From Heartbreak to Hope

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 86

I had never felt more like a warrior than the moment I realised my marriage was becoming a war zone.

Theres something about having a raging fire set alight inside you that made you feel like you were literally in the midst of a fire. And for me, it was even more so, because although it took extreme measures to get me to that point, I knew that once I got there, it took a lot for me to calm myself down.

And as I thought of it, the man I’d become during the past few months, the doting husband, the more I realised how much Mohsina had changed me.

I’d never been the kind of guy who was a pushover.

For me, I had always been the one to own it, to lead the pack, to call the shots.

Then I married Mohsina, and everything changed. She was one of a kind, and she preferred to be in charge. I had left that to her… let her take the reins for most decisions, except the adventurous ones, and in some ways, relied on her way too much.

And now, it was time for me to take back the reins. As uncomfortable as it was, it had to be done.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Imraan’s brown eyes were slightly narrowed as I nodded my head, and his frown deepened.

”Like really, absolutely sure?”

His question was posed with a permanent frown and for a minute, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

And then, like a stab wound, I recalled the pain that I had felt the previous night and almost everything became clear again.

The pain was like hole in my gut. Constant and unflinching.

And just like before, that fierce protectiveness that I felt for Zaid had overcome me again.

“I need to do what I know Liyaket would expect from me,” I said bluntly.

”You really think Mohsina doesn’t deserve a proper say in this?” He questioned, is eyebrows raised. “She’s the only mother he knows.”

“The evidence is stacked against her,” I said softly, feeling horrible about considering what I was.

Feeling terrible for having to separate Zaid from her, even if it was for a short while. I just couldn’t stand the thought of Zaid being away from me.

“But didn’t you hear what Zubair said earlier?” Imraan said, frowning. “And I’m sorry bru, but as a mediator here, I can’t let you just throw your marriage away too. If Saaliha was here and she knew what happened, she would say the same. Premature decisions are never wise ones.”

Immense guilt overcame me as I processed the reality.

But Saaliha wasn’t here. She wasn’t here because she had been admitted to hospital last night.

I didn’t realised that she was already 14 weeks. She lost the baby at 14 weeks, and Imraan shouldn’t be here, with me, while I was going through this crap.

He should be there with her, while she was probably grieving the loss of the baby they had waited so long for.

“Bro, I’m so sorry,” I said, meeting his gaze as I watched him shrug nonchalantly. He almost had me fooled. “You should get back to the hospital.”

“No need,” he said firmly, looking tired. “Everything’s already done. She’s resting now, and I’ll fetch her later. You, my man, need to sort out your head. My sincerest advice would be that you don’t give her a Talaaq. Think of what you’re doing. You can do that at any time if you need to, once you’re sure. It’s too early. Let me speak to Zubair properly. Let’s just gather information first and you can make a decision on what to do from there.”

I honestly hadn’t met anyone like him before. He took every test and challenge in his stride. I knew how badly he wanted this baby, and yet, he had surrendered to Allah Ta’alas will, with no questions asked. I wished that I could have that kind of tawakkul.

Although I hated to admit it, he was still talking sense and he was right about my marriage.

I didn’t want to speak to her, and she probably didn’t want to speak to me either. We were pretty messed up as a couple, and more so as parents. We needed proper arbitration and the ayah in the Qur’ān was clear on that.

If you anticipate a split between them, appoint a mediator from his family and another from hers. If they desire reconciliation, Allah will restore harmony between them. Surely Allah is All-Knowing, All-Aware. (Surah An Nisaa) 

I shook my head in disbelief, my mind still on the events of he previous night.

I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know what hit me until it all became a reality.

The reality that Mohsina had lied to me, over and over again, and never cared to mention to me a most important fact, was a punch in the most painful of places.

And at first I thought it may have been some kind of plot for them to sway me. I had been angry, but more so, confused.

My first reaction to seeing the necklace was absolute shock.

I could feel Mohsina looking at me, her gaze watching my every movement as I turned away from her, pushed the key in our lock and turned it, hearing the catch releasing.

The door opened soundlessly. Mohsina’s voice was the loudest noise in the room.

“Hamzah, it’s not what you think it is.”

I took a deep breath, not realising how much I wanted to yell right then, but holding myself because I hated what was happening to me.

Why him? I wanted to ask her. Out of every man on the planet she could have had a past with, it had to be Faadil.

Now here he was, in the middle of us, causing me to lose control and I knew that there was nothing I could do about it. It was only a matter of time.

I took a step inside, grinding my teeth, pulling the cooler bag along with me as I did, wondering why the day that had passed us seemed so far away.

“I’m so sorry,” Mohsina whispered again, close behind me now, and there was something in her voice that I never heard before.

Regret. Remorse.

Resolve.

“Say something, Hamzah,” she murmured, and i knew that there was nothing I could do to hold back that lion that had been unleashed within me a few seconds ago.

It was raging within, as I spun around in the middle of our living area and faced her tear-stained face.

“You saw him on the day of our Nikah?!”

My voice was cutting, and escalating with every syllable. I didn’t intend for it to be any other way.

Right then, all I could see in her was betrayal, and I hated it.

As she swallowed and looked up at me, the stupid necklace and note in her one hand as she stood there, almost as if she wasn’t sure what to say.

”Tell me the truth, dammit,” I breathed, edging closer to her, even though I felt repulsed by her.

I was overwhelmed by emotions. Frustration and anger and a whole lot more that I didn’t understand …

“Tell me,” I spat, bitterness creeping in as I watched her eyes avert and tear up again. “Was he your back-up plan?! Was he planning to whisk you away with promises of the best kind of life, with a glorious penthouse apartment and that damn Porsche that I could never give you?!”

She was shaking her head as I was speaking, tears falling freely as she did, her hand trembling as she raised it up to cup her mouth.

I’d never seen her cry like that. Actually, I’d never seen her cry before.

Period.

But it did nothing to me. I was unmoved. All I saw was my own pain.

Her greed. Her betrayal. The hurt that she caused. The suffering that our families and Zaid would have to endure because of everything that had happened.

”Tell me I’ve got it wrong,” I begged finally, my hands clenched in front of me, my voice dropping to a whisper as I watched her, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, eyelashes threaded with tears. “Tell me that he didn’t have anything to do with you. That he was just a guy who was aiming for more than he could get.”

The words hung in the air for three seconds before she dropped her hand, and opened her mouth to speak.

“We were proposed.”

My heart felt like it had dropped fifty feet as she said it. They were proposed?

I literally staggered backward, unable to focus on anything. Breathing was difficult, for those few seconds. I just could not process it.

Yes, I knew there was something, but not that she was going to marry him?! Him?

Red, hot anger rose within me as she came into focus, and I turned toward the bedroom.

”It wasn’t public knowledge,” she said louder, following behind me as I opened my cupboard to pull out a bag.

That hit me even harder.

It meant that it was going on behind the scenes, which was what Faadil lived for. It gave him the opportunity to do whatever else he pleased without getting slack for it. It gave him the chance to be the guy I knew he was all the time, to strategise most conveniently to his own advantage. He had known that we were proposed before that, and that was evidently his intention. He wanted to get back at me because he didn’t take his lousy job offer.

With Faadil, there was always an agenda. Love, for him, whether it existed or not, was never the agenda.

“I broke it off when I quit. I didn’t know he got that chain for me…”

”I don’t care about the damn chain!” I snapped, gaining my composure again as I watched her, and she realised what she had said. “You still saw him. You saw him and who knows what else happened. The day we made Nikah. Was I just some test? Did I mean nothing to you at all?!”

He had bought the chain for her? It was the one I had given her. The exact same, one carat chain that I had given her at our proposal. Almost as if he was trying to replace what we had.

That chain… the stupid material piece of metal… was a symbol of something we had. Whatever it was.

And she had ruined that. Or he had. Whatever.

Screw it. I didn’t care. I tossed half my drawers into an open suitcase and moved to another cupboard.

”Hamzah,” she said, her voice escalating as she watched me shove more clothes and cosmetics into the bag. “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving,” I said simply, pausing to look her in the eye. “Didn’t you want that all along? Weren’t you waiting for me to go?!”

“Not like this!” She whimpered, her eyes filled with tears, as she focused on me again, edging closer as I backed away. “Hamzah. You mean so much to me.”

My phone was ringing now. Imraan, signalling he was downstairs. I glared at it, and then glared back at her.

“I don’t understand,” Mohsina cried, blinking furiously as she watched me packing. “None of this makes sense. Yes, he came to see me, but I didn’t see him the way you think I did that day. There’s more to this. Hamzah, please. Just listen. I didn’t want you to know that he came because I didn’t think it mattered. You were the one who mattered. It was always you. Please don’t give up on us.”

I wanted to laugh. Ironic, wasn’t it? She was the one who wanted me to give up.

And now I did.

I shook my head at her, sending Imraan a message to say I would be down in five, heading to the bathroom to grab my shaving machine. There was no way I was staying there tonight. Or ever.

“Hamzah, this is all too convenient. The way this happened, after everything that we’ve conquered so far, you can’t let this ruin it. Listen to me. We have hope, right? Did you speak to Rabia recently? She knows Faadil and she-”

“Rabia has nothing to do with this!” I barked, sounding foreign, even to myself.

