he warned, and I could hear in his voice that I had crossed the line. “Maybe some days you should try reading some Qur’ān instead of fixating on all that junk. You really do need help.”

That was all Imraan said on the topic before heading out, and I turned my attention back to my phone, ignoring the feeling of despair that was beginning to surface.

What the hell did he mean by help?

It was them that needed the help! How dare they hide the news of pregnancy from me? I would be the baby’s only paternal aunty. It was only fair that I was involved in everything to do with the baby and I was going to make sure of it.

And I knew that it had been a while since I messaged Mohsina and she had even blocked me on social media platforms, but somehow, I just couldn’t stand the fact the I was getting left out of this.

Life was getting overwhelming and I needed an escape. Planning for a baby was the perfect distraction to get my mind out of the mess that I’d recently got myself in.

And maybe I did need something more  because my mind was out of sorts and too many things had gone down recently to even list.

The thing is, I had been pretty good at minding my own business lately. There had been so much going on that I didn’t even care about her life anymore. If a good friend of mine who follows Mohsina’s friend Maahira hadn’t sent me the pic of her shopping for her besties baby, I would have been completely in the dark.

The most embarrassing part was that I didn’t even know what to tell her when she asked me if my sister-in-law is pregnant. I felt like I had been purposely targeted by my own family who treated me like some sort of second class citizen.

And maybe… just maybe… I was feeling a little out of sorts for other reasons too. I also knew that I had been focused on something, or rather, someone else, these past few weeks, and all I wanted to do was forget about him. Farhaan had become a good friend and yes, it had been a silly notion to even attempt any relationship with someone who even remotely knew my ex husband, and the fact that he had very obviously admitted that he had feelings for me had thrown me.

It was like a bolt from the blue.

And don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t a bad person. Not intentionally anyway. If had been a few weeks of innocent talking. Then a few days of not so innocent talking. A few meet ups, of ‘accidental’ nature and things developed into more than a friendship.

And I wasn’t against the idea of taking it further but I didn’t expect him to take a step back and say that he didn’t just want some kind of revenge fling that I would have and then go away.

I also didn’t expect to feel like changing myself because he used to like what I was like before. Automatically, after he had commented on how my dressing was and how he liked me better that way… I already found myself starting to be a bit more aware of myself. To want to change. To want to be that person that he had on his minds eye.

Yes, I knew that we were crossing the boundaries and in the heat of the moment, I may have been attracted to him too, but his rejection at a mere fling had been something I didn’t expect. I didn’t expect him to want to be so… honourable.

And though he understood that it would be difficult, I couldn’t quite believe that he suggested Nikah as an option for us. It was the furtherest thing from my mind, and the amount of drama that it would cause was probably not even worth mentioning, and so I aborted the entire mission and made a run for it.

I hated that I secretly wanted it too, but knew that nothing could happen, and I had to cut all contact before the situation worsened. There were no two ways about it. It had to stop.

And I knew that this was all wrong. After all, shaytaan was probably my closest friend at that time because my mind was thinking about the most absurd things, but I couldn’t let this control me. It would destroy me and everything I had tried to escape all these years.

And so, after weeks of being absorbed in my own scandal, I was back to other peoples scandals and I had been really enjoying the cyber stalking until the news of Mohsina’s pregnancy.

And now, I was seething inside because my brothers had his it from me when I should have been one of the first people to know. I won’t even mention Saaliha who had been purposely staying out of my way since her outburst that caused so much of drama that I really didn’t need in my life.

And maybe I was feeling a little dark and discontented recently. Things had gotten better and then gotten worse again and I wasn’t really in the mood to diagnose what was going on. Yes, I had tried, for a brief while to be better, but deep I my heart, I knew that I was doing it because I wanted to prove myself to someone else. I wanted to prove that I was still good and that I was still worthy, and I didn’t want Farhaan to know the kind of person I had truly become during the last two years.

I wasn’t ready to come out of the darkness as yet. I wanted to stay there a little longer because ignorance for me was an excuse to be unhappy. I didn’t have it within me to do something sincerely, because even though I was exposed to the reality of the Middle East that was on social media daily, and I felt a stirring in my heart when I saw the images that were relentlessly streamed, there was nothing else in my actions that could really account for it.

I mean, we all claim to stand in solidarity with those who are oppressed and yes, I’ve boycotted Zara, Poetry and the likes for months but I wasn’t actually sure what it was doing for my soul. I wanted to surround myself with something and be a part of something, but I wasn’t quite sure how it was helping me.

I was slowly beginning to realise that maybe I had lost the plot. I had become obsessed about feeling good or feeling successful by the same metrics as I was continuously seeing on social media, so much so, that I had actually become obsessed with my own self.

The truth was, Imraan had hit a nerve, but I don’t acknowledge it. It was easy to stay in that bubble when you were already there. It was easiest to point fingers at everyone else when you didn’t want to see your own faults.

And so, it was only a few days after when I was skulking around in my discontentment, looking for something to stir up after an intense work out session, when I heard voices in the kitchen that I was obviously eager to investigate what was the happenings.

And of course I knew it could only be those two. Both Imraan and Saaliha had gotten on my nerves recently and I had been plotting for days on how to get them back. I was just generally irritable and in a bad mood because the social media likes on my new page weren’t what I wanted, and neither was the dopamine rush working to make me feel better.

I had crept up to the side of the passage, near the open door of the kitchen, listening to my brother and his wife as they spoke.

”I know I said that I’d think about it,” Saaliha the snitch was saying. “But you need to understand that I also need you here. Shazia suggested the first round of treatment for next week and I think that it’s important that you are present for it.”

Treatment? I wasn’t sure what was going on but I was curious to know what was going on with Saaliha. She seemed to be in good enough health till I started ignoring her. Since then, I wasn’t sure.

”You know I want to be here, Sawls,” Imraan said, and I could hear him sigh audibly as they both went silent for a good few seconds. “The last thing I want to do is to stress you out but I feel so hypocritical being here when Hamzah is there and now that this has happened…

Oh my gosh, I was itching with curiosity.

“What do you mean?”

Saalihas voice was soft and annoyingly melancholy, and I rolled my eyes as I thought about how good my sisters-in-law were at being manipulative.

Like, why do they force their husbands to be stuck to them when they obviously didn’t want to be?

“I got a call from Molvi just now,” Imraan said, and I could detect a hint of something foreign in it as he spoke. Something I wasn’t used to hearing from my brother. “You can’t mention it to my mother or Mohsina. It will just worry and stress them both out.”

”Why?” Said Saaliha’s strangled voice. “What happened?!”

Even my hands were slightly clammy at this point.

I just couldn’t fathom what could have happened that could be so serious.

“Hamzah got arrested,” Imraan said, and I had to literally cover my mouth to stop myself from crying out.

As much as I wanted to act like it didn’t matter and that I hated my brother, I knew that Hamzah was in a dangerous situation just by the way that Imraan had said it.

“Oh Allah,” Saaliha gasped out aloud, and I could already hear her panicking whilst had asked Imraan how, where and why it all happened.

It all seemed surreal as I stood there, not really knowing how to react and not wanting to expose myself either, whilst I tried to listen in on what was being said.

It was an out of body experience as I wondered whether this was actually true, and as Imraan spoke about how my brother was selflessly assisting it the transportation of necessities in food trucks, an official had stopped and decided to detain him for no real reason at all. Apparently it happened so often that no one even questioned it anymore. It seemed that there was no real explanation for the detention, as usual, but the fact that they had done it to my own brother made a shiver run down my spine. It was a memory I had tried hard to forget because of who it was made with but it came back with a vengeance as I heard about the Israeli officials words.

It was all those years ago, just after getting married, around the time when my entire life had changed. There was only one request that I had for my ex-husband, and it was to visit the one place I had wished for all my life. Al Aqsa had been a dream for me, and the one thing he did was grant me that wish just after our first week of marriage.