Mohsina shuddered as I said it, her expression actually a little fearful as she watched me move, as fast as I could, with whatever I could gather.

“And so you keep saying,” she said, glaring at me now, as I felt something shifting in the room. “You take her part every time, despite everything she’s done so far, and despite knowing that she hates me.”

”Stop making this about her,” I said evenly, not wanting to hear any of her excuses. “How she feels about you is irrelevant. You did something wrong. You messed up. And now you’re blaming her. And now, you want hope.”

Hope. She had the audacity to speak about hope now. After taking my heart and butchering it to pieces, she wanted hope.

”I know did something wrong,” she admitted, suddenly sounding desperate. Desperation was a foreign concept to her, and it didn’t suit her. “I’m so sorry, Hamzah. I’ll say it a thousand times if that’s what it takes. I’ll tell you everything. But Rabia… she keeps interfering in our marriage and if you just listen to-“

”What marriage?!” I retorted, not able to control my thoughts or words anymore, thinking of how Liyaket left me, and Layyanah left her, and all of this came almost as a done deal. “None of us even wanted this. It came by chance. We barely had time to breathe or mourn. Without even thinking about what I really wanted, I made this decision, hoping it would fix everything, and I never thought it could ever turn out like this.”

“Don’t, Hamzah,” she gasped, her face looking pained and her voice thin, as she grasped my arm. “Don’t say that. You know that’s not true. I wanted this. You can’t take back what you say.”

“I know,” I said with a sigh, realising that I may have gone too far but not bothering to retract a thing, as I shrugged her off. “And you can’t take back what you did. Leave. Me. Alone. I need to go.”

She stepped back, looking visibly stunned at my blunt words. She didn’t put up a fight, because she knew.

She had gone too far. I had said too much.
Hurt her the way she had hurt me.

Things were at a point where we were irreparable.

I didn’t even try looking back at her as I rolled my bag out the door, acceding to her request of having Zaid for the night, and letting her know in as few words as possible that I’d fetch him first thing in the morning.

I knew that I wanted him to be with me, now, more than ever,  and the fact that she had a court case pending and all her lies escalating, was enough leverage against her to win her submission before we even got to a custody battle.

She didn’t even argue when I told her I’ll keep him with us at my parents and she can visit when I’m at work. She didn’t even argue when I told her that she shouldn’t try fighting for custody. She didn’t even say a word, when I told her that we’ll have to speak through our lawyers.

I was broken, yet I couldn’t even feel it. All I could feel was numbness, creeping in, overtaking my every sense.

Still, the next few days were unbearable.

Zubair and Imraan had convinced me that signing the papers formally was enough for now. It would leave Mohsina unsettled and not knowing where she stood. I put my phone off for a few days, knowing that if I entertained her, my heart wouldn’t be able to handle it. I would find myself confused and angry. Upset and frustrated, all over again.

It took every ounce of me to drag myself to work every day, till the weekend.

Zaid was edgy and tearful without Mohsina during the evenings. I wanted to give in, to let her keep him, but the thought of her and Faadil made me sick and I couldn’t take my mind off what had happened when he saw her that day. I couldn’t even think what the situation would be if she was really involved in the fraud. 

If it wasn’t really anything, why would she even see him? And if she saw him then, who knew how many other times she may have seen him?

I couldn’t even process how messed up this situation was.

I wanted to bury myself in my bed for days like I did when our proposal broke off, but Zaid needed me. To put him through that killed me, and I hated Mohsina for what she was doing to him. The fact that she barely fought for him made it clear that she wasn’t concerned.

As long as I knew her, with Mohsina, I knew that I could never know what she was thinking or what went through her head. We avoided each other expertly. She came to see Zaid when I wasn’t there, and made sure I never had to clash with her.

It was two days later when Zubair told me that he confirmed something about Faadil that was a breakthrough. He had gotten enough evidence that Faadil had framed himself at Hammonds. Outed himself for the money that was being taken over the past year. Zubair’s uncle had also played a part in helping him. It was an anonymous tip-off that was traced back to him, and Zubair’s conclusion was that there was a greater reason he did it, and the only thing he could think of was because he wanted Mohsina back in his life.

And of course, that made me sway.

Imraan had gone back home, because Saaliha went to her mother, and I was left to my own delusions, trying to figure out what to do with the information Zubair had provided. Rabia, despite me thinking that she would have tons to say about the situation, said very little. I kept remembering the words Mohsina had said about her. I kept thinking that she would never say something that wasn’t true. But then again, she hadn’t told me she was going to marry an idiot, so I had no idea what else to think about, and no one to talk to about it.

My parents didn’t say much. I didn’t tell them about the chain. It would have hurt them to know that Mohsina’s ex-fiancé had done something to interfere. They were expecting a separation, and the fact that Zaid was now with us didn’t seem to be strange to them either. They accepted it as part of what Mohsina and I decided to ensure his safety and meddled very little in my life.

And so, with Imraan and Saaliha back home, Rabia and my parents tiptoeing around me, all I had was the Qur’ān for company.

And honestly, it was all I needed. When it seemed too much to bear, all I had to do was open the Qur’ān and feel the weight shedding away. And it helped, without me even realising it. It was the only thing that kept me from going completely insane.

And as I sat with Zaid one night, reading Qur’ān to him until he slept, my heart feeling lighter than it had in days, it was a few moments of peaceful relief when my entire life seemed so much clearer.

For the first time since the entire thing happened, I realised that even though things may not be perfect, I’ll be okay. That I could do this. I could picture us, as Zaid grew up, being a decent little guy. I could picture Zaid, with Liyaket’s body build and Layyanah’s eyes, looking up at me and actually admiring me for who I was. I could picture him, in the future, maybe even amicable with each other, not feeling like we had failed him as parents.

I held him tighter as we slept that night, placing his bottle next to us, for the first time since I left, he was calm and contented, as he slept in my arms.

I awoke at the early parts of the next morning, a buzzing next to me, as multiple messages came through. I had blocked Mohsina, but I knew that she wouldn’t message me anyway. She was in contact with my mother about Zaid and I preferred it that way.

I pulled my phone to me as I shifted, seeing Zubair’s name on the screen, and then imraans missed call too.

Zubair: Did you see it? The article

There was one more from a guy at work, who knew that I was married to Mohsina. The next message was from Imraan.

Boss. You signed just in time. Your name is nowhere there.

I opened the messages and finally found the link to the news article they were referring to, feeling my heart beating incessantly, because I knew that this would happen, sooner or later.

It was a business news article on a well-known site, but it spared no details. The article spoke about Faadil as the CFO, the accusations that were pinned against him and what Hammonds is doing to upscale the law suit. I read carefully, pausing at the part where Mohsina’s name appeared, taking a deep breath as I read it

… an ex-employee, who seemed to have a connection with the transactions, has been questioned. All allegations were denied. Further investigations prove that there may have been some foul play, and Hammonds is awaiting the trial to go to court before pressing further charges against her.

Crap. It was bad. For her.

Not as bad as it could be, but bad enough for people to do some digging and find out that her so called ex-husband was also an employee at Hammonds. For a few seconds, I felt my heart contract painfully, feeling genuinely horrified for everything she had to go through on her own.  I had tried not to think about feelings, but it was because of how deeply I felt for her, that I hated to see this happening.

I breathed out as I tapped a stirring Zaid off again, shifting off the bed, wondering if I should message her, just to see if she was okay.

I trashed the thought, remembering her betrayal, and moved toward the bathroom instead.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I glanced at it as I saw Imraans message.

Make Shukar. Allah saved you at the right time. Sawls and I are making duaa that it all comes together again. 

I scoffed and shook my head.

Imraan and Zubair were the only ones who knew about the chain, and yet they still both rooted for us. I didn’t want anyone else to know what pushed me over the edge.

And despite the conflicting feelings that I felt right then, despite the hurt and the confusion of the past week, despite everything that seemed so hopeless right then… the fact that I had been saved from something that could have tarnished my reputation too, was nothing short of a miracle.

Make shukar. Yes, I had lost something, but perhaps all that I lost was the only way I had been saved. He was right.

I just felt like the scum that I was sitting there, unscathed, when my wife was probably broken by the events that were happening in her life.

I made whudhu and sat on the musalla that night, until the light from the sky became visible, because the little relief I felt, was constantly tainted by a sense of loss. I missed Mohsina like a hole in my head.

It was something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel until that night. Whether she felt the same about me, was a wonder.

And I knew that there was probably so much going on in her life, that she barely had time to think of me, but I hated that it had come to this. I hated that there was no way we could be, that would appease us both. That I couldn’t even speak to her, to ask her how she was holding up. I hated that she wanted to cut me off as much as I wanted to cut her off. I hated that I hated her.

I had honestly thought that she’d be grovelling by now. In honesty, right then, it was I who felt like grovelling at her feet, but I knew that there was no way that I could, without remembering the pain that I’d felt just the week before. Without remembering that she wanted me out in the first place.

Besides, we were now the eye of the storm, when everything was hitting the fan in a most stinking way, and I knew that there was no better time to let this be than right now. The good and the bad were now blending into one experience that was drawing me to Allah, and that’s when clarity was never more stark than it was right then.

Suhayb ibn Sinān Ar-Rūmi (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam)said: “How wonderful the affair of the believer is! Indeed, all of his affairs are good for him. This is for no one but the believer. If something good happens to him, he is grateful to Allah, which is good for him. And if something bad happens to him, he has patience, which is good for him.”

I had somehow found that patience within me. I had always said that I needed something to fight for, something worthy. For me, I knew that Allah Ta’ala was showing me what that could be, through this very unconventional part of my life.

I had to keep fighting, to keep having a cause. To keep having hope. To keep being grateful. To be the best father and believer I could be. Ramadhaan was approaching, and with every day that passed, I could feel my heart aching for it.

All I had was the hope that I had to keep aspiring to be more than I was.

All was not yet lost, I realised, as I drove back from Fajr Salaah that morning, watching the contrasting colours of daybreak, ignoring the messages that were coming in from colleagues and people who knew Mohsina.

Mohsina. Seeing the sky once more only brought her to mind. The darkness had turned to light, and there was only one thing that I could think of, when I saw it.

Hope. Though it ached to think of it, I could still remember me telling her that hope was never a mistake. To return to hope after heartbreak, though… to the beginning… to the start line, was the ultimate act of courage.

Even after the storm, there is always a hope that calmness will reign once again.

Even though everything felt like it was falling apart, like the little light in the sky that peeped out and then spread its wings across the earth, even after the darkest of nights, time was going to heal it all.

---

Hope. SubhaanAllah.

I know it may not have been the ending we wanted before Ramadhaan but it definitely gives me a little hope. Hope that Allah is always looking out for us. Hope that He is saving us from sin. Hope that everything is always under His watchful gaze, and He would never break us without us needing to turn back to Him for fixing.

May we always turn to our Rabb, through every trial, in every circumstance, through every heartbreak… may it still bring us hope. 

May Allah grant us strength and resolution this Ramadhaan, to be the best Muslims we can be. I’m not sure if I’ll manage another post.. do you guys want one? It may just leave more unanswered questions so rather not.

Please remember this weak and sinful author in your precious Duaas.

Much Love Always,

Witg lots of sabr and shukar this Ramadhaan.

A x

 

Suhayb ibn Sinān Ar-Rūmi (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Prophet (may Allah’s peace and blessings be upon him)said: “How wonderful the affair of the believer is! Indeed, all of his affairs are good for him. This is for no one but the believer. If something good happens to him, he is grateful to Allah, which is good for him. And if something bad happens to him, he has patience, which is good for him.”

 

Sunnah of Duaa

Begin your dua first with praising Allah and then by sending peace and blessings upon His messenger ﷺ. Then, make dua for yourself, dunya and akhira, for close family and friends, and then the ummah at large. Finish your Duaa by again sending peace and blessings on the Prophet ﷺ and praising and thanking Allah.

The Prophet (ﷺ) said, “Du’a (supplication) is worship.”

In all situations, let’s bring in the Sunnah of Duaa every single day this Ramadhaan and after.

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

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

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Shattering Secrets

Bismihi Taala

Mohsina

Part 85

Leaving is hard. Losing is harder.

I once heard someone say that the very same worldly attribute that causes us pain is also what gives us relief: Nothing here lasts.

And while I found myself at war with my heart, I knew that I couldn’t give in, just because it said so. Just like the feeling of being hopelessly in love didn’t last, so too, the feeling of pain and agony also won’t last.

The thing is, we all make mistakes. Yes, we all  need to restart, sometimes over and over again, only to lose ourselves once again. Yes, there are days when we feel consumed by the world and it weighs heavy on our shoulders. There are times when we forget that this life is temporary and fleeting and insignificant in comparison to the next life. Yes, there are days when we feel so distant from Allah. Days when we don’t raise our hands to Him, days when we are ungrateful and thankless and days when we are an embarrassingly bad version of us, that even we can’t quite come to terms with…

But for all those times that we are heedless and complacent and broken by the world, by Allah, we are never forgotten, and Allah always has our back; in whatever means or form He provides.

For me…. there was Hamzah… who was my personal spiritual booster, who was trying his utmost to pull me out of the hole I had crept into and keep me floating.

And it was working. Somehow. It was working.

After Hamzah’s little stint, I couldn’t help but feel all my barriers collapse with no resolve. It was like his sincerity had crept right into the midst of my soul, but yet, when I agreed to his request, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being a little too hopeful that after all this, Hamzah would still want me back.

Though my stance was still neutral and distant, I had a feeling that brick by brick, the wall was coming down, and I didn’t even want to hold it up anymore.

The truth was, I loved this guy. I didn’t want to lose him, and when he dished out words that made me feel so much more, I couldn’t help but cave.

We drove in semi-silence after I had dissolved in his arms, and then quickly recovered, vowing to keep up the facade that I felt nothing for him anymore. The way Hamzah drove, as if he knew what exactly where he was going, made me a feel a little nervous. I didn’t want to get all flustered and overwhelmed by emotion again. I had calmed down, but Hamzah’s request to me still hung over my head like a cloud above my head.

His free hand rested in the middle of us, waiting for me to tangle my fingers with his in a silent truce. But I couldn’t do it.

I knew what he was silently saying. It was time to let this be. To love him unreservedly. To stop holding back just on the off-chance that everything was meant to be perfect.

And though I would never admit it, it felt like my heart had been shifted. I wasn’t even sure what had happened after being at Hamzah’s Madrassa but I knew that Qur’ān had amazing effects. I had once heard that Qur’ān is the cure to any problem and will do miracles to hearts. I honestly felt like my heart had undergone some kind of miracle. I felt like it had been deep cleansed and flushed out, and now all I saw was positivity and everything good that could be.

“Are you ready for our next stop?” Hamzah said quietly, his gaze not leaving the road as he spoke.

I avoided his eyes too as he pulled off the main road, onto a smaller road that took us another minute of driving, the blue skies even more glorious as we got closer to the coast.

The car served slightly to the right as the shoreline came into view, and catching sight of the deepest blue waters contrasting against the light blue of the sky, the beauty of it made me gasp in absolute wonder.

Now, I know that I hadn’t exactly been to Maldives yet, but I knew for sure that there weren’t many places in the world that had such amazingly blue waters. I watched in awe as Hamzah drive along the coastal route, amazed that there was such a stunning view from where we were. The sea seemed so vast and glorious as I watched it, waves crashing along with such ferocity that it made you wonder about the Creator of that kind of power. There was just something about having an ocean view that gave you a soothing within your soul.

The scene was a picture perfect kind. Mountains in the distance. Driving into the horizon, or breaking into the jaw-dropping sunsets. No visible limits to where the oceans ended.

I knew Hamzah had a special affinity to this place where the land met the seas, and this was where he found his base, got his focus and explored his true ambition.

My eyes were fixated on the beauty before me until we pullled off the road and Hamzah killed the engine, and I couldn’t help but feel myself flush under his intense gaze. While I watched the amazing view, Hamzah was gauging my reaction with a certain interest that made me shift under his scrutiny.

“Stop,” I said, shifting uncomfortably as I glanced at him again. “You’re making me nervous.”

He had this disturbing smile on his face, as if he knew was more than he let on, and how his stance remained so positive and unnerving was beyond me. I wished that I could somehow distract him, but before I could think of something, he had pushed open the door and stepped out into the openness, pulling off his kurta as he did so, almost as if he was getting ready for a swim.

I honestly wondered if he was going to take a dip in the waters, and while I was contemplating on whether to reprimand him for his crazy behaviour or not, before I knew it, the passenger door was open and Hamzah was next to me, with an expectant smile on his face.

”You don’t expect to sit in the car with such a beautiful view ahead of you, do you?”

Before I could even begin to argue, he had already extended his arm to lift me out the car, and I could feel my resolve weakening each moment as he did so. And I was already bought by this place that Hamzah loved. The salty air. The view of limitless beauty. The feel of the wind through my scarf was simply gorgeous.

I trudged forward as he pulled me along, not giving me any choice but to enjoy his proximity and the feeling of my hand in his as he edged me along silently.

Hamzah just had a way to snap me out of my stupor, and I knew that I had no chance when it came to him. I never quite admitted if before, but now, I understood how Allah Ta’ala compliments people through their other halves. For me, he was the type of personality who balanced all my inadequacies. While I lay low, Hamzah coaxed my inner adventurer. While I usually preferred isolation, Hamzah pushed me to interact. He was the icing on my cupcake. He brought out the best of me, and when I recalled Layy once saying that he filled in all my blanks, I now understood exactly what she meant.

Hamzah was like a uncontained proton. With him around, life just felt so… charged.

We paused as he stopped to pull off his shoes and socks, me hoping that he wouldn’t pull any drastic moves or throw me in, quickly acceding to his request for me to pull out my own shoes as I stepped onto the sandy part of the beach, enjoying the peace and quiet that existed there. It was very much deserted, but still a sight to behold, as we stood there, hands together, just taking in this moment as the splendour of sky meeting the seas spread before us. It was like it was lit up in some kind of brightly kindled fire as the day was coming to a close, and the sight literally took my breath away.

”Are you reading more Qur’ān for me?” I breathed, my voice hopeful as it cut through the air, and Hamzah turned to look at me.