And it was a beautiful experience. One like no other, that had shot straight to my heart. I had barely noticed how out of tune my husband at the time was because I was so in love with the place. It had mesmerised me and pained me all at the same time. Knowing the history of the place and its amazing significance, and then seeing how the soldiers would harass the Palestinians, especially after they would cross the border into Jordan to get supplies to earn a meagre living, only to have it tossed into their huge drums that they would use whenever they felt fit, had filled me with rage.

The place had a special place in my heart, and the hatred I had felt for the occupation had faded over the years, along with that intense protective feeling that I had felt toward our fellow brothers and sisters. Now that this had come to light… knowing that my brother had faced these terrorists and probably had to endure their hatred and abuse, my heart filled with rage once again.

The voices in the background faded out as I processed all this… what had happened… what the reality was right then.

I could barely understand how people under occupation lived… day in and day out… losing everything and then afterwards, being left with nothing but pain and suffering.

”He’s being detained,” my brother said, explaining to Saaliha why she had to stay calm and hopeful. I wished that I could too.  “They’ve questioned him and he made it known that he was only helping but they still seem reluctant to release him.”

”You have to go,” I heard my sister in law say, and for once I my life, I actually agreed wholeheartedly with what she was saying.

He had to go.

”Molvi thought the same,” he replied. “But we also can’t panic and assume the worst. Considering that he’s not a local, the detainment is not always as bad as they say it is. Hamzah is a sharp guy. We need to also trust that Allah will look after him.”

As much as my brother got on my nerves, if anything had to happen to him with me not resolving our conflicts, especially knowing how we parted ways, I knew that I would never live it down. It was selfish and it was deliberately inconsiderate to be thinking of myself right then, but I knew that it was true.

But despite this..  despite the despair and the fact that my feelings were very much to do with my own inner turmoil, there was something within myself that was slowly lifted. With this realisation… with the reality that we may face if my brother had to go through trauma and be tried for something he didn’t do, knowing that he may face prison or something worse. Ut was as if a blanket of ignorance was slowly being lifted from my heart. All those years of blame and hate and shame that I had endured, seemed futile compared to this, and undoubtedly, I could feel a light findung a gap to enter.

Somehow, the darkness that had engulfed my heart was lifting, and I had a good feeling that there was a much more to come in this enlightened chapter…

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: Boycott Sin 

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofEntertaining guests

The Brightest Star

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela 

Part 117

I’ve often heard, when Nani and Mohsina would drag me to the local taaleem with them (regrettably, sometimes against my will), that when a person fears Allah Ta’ala, Allah Himself puts the fear of that person in the hearts of all of the people.

It’s like the narration that states that Jibraeel (AS) follows the order of Allah who puts love into the hearts of people that Allah loves… until the love goes from angel to angel to angel, and finally finds its way into the hearts of the entire mankind, and the whole of mankind eventually ends up loving that person.

Nabi (ﷺ) said, “When Allah loves a slave, calls out Jibril and says: ‘I love so-and-so; so love him’. Then Jibril loves him. After that he (Jibril) announces to the inhabitants of heavens that Allah loves so- and-so; so love him; and the inhabitants of the heavens (the angels) also love him and then make people on earth love him”.

SubhaanAllah.

Those people, to me, are like the brightest star in the midnight sky. They shine brighter than all the rest, and it’s not like I ever doubted it, but seeing the sublime hadith play out the way it does in reality is something that had a profound effect on my heart.

Seeing how someone sincerely good eventually earns the love and respect of other people still awed me, no matter how many times it played out before me. I’ve learnt the hard way that it’s only love that can conquer hate, but getting to that point was something close to a miracle.

And was no secret that Zubair was my favourite person ever. Even after everything that had happened. Even after he’d professed his mistakes. Even after if found myself heartbroken and angry and wondering how this man could have hidden the truth from me, the way he was, with his unapologetic humility made me always accept him back, wholeheartedly, because he just had this way about him that made everything okay again.

To me Zubair had true strength. True strength does not magnify others’ weaknesses. It makes others stronger. It is a light for those who are living in darkness, and a light that raised me every day I was with him.

And it was so overwhelming that I wanted everyone to see how wonderful he was, and the entire world to know the kind of sacrifices and magnanimous changes he had endured during his life. Although Papa had been sold from day one, it took Ma a few more weeks for him to grow in her. Whilst Hamzah met him and instantly took a liking to him, Mohsina took some time before she realised that he was actually a really good guy with a shady past.
Slowly, I could see everyone’s reaction to him changing as he became something completely new to them.

And of course, then the people around the neighbourhood were getting to know him and taking a liking to him, because he was the only person who would look out for them, ask if he could assist them with menial tasks or clear their driveways if they needed.

In short, Zubair was gold. A star in an unlit world.

Yes, he had had a few blips in his past but what’s a few speed bumps when someone can assure you over and over that they will never go back to that dark place that they had once come from? Sometimes Allah grants you goodness merely because you wished it upon others.

And so, when Mohsina asked me what our deal was, I knew that I had to be straight with her else she would definitely call me out.

“So what’s the happenings?” She had asked as she zipped up her suitcase and watched me as I continued with the crocheted hat for her baby that I was working on since a week back. “Saw you and the assassin man out on the fields this morning looking very cosy. Everything back to the norm?”

I blushed as I looked up at my sister, trying to avoid her questioning gaze.

Okay, I knew that we were weird. Last, she knew that things had been a bit strange between us after he had brought Ammaar home, and then I had been radio silent (and otherwise occupied) for a few days until I finally visited the main house to catch my sister packing and ready to go back home to the flat.

I didn’t ask her why. I knew that she wanted to go home because she wanted to show Hamzah that she was serious about reuniting.

She had found out a mass of information that had proven that Faadil was behind the exposure on Hamzah and she was talking to a lawyer about charging for defamation. It was a long shot but for her to actually take that step was quite something.

I didn’t think my sister would have the guts to stand up to Faadil that way.

It made me proud that she was fighting for something she cared about, for the man she loved. Whether Hamzah would even be aware of it was another story. He was otherwise uncontactable and Zubair was so tight-lipped about his whereabouts that if he hadn’t been so busy with Ammaar, I wanted to shake him and make him spew it all out to me.

“I suppose,” I stated bluntly, looking up from the work and catching her raising her eyebrows at me. “It was nothing major.”

“Didnt look like nothin’ to me,” she scoffed in a sing-song voice. “Neither was the entire thing that happened with the pregnancy. You know the man is obsessed with you, don’t you? I thought he had a bone to pick with you but it’s obvious that he can’t even stay angry with you because he’s endowed with love for you.”

”He’s a softie, under all that armour,” I smiled with a shrug. “And he’s pretty focused on our new family now so he’s kind of forgiven me. Also…I wanted to tell you that he’s found a place in the city that he feels is safer for us – he doesn’t want to put Papa at risk by staying here indefinitely, so we’ll probably be moving out by the end of the month.”

”Wow!” Mohsina exclaimed, clearly impressed with this new move. “I hope that this means that you’ll be closer to me.”

I nodded, because Zubair had mentioned that this flat was close to Mohsina’s neighbourhood which did make me pretty excited. I had become obsessed with it as soon as he showed me the pictures of the outdoor area.
It was an amazing apartment with a view and its own rooftop garden, and just seeing it had made my heart sway with longing.

Zubair was extremely lucky that Nusaybah’s best friend, Khawlah, had an empty flat that she wasn’t willing to rent to anyone else but someone she knew.

I couldn’t wait to have a proper home, and deep in my heart, I knew that him finding Ammaar was actually one of the most amazing things that happened to us.

I didn’t even start on how committed he was to this child, despite saying he didn’t want kids. Deep down, I knew that he was just scared, because they was no other explanation for not wanting to do something that he was obviously so good at.

What Mohsina was referring to, well… I couldn’t exactly tell her why we were out in the field, looking a little too cozy for her liking.

And in his whole new mission of life, we were trying to move forward with purpose and make the most out of this time while we were in the outer part of the town because once we were in the city, Zubair would have to come to work here and leave me alone during the day.

He wanted to make sure that I would be okay- prepared if anything had to go wrong and had embarked on a mission of ensuring I was able to protect myself if need be.

“You have to focus,” Zubiar had been saying in a low tone that morning, watching me as I lowered the holster, unable to focus much longer because the targets were blurring in front of me. It had been almost an hour but it felt much longer.

We had been in the fields from just after fajr and I was exhausted. It was the only time we could get when Ammaar would be fast asleep.

“There’s so much more at risk now,” he said, his bulky arm reaching out to squeeze my shoulder encouragingly. “You have to be able to do this.”

I breathed in and lifted the handgun again, a little anxious as I processed his words, aiming at the target that was in front of me, hesitating just before I pulled the trigger again.

I couldn’t help the flinch that accompanied it as the gun went off, breaking the sound barrier and landing just near the painted spot on the board Zubair had mounted on the wall.

“I hate this,” I muttered, because I truly did, and I really was never that kind of girl who was so hardcore and at ease with arms and weaponry. This was a completely new territory for me. “I hate guns. I don’t know how you did this.”

”But you knew where I came from and you don’t hate me,” Zubair whispered softly into my ear as he gently grasped and moved my arms upwards, his masculine scent infiltrating my nose and his chin resting on my shoulder as he positioned my arms again before commanding me to pull the trigger once again. “And you can do this. Remember you make the intention that you’re preparing for the sake of Allah and even this becomes Ibaadat.”

I swallowed and processed his words, unable to cut back with a remark that would sway him while I had a weapon in my hand. It was kind of diverting my focus.

“Much better,” he smirked as I pushed the trigger again, stepping back and not able to hide his pleasure at my progress as he took the handgun from me, tightened his fierce grip around it to demonstrate him hit target three times in an row almost effortlessly, and placed the weapon back in his case.

“We’ll just keep practicing. Every day.”

I sighed because I was already dreading it. Pregnancy was exhausting and I couldn’t stay awake at nights, so these early mornings would have to be my sacrifice.

Zubair had a reason for wanting me to do this and seeing him in this setting for the first time, it was no secret that he had been an assassin in his past life. The man was a pro with any weapon, but just taking a glance into his compassionate eyes as he looked back at me with confidence made me understand that this man had so many softer layers underneath the exterior of the man he had once been.

”What happened to reading our Duaas and trusting in Allah?” I asked him with a wink, watching him as he slung the bag over his shoulder. With his full beard and dusty kurta he looked like a Sahaaba coming back from the battlefield. “Isn’t Allah always watching and taking care of us?”

”Of course,”  Zubair said with a smile as he started walking back towards the house, a bounce in his step as he carried the heavy armour, with me following closely behind. “Allah is watching me- Allahu Naadhiri. Allah is present with me… Allahu Haadhiri. Allah is with me… Allahu Ma’ee. It’s what Maulana had advised me to keep reciting to have full Tawakkul in him.  It’s what I always remember, but I know that even with this, we have to tie the camel too. We have to seek out sustenance and work to provide. We have to equip ourselves for our lives. We have to also make effort to protect those we love. We’re going to try our best to be kind and good but when life gets tricky, we have to have a plan.”

He was right. Zubair was not just the average Joe. He was complex and came with his own package of complications that made him a target.
He was emerging as someone better and stronger, and and he was trying to prepare me for something I knew nothing of, but somehow he knew was coming.

“I know that war is not the answer,” he said quietly, his hand reaching out for my shoulder as he slowed down to fall into step with me. “Only love can conquer hate. But if the need ever arises… if things ever change… I need you to do that to make sure that you can take care of our family.”

At that moment, it seemed like some ridiculous notion he had, not a reality that I would someday actually live.

But either way, I got what he was saying, In recent months, he had learnt so much and adopted so much of the Sunnah in his life that it amazed me. And the more time I spent with him, the more I realised that it was the way we should all be. From the way he interacted to the way he spoke and the way he walked and behaved…

The thing was, Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was sent as a mercy to mankind in every aspect of his life, and I could see those characteristics shining through in Zubair as well. He had been spending much time in the masjid and in good company after he had changed his life, that I could barely believe he had the kind of past that he had.

“How are you so sure that I’ll need to do that?” I asked, looking at him, upset that he’d insinuated that he may not always be around. I didn’t want to think about that.

There was an aching in my heart as I wondered how it would be to live without Zubair. Whatever had to happen… whatever was in our future… There was no way that I was going to go down without a fight.

“Only Allah knows … but the odds are against me Jameela,” he almost whispered, as if it was a secret escaping from the depths of his tortured soul. “I wish I could protect you from the world. But that’s not my job.”

I couldn’t utter a word because of the fear that I would choke up right there and then. I knew that he had warned me and expected me to be strong but it was easier said than done.

Our eyes were on the gorgeous horizon ahead but my mind was consumed with images of what it would happen in a world where Zubair wouldn’t exist. The blues mixed with orangey hues detracted from the reality that may be in store. I couldn’t quite imagine having to actually endure that loss when all this peaceful beauty was before me. Right now, it seemed as if we were in this bubble of happiness and nothing could touch us

I breathed in, stilling my thoughts as we walked back toward the house, around the stunning rose bush, Zubair’s eyes already on little Ammaar sitting on the step outside whilst Zubair friend who he was acquainted with spoke to him about something serious. He was nodding as he listened, his little face so earnest and unflinching for a boy so young, that I couldn’t quite believe that he was only three.

Whoever this boy was… whoever he really belonged to… I couldn’t hold Zubair’s past against him. It was a result of circumstances that led to this, and my heart went out to him because I knew that he deserved so much more than what he had probably been forced to endure.

And much to my surprise… I wasn’t even upset anymore. Getting to know him was a journey that healed my heart. With every milestone we made, it was as if we were conquering mountains. When he spoke to you, it felt as if he was looking through into your soul, just like it felt with Zubair. And of course, when I looked at him, those sharp features and shades of browns in his eye were the unmistakable evidence that this boy was very closely related to Zubair.

But that was all it was, because there was no other proof and Zubair and I had slipped into a weird kind of normality the day that Zubair had brought Ammaar home.

The wealth of knowledge that he had astounded me. They say that anything you teach a child in their youth is like engraving on stone, and it was amazing how fast this child was picking up on all the invaluable lessons that Zubair was imparting to him. From what he had been to what he was… the change was spectacular.

We hadn’t actually had the talk. The talk that discussed the fact that this boy may be his son, how it happened and that he had had a rough time before he came to us, and Zubair did nothing to try and prevent it. I could only imagine that he wasn’t given much if anything where he had been. He had put on a considerable amount of weight in such a short time, that it made me wonder how inhumane Zubair’s uncle really was.

But now, life had dealt us a pretty heavy helping of complications and we were working through it to get to an understanding.

Things had been tense before that and after the pregnancy revelation, I knew that I couldn’t be angry with him anymore.

I had to be mature, and take this in my stride. If Ammaar was his son, he would have to be mine too. Just like Zubair’s protective instincts overwhelmed him, I would have to protect him too. I had to make sure of that. If not, we would see where life takes us. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead as yet. Maybe it was a mistake I was making, but in my butterfly and fairytale kind of world, I just wanted to live and be present in the moment, without thinking of how wrong things could go.

Ideally, I would like to say that life was good right then. Zubair was helping to pack up the few belongings we had and working towards making the new addition to our family work. It took two weeks for us to get to some kind of routine with Ammaar but he was an easy child and ate whatever was put in front of him.

The fact that he was in the house made it easier to keep him away from curious eyes, but I had to tell my parents that a relative was staying with us. I tried to ignore Nani’s narrowed eyes when she saw him and the way that she would sometimes look at Zubair like he was some kind of imposter.

There was just something about Nani’s personality that couldn’t accept my husband. Perhaps it was because Zubair had no financial status in society that she knew, or because he tried so hard to be good to her which made her suspect his intentions. As much as he did, Nani still behaved as if Zubair was unimportant.

Although he didn’t have the type of upbringing that Hamzah had, or the family background to go with it, his forgiveness even at her bluntest of  remarks was something I could not fathom.