Him reciting to me was something that made me ache for more. It had brought a sense of tranquility and clarity… a state of mind that I hadn’t had in way too long, but ached to attain once again. Not only had he recited, but the deep knowledge of the Qur’ān he had, about the verses where Allah tells us we will be tested, and our ability to be patient is something that is inherent. Somehow, Allah puts that patience in our hearts and enables us through understanding.

And We will surely test you with something of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth and lives and fruits, but give good tidings to the patient, (Surah 2:155)

It had given me an insight, and a small hope that was at the back of my mind, waiting to be rekindled.

”That’s for special occasions,” he murmured with a slight grin before pulling out a tasbeeh counter from his pocket and handing it to me.

“But when we say SubhanAllah, and that can sometimes feel like we are the kings of the world,” he continued with a one dimpled smile, while I took his counter.

It was one of those larger new ones, black with a pretty pattern, and I kept it in my forefinger as I took his advice and mouthed the words, praising Allah for everything He had so graciously blessed me with.

Just being there, knowing that Hamzah had faith in me… in us… gave me a most amazing sense of renewed hope… and reciting SubhaanAllah made me feel like I was touching base again.

Connecting with my surroundings. Acknowledging that all glory before me, from the bluest waters to the foamy seas, and everything that my eyes feasted on, was only due to the One who Created.

We had moved along to the edge of the seas now, stopping just before the colours of the sand got darker with moistureit, and I couldn’t help but halt to immediately plop myself down on the sand, digging my toes in, thinking about when the last time was that I had enjoyed sitting on the open beach like this.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly, his hand holding the top of my knee while he stopped my foot from wriggling. “You’re hiding your toes.”

I couldn’t help but feel my cheeks heat up, although I barely got frazzled, remembering the first time we had been at a beach together, and recalling how toe obsessed I was. For some reason, right then, the picture gamer, instagram obsessed version of me felt so far away.

It was all purely coincidental that we had ended up being each others company that morning, and even though we were wrong to be so freely mixing, it made me appreciate that we knew so much better now.

“Do you remember the time we were at a beach in the days of Jahelia?” His voice broke out, almost reading my thoughts as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket, and sat down next to me.

I grinned and nodded regretfully at his reference to those days when work took preference over everything and Liyaket and Layyanah were still in their romancing phase.

“Do you know how I loathed you?” I said with narrowed eyes, remembering how he used to annoy me about my social media apps.

“Ditto,” he said quietly with a wink. “But after that, something changed. And I felt like irritating you even more. Every day. Till forever.”

I shook my head at him. He was such a kid. Like the old boy likes girl and makes fun at her story.  He acted as if we were in primary school.

“I think I was in denial,” he said softly, and I looked at him with my eyebrows raised.

Ahem. What?

”But why,” I said, not understanding why he would even like the instagram obsessed @mostlymohsina who barely gave time of day to anyone else but her feed.

He grinned as I looked at him, his brown eyes avoiding mine as I wondered if he was going to backtrack on his words.

But no. Hamzah was going for the kill today.

“You were the only girl who had game,” he said with a shrug, as if it was obvious. “And you know why? Girls think that being open and approachable makes them a better catch. But you… Mos, you were hard on yourself in ways you didn’t know. Ways that made you stand out.  You didn’t give a crap about what anyone thought about your hijab. You didn’t entertain the guys or any of the mundane chit chat. Even on the trips… You were always careful about what you ate and how you behaved. You know what I was like. Liyaket would call me out for my ways all the time.”

I snorted, remembering how he was once in a disciplinary hearing for something that had happened with some office girl in the archives room.

I could see the embarrassment on his face as I almost laughed at the recollection.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said cheekily. “I know I was a rotter. And you were like one of those girls who were out of my league and unattainable… until I spoke to you and realised that maybe you were exactly what I needed to keep me grounded. And then, next I knew, there was Liyaket to tell me that he was certain that you were the right girl for me, and I knew I was a goner.”

I shook my head, thinking that hilarious because I had gone so haraami and off track afterwards with all my that he should probably take those words back. And it was so ironic because I felt that he was the one who had gone all Maulana-type and became out of reach for me.

Anyhoo, then the unmentioned stuff happened and we were both stuck in a space where none of us could understand what the other was even thinking…

If only we had known all the things that we hid so well from each other, because we felt too vulnerable to say, but I knew it didn’t matter now because Allah knew where our paths would take us, and I knew now for sure that there was a reason for this.

Even right now, everything that’s happened.. I knew that there was no way that I could deny that some goodness was going to come out of it. I just knew that I had to stick this out and hope that it would come through sooner rather than later.

But in the meantime, I couldn’t help but feel that hole in my gut as I looked at my husband, the mention of the past now bringing hope in his eyes, as I took a deep breath and turned my gaze away to the spectacular seas.

Today, they were steady and relaxed, and my heart immediately felt contented as I watched the ebb and flow of the tide, the sound of swishing waters soothing my soul beautifully.

But all this soothing was making me relax too much, when I shouldn’t be.

“What if you’re making a mistake,” I said to him suddenly, my mind on our conversation back at the madrassa, turning my face to watch his expression change, knowing that he was going to regret putting so much effort into this when it was already doomed to fail. “By having so much of faith in me. You’ve got way too much of hope. It’s not fair on you.”

“It’s not fair on either of us,” he said, his fingers twiddling with each other as I watched him, sitting with his knees up. “And it’s not silly or naive either. It’s because even in the darkness, I see that my Rabb is greater than everything else. Watching this… the sky and the earth holding hands on the horizon… well… doesn’t it fill you with hope?”

The sight ahead felt like stab of love, a blaze of color – oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples spread before us, almost like the blended colors of love. I was mesmerised for a second, not realising how quickly the sky had morphed into such glory, taking in every fiery red, bold orange and carnivorous yellow as we watched horizon spread out before us from the sea sand. As I did so, I couldn’t help but feel my soul lighten. My heart was opening in a way it hadn’t before. The sight of that, contrasting with the blissfully blue waters that calmed my soul, was what gifted me with something that I hadn’t realised was creeping up on me, and that’s when I understood what Hamzah had said.

Hope. We find it even in the most unexpected places, and I hadn’t felt it more than I felt it right then, and I wanted to take that moment and pocket it so I could keep it close to my heart forever.

I wanted to remember the moment that things had shifted.

I didn’t need to ask him why anymore. I knew why he had brought me here. It was the beauty of Allahs creation- scenic and gorgeous and I wished that we could stay there, in our happy bubble forever, although I knew that reality was only a road trip away.

And when he said it, I knew exactly what he meant.

“Hope, my love,” he whispered softly, his face next to mine as he spoke close to my ear. “Is never a mistake.”

My tummy flipped as he said it, making me wonder how he still did that to me, even after all this time and the fact that this was supposed to be some kind of farewell journey.

And it made my heart ache. This has been so hard. And I was spent. I had sobbed and cried, I had prayed and tried to come to terms with how I felt, but it felt like I was still where I began…. Still hurting. Still nursing the heart aches. Still trying to pull myself out of the hole of misery I had sunk into.

I was tired of fighting. Tired of having nothing to hold onto… and I couldn’t help but wonder… what if?

So what if I said I’ll come back to him? So what if I put my own fears aside, and let myself believe that this man wanted me more than all my flaws? So what if I gave in and stopped steeling my heart, so that to I could actually feel something for once? So what.

All this had done was reinforce to me that everything he meant was for real and I knew that sooner or later, I’d have no more excuses.

I sighed as he took my hand in his, and wordlessly, he looked up at me, and then at the skies, almost as if he was still awaiting that answer, and the sight before us was just what he needed to get it.

I didn’t want to read what was in his eyes as we got up and started walking back to the car, but his eyes held the message that I couldn’t deny.

If the sun and the sky can meet on the horizon, then so can we.

Of course we could. No matter how long it took. No matter how much was lost in between. At some stage, I would return to him and I know that I would still have as much love as I had for him right then.

”I’ll come back to you,” I said softly, after a few steps, my voice barely audible as I said it, feeling as if my heart would burst from the emotion it brought.

I could already feel the shift in the air as he processed it, and without even a seconds warning, strong arms literally lifted me off the ground and twirled me around, and the only thing I could do was hold onto Hamzah and giggle as his head nuzzled against my neck and he put me down, his breathing emphatic from all that weight lifting he had done a few seconds before.

“I love you, Mos,” he said into my ear, his voice sounding like he couldn’t quite believe what I’d just told him, assuring me that whatever was in store, it will always be me. And just like that, every barrier was broken down as we walked, hand in hand to the car, feeling emotionally exhausted with everything that had happened that day.

Salaah was glorious, under the open skies, with the sound of crashing waves, and I revelled in the feeling before crawling back into the car and smiling sleepily at Hamzah as he started his car.

I knew that I had plenty of messages, from Sawleha and Maahira in particular, but I barely had a chance to catch up with them before my eyelids felt heavy, and with the soothing feel of the car and of everything between us finally settled, sleep overcame me sooner than I thought.

We knew that we would reach late but I was still hoping that we would make it back home to fetch Zaid for the night.

And I barely expected to be so tired, to fall into such a deep sleep, but the next thing I knew,  Hamzah was stroking my arm lightly in an effort to wake me as we entered our apartment block. I felt drained. Almost as if I had been out hiking the entire day, when in actuality, we’d done no real physical activity. I yawned as I looked at my husband, concentrating as he reversed into his parking; remembering that we hadn’t fetched Zaid.

“Where’s my baby?” I asked softly, stifling another yawn.

”Imraan said he will bring him,” he said, switching off the car power. “I think he’s giving Saaliha a hard time to sleep and she wasn’t feeling too great either?”

I sat up, suddenly wide awake.

“What happened?” I asked, already concerned for her wellbeing. “Is she okay?”

Hamzah lifted a shoulder up noncommittally.

“Don’t know,” he said, but I didn’t miss the flicker of concern in his eyes. “He didn’t say. But he’s already left.”

I nodded and opened the car door, stepping out tentatively as I grabbed my bag and the stuff Hamzah had packed to keep us nourished. I was actually starving, and I wondered if I had enough cheese in the fridge to whip up a cheese and tomato sandwich. I usually didn’t enjoy tomatoes in cheese but for some reason, I was completely bought today.

Hamzah had already got into the lift, and I stood next to him as he smiled at me, enjoying the calmness of that moment, where we both understood what it was that we needed to do from here. Even though things may not be perfect, the understanding that we had was something that I knew was only possible because of Hamzah’s insistence to spend this day together.

I couldn’t help but think of how lucky I was to have him, rooting for us the way he did. We had already reached our floor, and as he gestured for me to walk, I fell into step with him as we went toward our home together, talking softly as we passed the neighbours flat, enjoying the ease that we could deal with each other right then.

And I wished I hadn’t done what I did. I wished I hadn’t stopped so that he could walk with me. I wished that I’d gone first, so that when I reached the end of the passage where our door was, I would have been the one to see the box that sat on our step, so I could take it and keep it away, as far as I ever could. I wished that I had been the one to open it and scrutinise its contents before it came to rock our world.

But of course, it didn’t happen that way.

“Hey,” Hamzah smiled, a comical expression on his face as he spotted it. “Someone left us a gift. Bit late for housewarming though.”

My eyes zoned onto the parcel, realising that it was a gift of some sort, but not quite processing the name of the shop that was on the bag. Some jewellery shop in Sandton. People get fancy sometimes.

“Oh,” I said half-heartedly, watching him put down the cooler bag he had with him and picking up the packet. “That’s nice of them.”

It took a few seconds before he opened the packet and took out a box, and I couldn’t help but feel an icky sensation creep over me as I realised that it looked nothing like how a housewarming gift should look. I was a small, long box, with a ribbon around it, and as he pulled it out, and opened it, a little note stuck out of it, that he promptly caught just before his eyes widened at the contents of the actual box.

It took him a few seconds before there was any reaction. It felt like time was frozen for a few seconds as I watched him switch gazes from the now opened note, to the contents of the box, and as I realised exactly what was in the box, my heart did this thing where it felt like it was going to shatter into millions of tiny pieces, just glimpsing the haunted expression on his face.

It was the necklace. The eternal flame necklace, with its one carat diamond, in all its loathsome glory, staring up at me in traitorous glee as I gathered the wits to look up at him once again.

His enraged expression was all it took for me to notice the note still in his hand, and immediately, as I took it from him and read it, I knew that there was something disturbingly coincidental about the way this had all panned out, right then.

I also knew that this was something that I would need an immense amount of intervention to fix, if I ever could.

Hot tears welled up in my eyes as I read it, once again, knowing that there was no way I could ever explain my way out of this one.

I meant to return this to you when I saw you the day of your wedding. It will always belong with you. 

Faadil 

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

Especially as these blessed months dawn upon us, we make extra effort to think good of others and make excuses for them. It’s easier said than done but we make Duaa that in this way, people will also think well of us.

Nabi Muhammad (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said, “Beware of suspicion, for suspicion is the worst of false tales; and do not look for the others’ faults and do not spy, and do not be jealous of one another, and do not desert (cut your relation with) one another, and do not hate one another; and O Allah’s worshipers! Be brothers (as Allah has ordered you!”) (Bukhari)

To put it briefly, having good opinion of people implies:

• Thinking positive of others
• Avoiding suspicion and wrong assumptions of others
• Giving others the benefit of the doubt

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

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

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

The Not so Little Things

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 84

Life is so uncertain.

If nothing else, it was one amazing lesson that I learnt from Zubair… the days when everything felt so new and amazing and I couldn’t imagine how I was so blessed to finally be there with him, that he wouldn’t miss a single chance to show me everything that he needed to, when it came to how he felt for me.

One thing I learnt during those days was that to keep going strong, didn’t always mean big, grand gestures that shifted the world. Girls get carried away by diamonds and perfumes and all the expensive stuff that are meant to prove love, but Zubair showed me that sometimes there was more truth in small, consistent things that made the world of a difference.

Little things like 5am sunrises and 7pm sunsets where you’ll be blown away by. Little things like Sunday morning motor-bike rides and on-a-whim road trips, and the feeling of wind in your open hair. Little things like the high you get off making someone else feel good, and for being the kind of people who make others realise that maybe the world is not such a harsh and cruel place after all…

It was always a tough call to make, but whether it’s a small act of kindness that was shown, or a little deed that is done that may just make your Jannah… living for the little things sometimes will make you realise that its those small things that make you feel alive…

There were tiny, beautiful gestures that he always made a habit. From the Tahajjud wakings, to the breakfasts in bed, and the post it notes that had the most amazing inspiration, Zubair’s character shone through in even through the not so little things he did.

And while I wished that I had a longer honeymoon period where I could just enjoy it and be with him unreservedly, soaking him in, but I knew that reality would intervene sooner than I thought, and his busy life would take over.

And although real life was quick to come into play, what helped was that in between, there were always the moments of fairy-tale like bliss and the cutest Fajr time conversations that made me feel like I was living a Muslim couple goals blog.

It was the little things like that that made me feel like I really was living a world where every problem that existed was so far away from us. When I lay next to him, in the dead of the night, while he would whisper to me incidents of his past, and sweet nothings as I curled up in his arms, it felt as if no one could ever touch us.

I didn’t know that life had a sneaky way of surprising us when we least expected it.

Just when I thought that things would be blissful forever, the next morning; his bed was already half empty, and instead, was the cutest little post it that was stuck on the lamp shade next to our bed, with a perfect sunflower right next to it.

I had no idea where he had found a fresh sunflower right then but reading the note made my heart bloom in more ways than the beautiful flower that was in front of me.

The past is the past. You and I are the future. Sometimes we find happiness in the most unassuming places. So grateful for you and everything you do for me. Alhumdulillah – Z 

My heart was already beating crazily as I read it, remembering the conversation we had the night before about his life and how he didn’t expect to get to where he was right then. Though we spent any free moment he had getting to know about each other, me pushing him to tell me about his childhood, his ambitions and everything I didn’t know, it didn’t ease the pain I felt when I heard it.

His life story was long and tragic and just thinking about it made me feel all sorts of emotional for the little boy that was once so lost. Every trial he faced, every time he felt hurt or rejected, and every little encounter that made him feel less than he was, was designed to build him into a better and stronger person. But it didn’t make it any less pitiful.

It explained why he didn’t always share what he did, or give more of himself. He was secretive to the point of exhaustion, and even thought I desperately wanted to know what he was doing for Hamzah, I knew he would never tell me, which made me resort to sneaky methods of finding out.

That day, Zubair had already left for his early morning routine in the gym Papa had once used at the end of the barn, and I knew that this meant that this was Zubair trying to say that it was time for him to get back to his usual routine, because he was a man who thrived in a disciplined kind of lifestyle.

But the little things still remained, as even in terms of my ibaadat, as I started my day with the Qur’ān that I had brought from home because the one Zubair owned was the one that he took everywhere with him. I had learnt that the reason he did that his reason for this was because whenever there came a time that he needed an answer, all he had to do was open the Qur’ān and all answers would come to him without even having to ask.  All we had to do was trust our Rabb and everything would sort itself out.

And though I missed Zubair already, I ignored the lovesick puppy vibes and dove into my recitation because I knew that whatever trials today would hold could only be solved through that. All success was from Allah. Through the little time we dedicated to Allahs worship during the mornings, we always make intention that it will build the foundation for a successful day.

And that’s what I was psyching myself up for today.

As I peeped in to the coffee shop, watching him see to customers, I couldn’t resist popping in between to offer him little spurts of affection in intermittent doses, despite his protests that I was distracting him.

My heart had been irrevocably stolen by the stories of who he was once… a young boy who lost his mother far too young, and grew up far too jaded than I’d like to think. I wanted to save him, to win him over, and to fix all those broken pieces of him that he couldn’t seem to fit back together himself. But first, I just wanted my sisters marriage to be okay, as much as Zubair himself wanted it.

That said, there were two things that I learnt about Zubair that I knew were most important for the current situation:

One. Zubair was trying every thing he could to save my sisters marriage.

Two. Zubair had painful secrets from the past that he hid excessively well.

What I learnt about myself was that I would stop at nothing to find out every one of those secrets that weighed him down, only so that I could shift the weight off those shoulders off his once and for all.

I had loitered around the coffee shop for most of the day, technically on my day off, but not able to stay away because of who was on duty.

Yes. I was officially obsessed.

Plus, those little love post-it’s were kind of making me swoon every time I caught a glimpse of them.