It had been a helluva week at home and Mohsina had been busy, holed up in her room after she had gone to her in-laws to tell them about the pregnancy, and she had discreetly told me that she was going back to the flat because as he wouldn’t be able to handle the interrogation she would be subjected to once Nani found out.

And I understood her. Nani was a bit… extra. My mother had tried to put her off, but she was trying to constantly make Mohsina go on some kind of intermittent fasting diet, convinced that Hamzah had left her because she was overweight and not taking care of herself.

And I had to admit that though Nani cracked me up at times with her skewed logic, there were times when I did get a little exasperated. I made tawbah for having such little patience but it was possible that with all these new hormones raging through me, emotions were getting the better of me.

I was trying all these new breathing techniques to keep my head together, but if was a little difficult when Nani had decided to grace us with her presence the day I decided to help my mother fill some pies.

The sun was at its highest point and the roses were still blooming with exaggerated intensity, making me swoon as soon as I would glance in their direction as I worked, letting their happy colours soothe me. Zubair’s had been taking good care of the garden and I loved ghag he was so invested in it. If made it all the more beautiful.

Zubair and Muhammed Husayn had just come in from the scorching yard to get some stock from the pantry for Papa, when Nani spotted my husband and chose that moment to start one of her interference tactics.

And it had been a while since she had come, because she had been occupied with the favourite granddaughters wedding that was happening in a weeks time at my uncles house and her presence here was fuelled with excitement and lots of chatter about the upcoming events. I suppose you could have blamed her remarks on the joyous occasion and happiness coursing through her veins, but with Nani you just never knew.

“And if you don’t have nice outfit,” Nani said as she pottered around, watching me mix the filling for my mother, conveniently switching to Gujarati as she glanced at Zubair exiting the pantry and heading toward the door. “I can ask Nasreen to lend you something, then you don’t have to spend extra money.”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering if Nani actually was taking a dig at Zubair while he was standing right there.

“I have an outfit,” I said stubbornly, refusing to start an argument and embarrass Zubair.

I knew exactly what I was wearing too. I didn’t need anything fancy.

He had left the room but he may still hear. Either way, I wasn’t keen on having this discussion anyway. It just wasn’t Nani’s business.

“But something nice,” Nani insisted, not noticing my annoyance at her previous comment. “Nice things are expensive and Nasreen and you are almost the same size. Your won’t be able to buy you what you will need to impress everyone.”

”Mummy,” my mother said in a warning tone, and I couldn’t help but be grateful that my mother had intervened. “My daughters don’t need to be impressing everyone.”

But Nani wasn’t deterred.

“Nonsense,” Nani said in English, and I hadn’t even noticed Muhammed Husayn still in the pantry as Nani continued. “They are brides cousins. It’s no secret, Bhen Gori that he is poor. There is no problem if she has to ask someone to lend her something if her husband cannot afford.”

Of course, I was stunned that Nani had said it in such a derogatory way. I knew Nani had her moments but this was just a bit much. My ears were burning at the tips and I bit my tongue to stop the retort as I continued to stuff the pastry with chicken filling.

”Who said Zubair can’t afford what?”

It was Muhammed Husayn who had sneaked up to the table, wearing a three quarter pants and t-shirt, the expression on his face one of confusion as he looked from Nani to me.

”Zubair has enough money,” he stated unapologetically, shaking his head at us. “What’s Nani talking about?”

I didn’t want to get into it so instead, I shook my head at him briefly, giving him the message that Nani did not need to know a thing about Zubair or his wealth. It was just all by the way. What happened to looking at a person for the type of character they had? Why did Nani have to hold onto all these old outdated ideologies?

“Everyone says,” Nani said, not looking a little taken aback. “Why he doesn’t act like he got money then?”

Nani was looking at me as if there was some big secret I was hiding, but all I did was shrug and look back at my brother questioningly, because I myself was just as clueless.

“Some people have a passion for simplicity,” said my brother, sounding way older than his years. “That’s Zubair. He’s a star, Naans. Maybe you shouldn’t worry about what he got and more about what kind of person he is. Just saying. He’s got enough of everything but he doesn’t show it. Believe me. When you see it… soon enough, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving me to wonder what exactly Zubair had done or shown that had made such an impression on my brother. Somehow, Zubair was slowly creeping into everyone’s hearts and I knew for sure that it had nothing to do with the aforementioned wealth. It was just him and his unfiltered self that had won over so many people.

A thats when it struck me. There are these beautiful people who would do anything to protect the ones they love, be it with their bodies, hearts and their souls. People that Allah has created not just for worship – but for the protection of Deen, to defend its purity, and to refute the enemies. They are the brightest, most brilliant star in the night sky, and when I looked at Zubair, that’s what I saw in him. What I didn’t realise was that when others looked at him, instead of that man with the most disgraceful past, it’s what they saw in him too.

And as for this new piece of information that my brother was harping on about that instantly changed his status from pauper to elite in Nani’s eyes… I didn’t know what it was that Muhammed Husayn was talking about, but what I did know was that I was going to do my very best to find out…

---

Dear readers

I’m sorry once again. It’s been a long holiday and I’ve gotten very lazy.

Some good news is that I’ve been using the time to think of how this story is going to end, and though we are getting towards the latter of it, I’m trying to speed up so the ending can be reached faster. I’m sure everyone is waiting to see what’s going to happen… and InshaAllah all will be revealed.

I hope that everyone is well and keeping the ummah in their Duaas.

much love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: Boycott Sin 

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofEntertaining guests

A Different World

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 115

I never thought I’d ever live in a world that was  free of technology. Techno-free. Where everything wasn’t just one tap away. Where your hearts desire wasn’t fulfilled by some app.
Where kids would actually be playing in streets and trying to earn money, instead of being stuck on some device.

Being shut off and isolated from any kind of virtual interaction was a new territory for me, but here I was, in a world that was so far from what I had grown accustomed to for so many years.

And strangely, it wasn’t like it was something that made me feel panicked. I was never one for social media or the likes, but not having access to a simple network connection threw me a little, especially when the reflex for my generation was to pick up a phone and arrange it, no matter what the need.

And though the media was spewing out images of what was happening in parts of the Middle East and Gaza that was crippled by war and famine, the reality of actually being there was no contest.

The images still haunted me at night. The mental image of little children that had clung to me when I had visited the refugee camp the other night made my heart bleed. I couldn’t forget the tales of their resistance. The bulldozing and bombing of their homes they would describe with tears in their eyes. Their heartbreak at the loss of their many, many loved ones.

The sheer audacity that the west would continue to display, despite the glaring facts that this land was indeed blessed by the people who preserved and persevered within it.

Their aching wounds and tears of blood had penetrated my heart in a way that I couldn’t quite describe.

“So what are the plans after this?”

It was Mohsin who directed the question at me and I shrugged and shoved the images out of my mind as I loaded yet another box into the truck that was scheduled to leave in another fifteen minutes.

“You mean today or after I leave this place?” I asked, giving him a side glance as I saw him smile.

Mohsin was dressed in a puffy jacket and a beanie and his cheeks were still flushed with the severity of the cold. Being out here while the temperature was dropping by the minute wasn’t the easiest thing. I didn’t want to imagine how it must be for kids who were in the region, not even barely equipped to deal with this kind of weather.

It was like I was stuck in time for the time being. As if life was on hold and there was no reality beyond this journey for me. The feeling was surreal. Almost like swimming in a huge ocean of endless possibilities.

The notion made me miss my hobby, because it had been weeks before I’d gotten into a pool to do a few laps, and months since I’d swam in the ocean. It made me miss Mohsina too, because I remembered the last time I went to a beach and the thought made nostalgia wash up like an old, elusive friend.

“I meant after here,” he said, lifting another box to place it on top of the one I had just shifted into the back of the truck. “This whole rescue mission Molvi pulled you out of your comfy life to embark on. I don’t suppose your wife wants you to spend the entire winter here? Someone must be missing you back home.”

it wasn’t a question. It was a statement and I wondered what to say back. Of course Mohsin knew that I was married. The last time he had come home, Mohsina had sorted out coffees and sent them to us. Mohsin had even met Zaid for a few minutes.