My mind was also consumed by everything I knew and even what I didn’t yet know, yet the urge to do something about it all was overwhelming me. I wanted Zubair to so badly make up with his father. It was something that I recognised as a deep desire in his heart, but there was something else that I recognised about them. They were both but from the same cloth, and that meant that neither of them was going to make the first move when it came to making up. His father seemed like he was a decent man who had just been scarred by the past. I refused to believe that he wanted nothing to do with his son.

What irked me more was that when I told Zubair that I wanted him to work things out, he had pinched my cheeks and told me that I was too cute for words. And I wanted to hit him.

Zubair was only three years older than I but he acted as if I was a little child. I would show him that I wasn’t. I would show him that I wasn’t a little girl with idealistic ideas and rose tinted glasses. That somehow, those dreams I had and idealistic thoughts would somehow materialise.

Most of all, I wanted Zubair to be the one who would benefit from it. He was the one who ultimately needed the saving. How do I help him, without actually interfering in his life?

I had retreated to the entrance of the kitchen later that morning, bored and needing to see my parents as a distraction. I sat for a few minutes at the back of the garden, under my favourite jacaranda tree, watching the stillness in the distance as the birds teetered around me, digesting everything before I entered the house again. It was weird to stay on the same property as my parents but Papa loved that I was there. Although Zubair had said that he wanted to give me my own house at some stage, he was worried about safety, and there was nowhere else that he felt safer right then.

A single flick of my scarf had loosened a sticky note that was probably stuck on me, and I couldn’t help but smile as I saw it.

You are my favourite place to be. – Z

Swoon.

I blushed and peeled it off to stick it at the back of my phone, catching the arrival of a new message a few minutes ago, hoping it would be my sister who didn’t reply to me from yesterday, but seeing Maahira’s name instead.

I instantly opened the message because it had been that long since I heard from her, and I really had missed her since I came from London. We’d barely chatted.

Maahira: Jamz. R u done swooning over your new man? Are the pyjamas stil in one piece? *winking emoji*
Where is my friend? I have some big news 2share.

I typed back a quick reply.

Stop. You’re making me blush. Mos is awol. I’m hoping her husband romanced her into oblivion. Tell me instead.

I knew it wasn’t fair but Maahira was making me curious and I really wanted to know her big news.

Maahira: Der have been some developments in the Samoosa run dept. I wanted her opinion.

Me: What about my opinion?

I waited a few seconds for Maahira’s reply.

We love you, Jameela, but you’re way too sweet and unassuming 2 handle this kind of drama.

Should I have been offended? This sweet and innocent perception of me was actually starting to get to me. Literally everyone …. And that means from my parents, to Mos and even Zubair, felt this insane and unfair need to shelter me from the world. It was as if they didn’t believe that I could handle reality.

My phone buzzed again.

Maahira: Let me know when you chat 2 her.  N tel her 2 stop ignoring her social media apps. I hav a feelin that Hamzah’s non-existence is rubbing off onto her. She hasn’t been online since yest.

Hamzah hated social media, and everyone knew that. And also, I was beginning to hate everyone treating me like a child.

I typed back quickly. Although she had literally called me an inexperienced infant, I needed to desperately confide in someone. I didn’t have many friends that I could speak to about this, and Mohsina was completely ignoring her phone.

Me: Wait, don’t go.

I typed quickly before she could ignore me. There was so much on my mind and there was no one better to ask right now but Maahi. It was a moment of truth.

I need to ask you about something important. I heard Zubair talking to Faadil on the phone. I wanted to know something.

Maahira’s reply took a while.

Maahira: Mhm. Can’t say I kno awl the answers..

But she may know this one.

Me: I just wanted to know who broke it off between him and Mos. He seemed to think that he was the one who didn’t want it anymore. But I remember otherwise when he came back for her. I feel he’s covering something up and Zubair is telling me nothing so I can’t even clear it up. 

Somehow, after knowing that Zubair was onto Faadil, I got this strange feeling that it was really important that I knew the truth. The fear that Faadil was actually sabotaging her relationship, with the help of who-knows-what-else, was haunting me.

Maahira’s reply took a while to come, but when it did, it was a lot to digest.

All I remember was Mos waiting for him at the apartment da one night after he met up with some woman (don’t ask, you’re too young for this talk and it was awkward asl to bring it up with her), and the next morning, she was at da hospital when Layyanah passed away, and she never mentioned him after. If I know Mos, I assumed she would have told the tiger on the prowl to take a hike coz she had too much else on her mind than to worry about him gettin what he wanted elsewhere. The next thing, her and Hamzah were fighting over who would be da better parent to Zaidoo n the rest is history.

I smiled at the last part, ignoring the wrenching in my gut at the mention of Faadil’s constant infidelity. Haraam always comes back to bite you in the behind, and I made a silent Duaa thanking Allah Ta’ala that I hadn’t went with my nafs and got to know Zubair before Nikah. The fact that everything was halaal and untainted was something that brought me immense comfort. I could not imagine the torment that Hamzah and Mohsina sometimes went through. Yes, they had both been wrong and been involved in haraam, but they made it right and I just hoped that they didn’t have to pay for it.

Even though it was history, from what I heard overheard Zubair say on the phone, it seemed like it wasn’t history to Faadil. He seemed to think that it was still unfinished business that desperately needed digging up.

I got up and typed in a quick reply to Maahira, thanking her for telling me and knowing that I would have to dig up more from Zubair if I wanted to help. I just wished that he trusted me more to let me in on everything that he was doing.

I slowly ventured into the house as I tucked my phone in my pocket, feeling a little out of sorts as I thought about everything Maahira had said. Hamzah and Mohsina were perfect for each other. Everything had proven that, and now that Mohsina had changed so much, I knew that if things were to go back to her being alone, she would become that distant and unreachable career woman once again.

Pushing the kitchen door open, I had to blink again before I noticed Nani sitting on the chair in the middle of the kitchen, silently getting on with her task.

“Oh,” Nani said as she heard my greeting, her voice slightly strained as she looked up at me with a toss of her dupatta and she studied me way too briefly for my liking, walking into the kitchen with loose sweat pants and a tee. “So you decide to make appearance now. After two days, it’s like we don’t know who you are anymore.”

I rolled my eyes to myself as I came around to greet her. It was technically one full day. But if Nani saw me with my eyeballs halfway into my head, I would have never heard the end of it.

I peeped over her shoulder as I went to switch the kettle on, watching her rolling something, her fingers folding some new type of Samoosa. Now that the wedding was over, Nani had immediately gone back into Ramadhaan mode and the preparations put a sweet sense of tranquility in the air.

I loved this time of the year, that held so much of hope and opportunity. When the hearts would be cured from worldly obsessions, and the starving souls would be nourished once again.

Ramadhaan was coming and I could feel the sweetness seeping into the pores of my skin, hoping that my body would take the message and start sowing the seeds for the new month that was to come. I had to rid myself of all evil thoughts and throw myself into the parts where I prepared myself for nights of ibaadat and days of soul-cleansing. I could feel the illness in my heart that needed to be cured.  I was deeply in need of reformation and I could barely wait for the effect penetrate. I knew that I had to start somehow, and I made intention to start sowing now, so that I could reap the fruits in Ramadhaan.

Trying to shove away all putrid thoughts was step number one and as I tried my best to stop judging Nani’s obsession with savouries, and start to focus on myself. In fact, I was becoming so good at focusing on my own faults for those few minutes, as I rounded the corner of the kitchen isle, that I didn’t even notice how quiet the house was right then.

I hadn’t spoke to my parents from the previous evening and I had been pretty much absorbed in the dramas that Zubair had uncovered about Mohsina and Hamzah’s marriage. It was all still on my mind, that I barely even noticed Nani’s eyes looking slightly puffy and red, as she dabbed it with a tissue.

It took me a few minutes to actually process what was going on, as I watched her, eyes squinted, still not able to fully comprehend the situation. Whatever I thought I was seeing was a very rare occurrence, and were it not for the obvious signs, I would have probably thought I was seeing things, but very clearly noting that Nani was emotional, was an absolute shock to me.

Nani didn’t usually get emotional. Ever. Yes, she did have tantrums and get upset when we didn’t listen to her. She sometimes even manipulated us into doing things we never really wanted to do. But for her to actually express an emotion that spelt some kind of grief, was extremely rare. To see it, in the flesh, was something that literally sent a shiver down my spine.

What on earth was going on?

I had missed out something major while I was busy honeymooning with Zubair, and for the first time, I actually regretted being so obsessed with my roguishly handsome husband.

Perhaps if I’d paid a little attention other members in the household, I would have known exactly what was going on. I looked at Nani, questions swimming in my eyes as she refused to meet my eye, understanding that there was probably a deeper reason for Ma and Papa being absent this morning.

“Nani,” I said, my voice shaky as I watched her almost robotically folding the square Samoosa, her gestures stunted and almost involuntary. I hadn’t noticed when I first entered, but now it was clear as day.

She sniffed and looked up at me, and I could tell without a doubt, that something major had happened.

“Nani, what’s happened?!” I asked, my voice almost frantic as I turned her shoulders to me, desperate for an answer. “Is everything okay? Where’s Papa?!”

Obviously, my first thought went to Papa, because there really was no other reason that could have evoked such a reaction.