I pulled my beanie tighter around my ears and looked at him, wondering whether to tell him what a rut my life had gotten into since then.

Mohsin and I had done some catching up and hung out a lot with the guys, but we hadn’t got the chance to talk, one-on-one, with each other. Not about my problems of the things that had been getting me down.

Somehow, it didn’t feel right to bring it up here. But being there with him, it felt like he was just someone that I could open up to and trust. And I supposed that it was for that reason that I couldn’t hold back with my feelings right then.

“She doesn’t know where I am,” I said blandly, and I could sense his penetrating gaze on me as I turned back to arranging and packing boxes. “Things haven’t been great. And lately, there was some dirt dig up on me that made it worse. I don’t think she trusts me to be a good father anymore.”

If was my true sentiments that were being revealed right then and I had nothing to lose because I knew that Mohsin had no-one to tell about my silly insecurities. It was great to be able to beat my soul like this.

“You’re having another baby?” He asked, stopping what he was doing and watching me with his blue-grey eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed in the cold air.

“Few months left,” I said with a sudden warmth in my chest that had no business being there. “I was pretty excited. Hoped it would be some sort of miracle for our marriage. It’s been a bit of a rough road so far.”

I didn’t want to get into this topic but it was a welcome distraction for both of us from the realities of what we had seen the past few days. Seeing the plight of the people who lived in refugee camps close to the border made me want to cry in shame for ever feeling like life had pulled a fast one on me.

What was evident in those past days was the reality of what these people were going through for the land of the Ambiyaa and for Musjidul Aqsa. They were tortured and starved and alienated and yet they still didn’t waver. Being so close to the area of the ongoing conflict was difficult but also challenging in an inexplicable way.

It was only after Molvi took us for our first tour that I understood just how many of the prophets were buried there. How rich the history of these great people is in this great land. How much they truly valued what they had, and because of this, refused to leave it.

The Al-Haram Al-Ibrahimi Mosque in the Hebron Hills and its subterranean surroundings contain the tombs of prophets Ibrahim, Ishaq, Yaqub (Alahimus Salaal) and is considered one of the most religious sites in Islam. 20 years ago, the mosque was attacked by Baruch Golstein, which resulted in the Israeli military dividing access to the Ibrahimi mosque in two.

While some mufassireen state that Yunus AS passed away in Nineveh where he lived, others state that he passed away in the city of Khaleel in Palestine, which is the resting place of many of the other Ambiyaa.

The rich Islamic history of this land was unparalleled.

“So what’s your plans after this?” I asked, itching for a cigarette and switching the topic over to him because I didn’t think there was any point on dwelling on my unimportant problems.

Mohsin didn’t say anything straight away. He pulled out the list he had with him and checked through it, probably to ensure all the boxes had, in fact, arrived, and then looked at me after, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should answer me.

”I’m thinking of getting married,” he said, and I raised my eyebrows as he said it, wondering if I had actually heard correctly.

Mohsin was the famously single guy out of everyone, and I didn’t think that would change anytime soon. He was also indiscreetly good-looking and people just assumed that he hadn’t met the right girl yet. Seemed like he had gotten smitten by some girl. Finally.

“When’s the big day?” I asked, curious to know who this girl was. He was already a few years older than me and I knew that I hadn’t exactly married early either.

”Need to find the girl first,” he said and I smiled, and I found myself thinking about how simple his life was.

All he did was come out here, or wherever Molvi was to help and be the real life superhero in every fire situation. At the end of it all, we all had a home and wife to go home to. Mohsin’s sacrifice was one that held no parallel because his family wasn’t happy when he reverted so the relationship was still pretty strained. It wasn’t non-existent but I found it unfair that he didn’t have that luxury of returning to a hot pot of food and comfortable bed whenever he wanted.

It was about time he did this.

“So why only now?” I asked, my hands still hard at work as we sorted out yet another pile of food items. The clock was ticking.

There was so much that was coming through but not so much that made it to its end destination. With all the checkpoints and rigid protocols, it was almost impossible to meet the demand of the aid that was truly required.

“Just haven’t found the time yet,” he replied with a shrug, as if it was natural to do things this way around. “Or the right girl.”

Usually we would find a girl and decide that it was time to get married. People like Mohsin did things with purpose. They first decided that it was time to marry, and then found a girl who would be appropriate for the task.

It made life simpler in some ways.

“And that hasn’t bothered you till now?” I asked, surprised that he was so unaffected by this, especially considering his circumstances.

“I fast a lot,” he said with a smirk, and I got what he was saying because the Hadith of Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) stated that if marriage wasn’t possible, one should fast. “But I’m kind of getting hungry.”

I chuckled out aloud, finding his ambiguous statement amusing amidst the dire surroundings. Of course he was.

Around us there were people who worked in this area, but not many. The closer to the camps we would get, the more the risk would be, and the less the people would be because not many could get past here.

It was also a matter of who lasted long enough to actually serve here. I’d heard stories of the Israeli soldiers who would sometimes raid or shut down operations, and just arrest people with no real motivation. Anything to stunt the process of assistance. Anything to oppress and destroy their enemy who had nothing but Duaas to assist them.

”Do you ever think of stopping this work and just living a normal life?” I said aloud, looking at Mohsin and barely feeling the aching in my arms as I worked, my mind now on him as I watched this guy put his full focus into his task, his face getting redder and his strength tested to the limits as he ploughed through package after package, tossing away boxes and stuffing as much as he could into the back of the small, delapidated truck that was going to leave in a few minutes. “How did you even end up doing this kind of work?”

Mohsin had heard me but his focus was on the job at hand.

Curfews. We needed to get this through before the shift change because we had alerted them that this lot would be coming through and to deal with another lot of fresh soldiers who were focused on nitpicking every case here today wasn’t going to be fun. Often towards the end of shift, the checks were a little less brutal, unless we met a soldier in a horribly combat mood who just sent us back with no warnings. Either way, we had to try this first. Today, it would be who would be going to the furtherest part and I was a little nervous as I thought of it.

It had been a few weeks here, and the more time I spent here, the more my thoughts deepened.

And now, as I looked as Mohsin, I wondered how his thoughts had morphed over the years.

”Sometimes I do,” he said with a shrug, and I looked at him, a little surprised by his answer. “Think of leaving, that is. But then I think of how much I’m doing and how I would miss all this. I must admit that it was hard… Especially at the beginning. But I channeled my energy into other things. I used it as an opportunity to think and to write down what I needed to. And then, I got into philosophy,  because I was surrounded by so much of goodness and I was new to Deen so I sought refuge in Qur’ān. I wanted to apply it everything I did. To find out my purpose and what the world was about. I wanted to just find the truth and see it for myself… and that’s why I came here.

And then I came out here. Sometimes with company, sometimes on my own. And then I just got frustrated, because I was so lonely in my own belief when everyone else went home to their families and I was left to figure out things alone. There was a time when I reached a complete low. When I saw so much of atrocity that I actually questioned how this could happen under the loving and caring Lord that everyone I knew spoke about. I wanted Him to end it right then. I couldn’t explain to anyone who asked. I was at my lowest point right then and seeing all that… I realised that if I had someone to lift me up… to remind me… to just be there… well, then I realised that I needed to action myself and be the change. And of course, Molvi came just in the nick of time to help me and clear the air before I lost myself completely.”

I couldn’t quite believe that this tough guy was actually at a point that he was breaking. I didn’t judge him, but I loved that he was so brutally honest.

“I know it sounds cliched,” he continued, not meeting my eye, “but what Molvi says is true. All this work.. it’s just by the way. We have to change ourselves. Be the change, and come together. Yes, the refugee crisis is a crisis, but Allah is above everything and there is nothing that can be achieved without His help.”

He went on the explain how down he had felt and how being around people who were going through the same emotions helped him. He had been angry at the world and a little hopeless.