”Papa is gone to Mohsina,” she said, her voice steady but feeling like a knife slicing through the air as she said my sister’s name. “To try and talk to her to change Hamzah’s mind.”

The puzzle pieces were slowly fitting into place.

Oh no. They knew about Hamzah and Mohsina. This explained it. It was all falling into place until I remembered what Nani had just said. As far as I knew, Hamzah wasn’t the one who wanted to leave. Why would they change his mind?

“To change Hamzah’s mind?!” I asked, looking at her in confusion. I understood the anger but Nani was just a little bit too bitter for me to digest. “Shouldn’t he be telling Mohsina to reconsider?”

Nani glared at me as I said it, shaking her head and clenching her fist as she said her next words.

”Hamzah was just here,” she whimpered in despair. “He came to greet me, and your parents. For good. He’s taking Zaid to his parents. Too much has happened, Jameela. It’s all Mohsina’s fault. I don’t know why Allah is punishing me like this…”

She broke down as she said it, and my heart contracted painfully as I watched her, holding my Nani as she wept into my shoulder, not even knowing what to say as I glimpsed a shadow at the back door.

“It’s just a test, Nani,” I said softly, not able to control the tears running down my own cheeks. “It’s only a test, and we’ll get through this. It will all be okay…”

Doesnt Allah say that He will test us? Are not all our luxuries just favours Allah has given us out of His mercy?

Indeed, He says that He will test us. With every single thing we own.

And certainly, We shall test you with something of fear, hunger, loss of wealth, lives and fruits, but give glad tidings to As-Sabirun (the patient).

Who, when afflicted with calamity, say: “Truly! To Allah we belong and truly, to Him we shall return.”

They are those on whom are the Salawat (i.e. who are blessed and will be forgiven) from their Lord, and (they are those who) receive His Mercy, and it is they who are the guided ones.”

(Quran, Surah al-Baqarah, 2:155-157)

“Make Sabr, Nani,” I whispered, trying to coax myself at the same time, not knowing if I could hold it together much longer. Hoping that this was just a little speedbump that would be sorted out when I spoke to Mohsina.

My own voice was shaky and uncertain as Zubair’s face rounded the corner right then, and it shocked me that I already knew him so well just by seeing his expression.

From by the slight slumping of his shoulders, I could already see the defeatist attitude that had overcome him, and that wasn’t something that Zubair often wore. I wasn’t sure how I had missed him, but it was as if the visit of Hamzah had brought so much more than he had ever imagined, and not in a positive way.

I breathed in as I consoled Nani, hoping that my parents could work some miracles, but knowing from the look in my husband’s eyes as he approached us, that this was a dead loss.

“Zubair, tell me it’s not true,” I murmured, swallowing back the emotion that was threatening to overcome me as I let go of Nani, reaching out to grasp his hand. “Tell me that Hamzah hasn’t changed his mind about saving their marriage.”

Zubair merely shook his head, avoiding my gaze as his browner iris lightened as he looked up at Nani’s emotional state, knowing that this wasn’t such a littel thing after all.

“I’m so sorry, Jameela,” he said softly. “I tried to do everything I can, but Hamzah already made up his mind. Something else came up last night.  He’s already signed the papers.”

---

Dearest Readers

My sincerest apologies about the delayed post. I could just not stay awake last night.

My deepest appreciation for all the readers who love this blog and await the posts and my only hope is that we all go home with the lessons that we learn and try and implement them. Please keep this weak author in your Duaas.

Much Love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

Especially as these blessed months dawn upon us, we make extra effort to think good of others and make excuses for them. It’s easier said than done but we make Duaa that in this way, people will also think well of us.

Nabi Muhammad (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said, “Beware of suspicion, for suspicion is the worst of false tales; and do not look for the others’ faults and do not spy, and do not be jealous of one another, and do not desert (cut your relation with) one another, and do not hate one another; and O Allah’s worshipers! Be brothers (as Allah has ordered you!”) (Bukhari)

To put it briefly, having good opinion of people implies:

• Thinking positive of others
• Avoiding suspicion and wrong assumptions of others
• Giving others the benefit of the doubt

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

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

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

When we Break the Rules

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 83

Buzz.

What are you guys up to today?

It was a message from Jameela and I couldn’t help but smile, despite my caffeine deprivation, as I thought of how happy she was yesterday. If I could describe it in words, I’d say that she was over the moon, topsy turvy, do-cartwheels-in-the-rain kinda ecstatic.

And me.

Up way too early for my liking. You? 

I typed in a reply quickly, not wanting to go into details of how Hamzah literally dragged me out of bed, forced me to dress in a presentable outdoor dress with a floral sheila, and had all Zaid’s bags already packed with a painfully victorious expression on his face.

“Is that a smile I see?” his smooth voice said as he sneaked a look at me from the drivers seat. “Seems like someone’s cheered up already. Can we head straight to our destination then?”

The service station was still a few minutes away and I couldn’t understand how Hamzah could be so alive at this part of the morning, with so little sleep.

Going out early the day after my sisters wedding was the worst idea he ever had. Sometimes I wondered if he did these things specifically to torture me.

”Please no,” I groaned, adjusting my expression and slipping my sunglasses further up my nose as I put my phone on my lap. “I need coffee. Like, stat.”

He grinned as I turned my face back to my phone, and it buzzed again.

”Well actually, maybe we can,” I said, rethinking and wondering what I could score out of this. “If you think that you can let me in on where we’re actually going…”

”No ways,” he cut off, taking the turn for the service station. “You’re not spoiling this for me with your unadventurous vibes. Today is all about adventure, and that’s a threat.”

”Ohmahgosh,” I sighed hopelessly.

He would be the end of me, the way he was carrying on. I was doomed to die of coffee deprivation in some bundu-bashing destination while wild animals scavenged on my dead body.

Hamzah ignored my sulky face, already popping into the garage while I watched him order my fave coffee drink through the glass, the PSL, not because I particularly liked it but because it was also trending, and it reminded me of why I loved this man to the point of wanting to suffocate him.

But of course, I didn’t.

I opted for a tiny smile instead while he handed me the disposable coffee cup and watched me sip my coffee almost like my life depended on it.

Buzz.

Two unread messages.

I’m staring at my husband while he sleeps like an angel. I love being obsessed.

Barf.

You guys going far? 

You’d think that her teenage hormones would calm the hell down once she was married, but reality had proven that Jameela was beyond saving.

It was literally nauseating to have to read all her messages this early, but I didn’t want to be a grump and tell her to zip it so I could keep lasts night’s food within the parameters of my stomach.

I glanced at Hamzah, who gave me a sideways smile as he glimpsed Jameela’s name on my phone, and I typed again.

My tummy was feeling in some weird kind of knots and I assumed it was because I hadn’t really eaten a thing from the morning.

I hope not because I’m hangry asl and wondering what on earth my husband is up to. We may be out of range, so if you can’t contact me, don’t panic. Okay, maybe panic. If I come back in a body bag, rem you’re my fav sister. Love you (more than Zubair ever will!) *smiley with the hugest teeth*

I might as well cover all my bases here. Before she got any weird ideas of falling head over heels in love, she needed to remember that I came first. Even though I didn’t know what my own future held right then, I was still irreplaceable.

And despite my confusion about said future, I had to give it to my husband. He had me on the edge of my seat, desperately trying to guess his next move. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him.

I just didn’t trust my traitor heart to stay strong against his attempts.

We drove in silence for a while, with me trying my hardest to guess where Hamza was taking me, and him shutting me down every time I gave him a stupid option. It was a game of back and forth that we were playing, never treading any deeper than the simple, mundane things that we thought were safest to speak of, without breaking any of the unsaid rules.

And knowing Hamzah and his nature obsessions, I’d assumed it would be some spectacular spot which overwhelmed your senses with the beauty of seeing the outdoors au naturel. I kept firing ideas of hiking and camping spots to him, and after a few minutes, I assumed that he was taking me to his childhood home, until he drove right past the off-ramp that went to it.  I racked my brains to figure it out just as he took another one, and finally pulled up in front of a semi-large face brick house.

And then, I was baffled. I had nothing. No guesses to what Hamza had up his sleeve, but my danger radar told me he definitely had something… something big enough that I forced myself to take a moment and steel my heart to bear the emotional onslaught today was sure to bring.

I stepped out of the car when he did, already missing Zaid, and trying to tune out reality.

How would I bear it when we had to split him between us?
I shut the thought down.

Not today, Mos, I told myself. Today was for blissful ignorance concerning the future.

Today was just for now. Today was a break from all the damage control that I’d been losing my mind doing… a break from thinking way too much.

I trailed behind Hamza, whose impassive face gave away zero clues…. until he approached the locked gate and pulled out a set of keys from his kurta pocket. With a heart racing so fast, I feared a mini heart attack. I frantically considered the possibilities in my head.

Did my nutcase, think-with-his-heart husband buy a house in the hopes that it will dissuade me from going through with the divorce?

“Hamzah!” I said sharply, the panicked edge in my voice clearly evident.

He touch his index fingers to my lips.

”Ssshh. Rules. Number 1. No screeching.”

His eyes twinkled mischievously as he said it, and I automatically scowled as he beckoned for me to follow him. I stared ahead at him in his white kurta, taking in his handsome form as he stepped through the doorway, letting my eyes slowly adjust to the lighting in the room beyond where he stood.