I could not imagine actually being here and dealing with this as long as he was. It was easy to talk and say that I had come out to assist, but actually being on the ground when things hit the fan in the stinkiest way must’ve been really tough.

And as we headed off onto the road that day, leaving Mohsin at another warehouse and me to continue into the desert to where we were going to leave our aid, I was aware of how dangerous the situation could become. It was only the second time that I had to be on the truck with the goods but having done this before made me a little make confident this time.

And as we rode along the bumpy road, I pulled out a cigarette to light, the irony of my life clear to me as I processed just how superficial my problems had been compared to these. It was something that woke me up and thrust me into realisation that things could be so much worse.

Having no distractions from this harsh reality was a little harder than I thought. There was no Wi-Fi and signal was scarce.

At first, my fingers itched for something. A message, a browser to look through, and just someone familiar to talk to. But the more time I spent here, the more refreshed I felt, and the more comfortable I became with what I was doing there.

I used the time as I imagined Mohsin would. To reflect on my feelings and what I would say to Mohsina when I eventually would speak to her.

I didn’t think that the opportunity would come anytime soon because data was non existent and it was what we relied on in this day and age.

My thoughts ran away with me at times, and today was one of those days. The dreariness of the surroundings were hitting me in a different way and I couldn’t help but feel as if I’d been sleeping my entire life and seeing this had woken me up in a most gut-wrenching way. Masses of army trucks could be spotted in the distance and children could be seen beyond a nearby mountain, and just seeing that made me want to run to them a protect them from any impending danger.

The sudden buzzing of my phone caught me a little off guard, because it had been a few days since I had gotten any messages, and I wasn’t expecting it. I also knew that as we got closer to Israeli checkpoints, signal would usually rocket and this was around the only times I could make or receive good calls. It was usually Imraan or Zubair and I pulled out my phone, expecting to see their names but  surprised when I saw Mohsinas instead.

The rapid beat of my heart could hardly be contained. It had been weeks since I’d heard from her, since I’d stopped trying to call. I wasted no time as my present faded to the background and I opened the iMessage which had miraculously come through, greedy to memorise the words before the truck would stop and I’d have to abort the mission.

My eyes scanned the message as I opened it.

Assalamualaikum. Been trying to call because I didn’t want this to be over a message. I don’t even know how to say this, so I’m just going to come out and say that I’m sorry and that some new information has come to light and I realised that all those things I’d accused you off… well, they’re probably not even true.

The past is the past. We both made mistakes. 

I’m sorry. For putting you in this situation. I want to talk when you can. If you want to. Our babies miss you.

I love you. 

It was the last three words that kind of stumped me, and it took me a few minutes to process and think about what had just happened. Mohsina apologising was a rarity. The fact that she’d figured this all out gave me a surge of hope and my innocence that had been proven was the highlight of it all. Above that though, was the fact that she still loved me, and there was not much that could deflate me after hearing that.

And I wanted to reply straight away. To tell her that it didn’t matter and I’d forgiven her and that I’d never stopped loving her. I wanted to assure her that it was all okay and things weren’t even close to breaking point as yet. That I’d always want to speak to her, no matter where I was in the world.

I felt like I was light years away, in another world as I processed the reality of where I was right then.

I didn’t want to type a half-hearted reply and the truck was nearing its destination and I could already hear the interrogation of the soldiers as we reached the third checkpoint. This was usually where they turned us away or raided the truck to a point where there was a bare minimum left to actually send through.

I didn’t quite expect them to come along and open up the back, before spotting me and immediately calling me out to come to the ground. I knew that this was possible. I just didn’t expect it because the relief agency we had worked with had never flagged this as a problem. All I wanted to do was be on the ground while these items would go through.

I could feel my heart beating in my chest as I stepped down, answering the questions in English as I explained that I’m accompanying the truck through. I had either caught the wrong guy or this soldier was having a bad day, but the minute I stated my reason, he barked out that I’m not allowed to be there, and then called for someone else who was nearby.

I didn’t think it happened like this. The videos I’d seen would show soldiers roughly grabbing civilians and manhandling them until they were eventually taken away, sometimes just to be tortured, sometimes never to be seen again.

It all seemed very civilised and unthreatening to the outsider as I watched them, but when I listened to them speaking, there was no mistaking the unpleasant undertone in their conversation, and the sinister way in which they huddled together and discussed whatever the concern was. I felt a prickly sensation as the truck driver, Ahmad, watched, a frown on his face, wondering what he was going to do if things got a little testy.

He was a local and he wasn’t scared. Their imaan and yaqeen was on another level.

“I need you to step this way,” the soldier suddenly said, gesturing to me as he walked toward where I was, and I voiding help but turn to watch Ahmad get down and come towards us, before they ushered him away, clearly not wanting his intervention here. It just took one glance at his annoyed face for me to realise that he wasn’t happy with the way this situation was going.

The feeling that I should have replied to Mohsina already niggled at me, and remorse filled me as I wondered why I hadn’t just sent back a quick message. Telling her where I was and explaining to her that I was coming back and we could talk then. This whole situation was probably going to take a while and yet, there was nothing I could do beside see what would come out of it. I found myself thinking of my family and my parents and everything I had left back home.

Everything else felt like it was another world away, and to reach it, I knew that the present would have to be dealt with first.

After that, I would deal with the rest.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: Boycott Sin 

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofEntertaining guests

When it’s Time to Give In

Bismihi Ta’ala

Saaliha

Part 115

Life has a way of getting you just where you need to be at the right time. The thing is, every event  that happens paves a path to revealing things that were meant to be exposed, even when you don’t quite expect it.

I wasn’t sure why I was still nervous, despite my much awaited appointment being over. It had been the main source of unrest for the past day or so, but now, there was a funny feeling in my gut as I entered the house, and made salaam, and it was only after I was met with silence that I realised why I was still uneasy.

And maybe it was because of what I had just inadvertently seen as I was coming home. I had assumed that it was just some random car with some people waiting, when I turned and saw my sister-in-law, Rabia, literally throwing herself into the arms of some random guy. He looked vaguely familiar but the car wasn’t one I knew, so I sucked in a shocked gasp, drove past, and then hid in the garage for a good few ten minutes, hoping that she wouldn’t realise that I had seen her in an sin filled moment with whoever he is.

And as I stepped into the house through the interleading garage door, it was the old niggling feeling of not knowing what to expect. A familiar figure had just left the room as I entered, without even acknowledging my arrival, and my racing heart calmed slightly at the knowledge.

It meant she was already home  and had no idea of what I had seen. Thank goodness. The entire thing was making me feel slightly sick to the gut.

I sighed, putting down my bag and pulling off my scarf when Imraan roamed in and grinned at me, his eyes lighting up as he pulled me to him in a half hug.

”Hey, how was it?” He asked, leaning against the counter as he watched me unpack the little bag of groceries i had brought from the garage store. “What did the doctor say?”

I narrowed my eyes at him slightly because I knew that even though Rabia didn’t acknowledge my presence, she was probably prowling around somewhere looking for her payback.

She had been ignoring me since the whole Hamzah’s video leak escapade and I was beginning to feel just a tad bit guilty about blaming her for it until today. She almost made me feel as if I was the one who had done something wrong. Maybe I did?

It may have been I knew that she had done some things that weren’t amazing in the past, but I didn’t have any proof that she was an accomplice to tarnishing her brothers reputation in that particular occasion. I was feeling slightly guilty.

”It went well,” I said in a softer voice to Imraan. “Shazia is actually really nice. I insisted, but she didn’t even charge after. It made it  a bit awkward but she said we’re family and she doesn’t charge family so I have to just accept that. I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with it though…”

Imraan narrowed his eyes slightly, shrugging.

”Get her something nice,” he said while he settled into the seat behind him. “To say thank you for today. And tell her that your husband insists that we pay going forward. I can’t accept that.”

I nodded, reminding him that I wasn’t exactly keen on going for the appointment anyway. It was Fareeha who made the appointment for me as a gift to me. Shazia had graduated to become one of the most successful fertility specialists in Johannesburg, and Fareeha had insisted that I see her after my last miscarriage.  Apparently she had some unconventional ways of dealing with fertility issues and her methods always had results.

I smiled and watched as Imraan as he turned and flicked the kettle on.

“So she didn’t have any other news?” Imraan asked, his back to me so I couldn’t see his expression.

“No,” I replied, knowing that he was just curious and that he may have thought it would bother me. “Nothing interesting. Except that she’s cutting back on appointments so that she can spend more time with her girls. I don’t know how working woman manage their jobs and their kids. I would feel so drained by the time I got home.”

It was difficult being in that position. I suppose that I understood why the ulema recommend women not to work, but rather stay at home to nurture the kids. How Shazia explained her day and how guilty she felt when she felt too tired to even read a book to her girls, made me realise that even though women feel they can do everything, it’s definitely no walk in the park.

Although I expected things to be awkward with Shazia because of history, it’s was nothing like that. What happened with Bilal seemed like another lifetime.
It was barely a few months before Imraan had come home and proposed, and the rest was history.

Now that I had spoken to Shazia, I was pretty content about working with her and trusting her to do what she does best. I was so glad I had gone for the appointment as it just made me feel more at ease with her as well. I can’t believe I had waited so many years to smooth it all out, despite her being my cousin, when I could have done it much sooner.

Imraan was watching me and smiling, and I raised my eyebrows at him, wondering what he was looking so happy about.

“What’s up?” I asked, pulling a mug from the holder to make him a cup of coffee. “You’re looking really excited about something.”

”Molvi phoned,” he said, pulling out his phone as I poured his coffee.

“Oh wow,” I said, knowing that he hadn’t heard from them during the week and was a bit worried about Hamzah. “How are they?”

”’Well and kicking’ according to him,” he said, reading from his phone, a crease of prey forming on his forehead momentarily. “I know my friend. I know how he speaks when they’re at risk. They’re deeper in than they thought they would be. He needs someone to pull him back and Hamzah’s not that person.”

An unfamiliar twist in my tummy reminded me that there was more at risk for Hamzah that Imraan knew. I never did tell him about the pregnancy. It wasn’t my place to say so I let the moment pass and waited for the inevitable to unfold. I wasn’t sure when it would happen but something told me that it would be soon.

”How is Hamzah?” I asked instead.

It was something I was meaning to ask him since I received a message from Mohsina that morning. I had been busy getting ready for my appointment, rushing around and getting Uthman out for his Hifdh class, when I had seen her message asking if there was another number to contact Hamzah on.

She had been trying to get hold of him and there had been no response and therefore messaged me to find out if I had another number. I didn’t message her back because I didn’t get a chance to as yet. Besides, I wasn’t sure how much I should tell her.

I knew where they were- that they were assisting to send supplies to the Gaza Strip through Egypt and it was a dangerous situation as well, if you went too far up.

“I didn’t speak to him but Molvi said he’s fine,” he replied, still glancing down at his phone with a frown. “I just find it hard to believe him sometimes because I know him so well. He downplays everything. But anyway, there’s something I need to ask you.”

I watched him as I placed his filled cup in front of him, waiting for him to continue as I pulled out a tea cup for myself.

“There’s someone from here joining them in a few days,” he said, his honey brown eyes finally raising to mine as he finished the sentence. “I think I want to leave with him if that’s okay with you.”

I breathed in as I processed, remembering how edgy I would be when Imraan used to go with Maulana Umar in the past. The man was fearless and took so many risks. I wasn’t sure how Haseena coped every time he went, but I wasn’t made of the same stuff as she was.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” I murmured, knowing that it was just a lack of Tawakkul. These amazing people who went out in the path of Allah, willingly and without hesitation, were on another level. I doubted that I could ever be as willing to sacrifice…

Imraan was watching me as I took a deep breath in, his eyes following me pacing the room even as he raised his cup to his mouth and took a sip.

“What’s your worst fear, love?” He asked, his voice so soft that I almost missed it.

I turned back to watch him as he stared back at me, an unfamiliar determination in his eyes. This was my husband when he wanted to do- wait, not wanted- needed to do something that I wasn’t happy about.

I didn’t answer him. The question was a rhetoric one, and noting the look in my eyes, he could tell what I was thinking.

I didn’t need to have the discussion with him. He knew.

He remembered when everyone thought that Umar was dead.

Gosh, even I remembered. It was heartbreaking and soul-wrenching and just looking at Haseenah when she’d found out, having just had his little boy, made me want to break down right there and then.

“Don’t you know what the reward is for you?” Imraan probed, his voice sounding more serious than I was used to. “Don’t you desire the kind of status that can only come from such a sacrifice? Don’t you realise the honour for a woman who lets her husband out in the path of Allah?”

I shook my head, my mind devoid of sense, getting a tad bit upset instead.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I burst stoically, attempting to maintain a neutral expression because I didn’t want to break down at the thought. “Im not ready for that kind of thing!”

I knew I was being selfish, but I couldn’t help it. He knew what my worst fear was. It was him never returning and having to continue as if life was the same when it wasn’t.

And then, just as I was about to explain, he had stood and held me by the shoulders, his dark lashes lifting up as he pressed his finger to my cheek, exactly where he would prod me when we’d first been married and he would tease me about my dimples. It was a gesture that forced me to look into his eyes, that somehow had a way of seeping through to my soul.

”Hey,” he murmured, his voice even softer yet. “Do you not wish for me to reserve us a place in Jannah?”

My heart skipped a beat as he said it, realising the true meaning of what he was saying, and what kind of beauty and perfection awaited there. How superficial was I, when all I saw was the temporary nature of this world? How shallow my outlook on life was, when so many all over the world were sacrificing their families and wealth and so much more.

The atmosphere in the room had suddenly become so intense.

Without even realising it, a single tear escaped from the corner of my eye as I looked at the yearning in his eyes, feeling like a horrible person because I could sense how badly he wanted to go.

This time, with his brother out there and so much more at risk, Imraan was willing to take a much bigger risk. I almost wished that Hamzah hadn’t gone, so Imraan would stay put, but life has a funny way of getting you to be exactly where you need to be at the right times.

Imraan was watching me carefully, waiting patiently for some kind of response that I wasn’t yet ready to give him. I didn’t know what to say yet. All I could think of right then was how the sahaba had been so brave and unflinching in their sacrifice for the sake of Allah.

When Battle of Uhud took place, amongst them was a woman who tended to the wounded by providing them with water and assisting them.

We all know in this battle, many Muslims were martyred. Amongst them were her brother – Abdullah ibn Jahsh, uncle – Hamza ibn AbdulMutallib and her beloved husband – Mus’ab ibn Umair.

The narration goes:

“After the defeat of the Muslims in the Battle of Uhud where 70 Muslims were killed – Hammanah was told by the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) to endure her loss with patience.

She asked him whom he meant.

He said: “Your maternal uncle, Hamzah.”

She said: “To God we all belong and to Him shall we all return. May God forgive him and bestow mercy on him. He is blessed as a martyr in heaven.”

The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) again told her to bear her loss with patience. When she asked him whom he meant, he said: “Your brother Abdullah.” She repeated what she said about her uncle.

Yet the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) told her of another loss, and on her enquiry he mentioned her husband, Mus’ab ibn Umair. This time, she
 screamed, saying: “Woe is me! Oh, for my grief!”

The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) commented: “A husband has a unique position with his wife no one else can fill.”

It is said that Mus’ab was only 35 when he was martyred – so we can tell how young this amazing couple must have been.

And of course I could imagine her grief at that news. And it was for that reason that I couldn’t wholeheartedly accede to his request.

”Can I think about it?” I asked him, cupping my husbands cheek for a second before a voice from the door interrupted the moment, and I immediately took a step back in response.

“Think about what?”

It was Rabia’s voice that caught me off guard as she walked through the kitchen, grabbing a biscuit from a container as she passed

Imraan looked as his sister and frowned, obviously processing the very dress code that she was wearing

”Where are you going?” He asked, the softness from a few moments ago diminishing as he turned to her and looked at her outfit. Somehow, Imraan didn’t really notice what his sister wore on a usual day. Maybe he assumed that it was house clothes and she didn’t go out in them, but now that she was spritzed with perfume and layers up with make-up from what I assumed was her earlier escapades, he was full alert.

”I’m still deciding,” she said, flipping her hair back dramatically. “Maybe to gym. Not like it’s any of your business. I’m a grown woman.”

“You wish,” Imraan scoffed, raising his eyebrows. “You may not answer to me but you need to think very carefully about the path you take, sis. Your twin brother’s gone out in the path of Allah. Your older brother might follow him. What’s your plan Rabia? What are you doing to prove yourself?”

I could see Imraan getting hyped up and I placed my hand over his to calm him down. He didn’t need to give Rabia a reason to get more annoyed. Not with the way she was acting so far.

”Well, I’m not crazy like you two,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “At least one person in this family is sane.”

“You think you can just live in your little cocoon and exist there?” Imraan asked, raising his eyebrows at her. “You know the Maulanas say that it’s time to go forward and wage a war, even if it’s with yourself. How can you just sit back with your western-branded bag and shoes and pretend like we’re not in a dire situation right now?”

Imraan was on in Maulana mode and Rabia was barely affected as she watched him rant.

”That’s not my prerogative,” she scoffed bluntly. “You’re spending too much of time with your best friend, and it’s only him who is spreading these crazy ideas. Life continues. Things to do. People to meet. Oh my gawd, I’ve boycotted all my favourite foods and products but we have to be reasonable, dude. We can’t just stop living.”

I almost laughed as I watched her flip her hair behind her again and adjust her cap in the mirror, almost as if she was going out again. I didn’t dare to ask.

The thing is, we claim to boycott the products of the west like it’s the most important thing, but what about the ways and attitudes of the west? What about the lifestyle they promote, and the negligence of Sunnah they are proud to portray?

I watched Rabia she pulled her scarf lightly over her hair, almost as if she wasn’t sure if she was wearing it or not.

Her clothes were surprisingly more decent with a longer top than usual and if I didn’t know any better I might have thought that Rabia may actually be changing.

What inspired it or brought it on, I had no idea.

Imraan had turned away from her and was now busy on his phone, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with her, so I purposely turned away and let her make her way out to wherever she was heading to.

And of course I was suspicious. Rabia had suddenly become very content with her own life during the past few weeks, and something told me that whoever the mystery guy was, they weren’t going to like it. The thing was, even though I suspected that there may be something or someone that was consuming her time before today, I didn’t want to bring it to Imraan’s notice because there was way much on his head right then to worry about what his sister was probably up to.

I took a deep breath in as I deliberated over what he had told me, trying very hard not to peep out the window when I heard Rabia say she was going and watching my mother-in-law and Uthman came down from play UNO. Rabia answered to no one and I felt it strange, but seeing as she older, divorced and had her own life, I guess my parents-in-law trusted her. I just felt that the trust was misplaced.

And as I dwelled in my own thoughts for the next hour or so, thinking of what Imraan had asked me to consider, I had completely forgotten about Mohsina and her message.

I had just gone to read Asr salaah and was just about to open my Qur’ān to clear my head, when the house intercom started ringing. And I would have left it for Rabia but I wasn’t sure if she was back yet so I promptly closed the Mushaf and made my way to the buzzer to check who was there.

And it wasn’t like I was shocked to see her in the camera. I knew that she had been needing to know about Hamzah but the fact that she hadn’t been here in months is what caught me slightly off-guard. I didn’t quite realise how desperate she might have been to find out about her husband until I opened the door and saw Mohsina there, her tummy clearly noticeable even through the loose abaya she had worn. She hadn’t been here in ages and I suppose that I now knew why.

“Assalamualaikum,” I greeted, taken aback slightly as she smiled and returned the greeting, her stance clearly awkward as she looked behind me, obviously checking to see if anyone else was here.

She looked lovely as always, wearing a grey cloak with an aqua scarf, but I could clearly see that she had put on weight during this time, and it wasn’t just her gone a bit chubby.

Zaid had gone back to her a few days ago after spending time with my mother-in-law and he was on the floor next to her, wobbling around in his cute way. I immediately grabbed him in an attempt to dissolve the weird atmosphere.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, looking at her tummy so she understood that I knew. I didn’t want to make her feel bad about it. I just wanted her to understand that I was concerned about her health and nothing else.

She smiled awkwardly, looking slightly embarrassed as she replied that she was well. She just walked a few steps before she had placed her hand on her tummy  consciously, just at around the same time my mother-in-law came down the stairs, and I could see her eyes widen as she spotted Mohsina standing there, probably wondering if she was dreaming or not.

It was one of those moments that happened in slow motion.

Even Zaid was forgotten for once as my mother-in-law fixated on the baby bump, probably unable to believe what exactly she was seeing, and as she processed exactly what was being presented before her.

”Mohsina,” she breathed in a strangled voice, almost in shock at this undeniable revelation as she held her for a few seconds and then went forward to embrace her. “It’s so good to see you. Is this…?!”

And of course, I couldn’t help but tear up as Mohsina held my mother-in-law back, unable to control herself any longer as she apologised for not coming for so long, and not letting her know about the very crucial life changing thing that was happening.

My mother-in-law, of course, being the saint she was, just stood there, shaking her head and holding Mohsina comfortingly as they murmured to each other, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the situation here. My mother-in-law was obviously overjoyed at the prospect of another grandchild, and I could hear the appreciation she felt in her voice, even though Mohsina was overcome with guilt for hiding it for so long. I breathed in and left the room for a few seconds just trying to process it all, now that it was finally out on the open.

It really was such a momentous occasion and I wished that I could have heard the words that sounded so sincere as they spoke to each other. I could not imagine how hard this must have been for Mohsina, to come here and let us know, instead of just sending a generic message so that everyone would get the news, but my own heart with the depth of its losses could not be contained.

She wanted to do the right thing, and as my mother-in-law forced her to sit and have a cup of coffee that I went to prepare for her, I could see that even though she had come to relate the news, she wasn’t yet finished with her task.

“I just thought that it’s only right that you all know that the baby is due in about three months,” she said quietly, taking the cup of coffee I had made for her and looking  at me too. “And Hamzah knew before he left. It’s not his fault. It was me who didn’t want anyone to find out as yet because the doctor had said that it was a high risk pregnancy… but it’s been too long now and I think it’s important that you guys are all part of its life too.”

My mother-in-law nodded eagerly, obviously getting excited because the baby didn’t have much time before it arrived and being so far meant that everything was going well, but I couldn’t help the familiar ache that it brought within me, despite the happiness I felt because the baby would come in to flood all our lives with joy.

Alhumdulillah. I was trying to be strong and happy but I was only human for feeling a little disappointed in myself. For not being the one to bring them such immense joy.

It was beautiful and exciting, and I loved that she was finally including us in her journey. Zaid was surprisingly at ease with her and her protruding tummy, and even though he probably sensed something was up, I could see that even with the dynamics of the past months with Hamzah and Mohsina, he was pretty secure and well-adjusted. His parents didn’t include him in their arguments and made sure he was always in a safe space.

Allah had done miracles with this orphaned child, SubhaanAllah.

“I know that I may not have any right to ask after him,” she said, looking genuinely apologetic and a little more emotional too as she blew her nose. “I just wanted to let you know that I do still want to make it work with him, and he may not want to speak to me, but if you can just tell him that I’m trying to get hold of him… I would really appreciate that.”

My heart went out to her, because I knew that now that she had come here looking for Hamzah… I knew that there was no way that we could turn her away empty handed.

I knew that Hamzah was out of range. From what Imraan said, he wasn’t contactable. But I did know that if I let Imraan go, he would at least be able to let Hamzah know that there was still hope for their little family.

I knew what I had to do, even though I didn’t want to. I knew that I had to give in… I had to let him go.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: Boycott Sin 

 

 

 

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofEntertaining guests

Boycott Sin