Even my wildest imagination couldn’t prepare me for where he’d brought me. I looked around incredulously, taking in the big empty room, the dark blue carpetting, the little wudhu khana in the corner with three sinks and the stacks of plastic desks on the right side corner…

I was thrown. Completely. I raised my eyes hesitantly to his, to see my husband watching me with an intense look on his face, almost as if he were soaking in every part of my reaction.

When he smiled crookedly and spoke, I was already turned to mush.

“Stop number one. Welcome to my Hifdh Madrassah, Mos. Where getting the stick meant that we couldn’t sit for days.”

He grinned and my heart almost burst with how childlike he looked in that moment. I wanted to twist his ear and hug him all at once, and for once in my life I just stood there, all uncertain and confused, wondering what next to do.

My word.

My heart was beating at a million beats per second. Knowing the Qur’ān had played such a beautiful role in bringing us together, and how much it had meant to us, I knew that Hamzah had planned this with that very intention in mind. He hoped for it to bind us together once again. Forgetting anger for that moment, I was just in awe that he was giving me a glimpse of his past, even with everything that was going down between us, he had that much of faith in me to let me into this part of his world.

“This place is creepy without the crescendo of 100 voices mixing over one another,” he mused, moving further into the room, as I imagined the memories he had of this place.

Constant recital. Maulana screaming. Boys fighting. Jokes flying. It must have had its own atmosphere… and I’m sure it still did.

Everything looked neat and tidy, almost as if it was just ready for the students to come in and start their work once again.

I followed behind him cautiously, watching the back of his head, unable to predict in what direction today was headed… Until I found a desk in front of me, and Hamza holding out to me the pocket Qurʾān he normally kept in the car to do his dhor.

I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

”What are we doing?”

”Here?” He asked with a cock of his head, gesturing for me to sit. “Or generally?”

“What are we doing here?”

I didn’t want to talk about what we were doing generally. I had no answers, and I was scared about what his would be.

“Simple,” he murmured, lowering his legs into a sitting position and placing his hands on his lap. “When in a hifdh class, do as the hifdh students do. Test me, Mos?”

The last part of his request came out tentatively as he locked eyes with mine, and I didn’t blame him.

Be still my beating heart. Be still.

And of course it didn’t listen. I’d heard my husband recite before, especially before he would make Zaid sleep, in his strong but soothing voice. I’d basked in it whenever he did, and although he had tested me tons of times before… he had never requested me to test him.

And I wanted to refuse. To say it was against the rules to swindle my heart this way. To say I wasn’t worthy of this honour, because I knew there was no other word for it, but before I knew it, the silent room wasn’t silent anymore, and there I sat, not knowing anything… not knowing what this full, but unnerving feeling in my heart was, not knowing what to make of the contented expression on his face as Hamzah recited… not knowing what the heck I was doing with my life and how I would survive this separation, even though, up until now, in front of him, I had managed to keep up the pretence that it didn’t bother me too much.

His voice carried throughout the room as he read, and  despite my confused heart, it was as though nothing else beside him and I existed in this time and space, where absolute tranquility seemed to surround us.

And before I knew it, tears etched my eyes and overwhelming emotions had consumed me. I was battling with myself to try and stop overthinking and just appreciate this moment, because this moment, right then, would probably be the first and the last time I’d get to test my husband his dhor.

This moment, right then, when it felt like all those barriers were falling away… was everything.

Then, all of a sudden, his intensely deep voice stopped as he got up and edged closer to me and whispered, “Pick up your hands, Mos.”

I hastily wiped my eyes and lifted them in the air, humouring him even though I couldn’t understand his request, not expecting his chuckle that escaped from his mouth, completely at ease, in a way I hadn’t heard in a few weeks… and hadn’t realised that I’d missed.

A smile ghosted his lips as he lay down on the ground next to me and I understood why he was grinning. I had put my hands all the way up as if I was under arrest, and all my husband wanted to do was lay his head down right in my lap.

For a minute, as the back of his head met my thighs, I froze at his proximity, because we had been so distant the past few days that I couldn’t quite digest this sudden surge of affection.

“You know,” he said, ignoring my awkwardness and twisting his head so it got the perfect kind of cushioning on my lap without it feeling uncomfortable. “Its a Sunnah of Nabī ﷺ that he recited Qurʾān while lying on the lap of Ayesha radiAllahu anha… and I kinda get the feeling that there’s no better time to practise a Sunnah that right now…”

Smooth. Very smooth.

And before I got a word in, he was already reciting again, continuing with the verses of Surah Tawbah, and I couldn’t help letting a tear fall on his cheek, even though he pretended as if he didn’t feel it.

His eyes were closed, so he couldn’t meet the turbulent expression in my eyes as I watched him, but I preferred it that way.

I couldn’t quite digest this. This place. The recital. Him, Hafidh and the man that I’d come to love with so much of my heart, on my lap, in his childhood Hifdh class, his melodious recitation.. my heart felt like it would explode from an intolerable level of emotion.

I wiped the tears away with one hand, running the other through his hair in a way I could tell he lived for by the content expression on his face, and the way his head sought more comfort at my touch. And even as his reciting stopped, thats how we sat, time unknown to us, the serene atmosphere too sacred to disturb and even check how many minutes had passed during our time together, until that little reminder that nothing good should last popped up in my brain again.

I couldn’t. This was all too much. Too close. Too personal. It was getting deeper than I ever thought, breaking all my rules, and I felt as if my heart was deeper in than I knew, as I instinctively pulled my hand away.

“Don’t stop,” he said as he reached up to catch my hand and guide it back into his hair.

His eyes bored into mine as if they wanted to say words he couldn’t voice. I felt like I was watching a TikTok ‘tell me you love me without telling me you love me’ reel. There was no other way to describe his infectious way of spreading his feelings.

”First explain,” I mumbled, as coherently as I could, holding my hand still, like leverage in his hair, as I spoke. “Tell me why here. Else I’ll stop.”

Hamzah shot me a withering look in response before slowly starting to speak.

“I think you agreed that you owe me one,” he said, almost with an entitled look on his face as he wiggled his head on my palm coaxingly. “Your words, my love.”

”I smell BS,” I snorted, ignoring his sweetness as he shot me a disdainful look at my use of abbreviation within the sacred walls. “Tell me.”

He sighed, and I automatically moved my fingers ever so slightly as he spoke again. Despite my brain being traitorous, I actually didn’t want him to actually stop laying there.

“This is what brought us together,” he said softly, his arms spread open now as his one twinkly eye opened and looked at me. “It’s not easy coming back here, especially with memories of Liyaket flooding through my brain. It’s been hard these past few weeks, and without him, I felt it even more when I needed someone to talk to. Any problem I had in the past, he always had a solution. I knew that I had Imraan and Zubair trying to help out, but it kept coming back to him and this place and a few days ago, I couldn’t handle the pressure anymore, and I suddenly remembered him telling me how often he would ask Maulana for advice, even after we finished our Hifdh.”

He fell silent then, as if contemplating his next words, and I waited.

”You went to him?” I asked softly, when he didn’t speak again.

His eyes were closed beneath my gentle motions in his hair as he nodded, and I wondered if he’d actually fallen asleep until I noticed the edges of his eyes crinkle slightly, and the slight tilt of his lips.

“I did,” Hamza continued, his eyes still closed. “And it was the predictable ‘Hafezsaab, chalo, let’s drink tea’ regime. And all I could think was, how do these people think that tea can solve everything?”

I grinned as he opened his one eye and looked at me again, and it felt like all these layers of awkwardness between us were slowly lifting away, and I wasn’t even sure if it was a bad thing or not.

“And he told you to bring me here so you could knock me off my feet with your gorgeous recitation,” I said bluntly, with a slight roll of my eyes.

“No, gorgeous. We drank the tea silently,” he said, but his grin widening at the unintentional compliment. “Maulana is not much of a talker, and… to tell the truth, I still feel scared to ask too many questions. Sometimes, I still feel like I’m ten and I don’t know my sabaq.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that.

“It wasn’t until afterwards, when I leaving the house, that he advised me.. just one line of advice. He said, ‘Hafidh Hamzah, if you want your Duniyaa to be made, recite Qurʾān sincerely. And if you want your Aakhirah to be made, recite the Qur’ān sincerely.’ And it made me think… Here we are running behind lawyers and divorce proceedings, pinning our hopes on all these other things… even Zubair, and then this reminder comes, hitting straight where it’s needed…”

He trailed off and we both just sat there, lost in thought for a while.

“And that’s when I knew I wanted to bring you here. I knew that Madrassah would be closed now. He always closes for a holiday at the end of Rajab… and then makes the boys suffer for it by having classes Sunday to Sunday for the entirety of Sha’bān.”

I gaped at him. “Serious?!”

It explained a recitation where every second word wasn’t a mistake. No wonder his work was so solid. Man, that must have been tough.

Weak student here, sure… but classes Sunday to Sunday. Yoh. Us mere mortals don’t have the strength to bear that.

“Poor Maulana,” I mused, trying to decipher why he did that. “You boys must have made him really angry when you’ll came back those days after, not knowing your work.”

He chuckled so hard at that, that he had to sit up to catch his breath, and I wondered what on earth was so funny.

”No matter how well we knew our work, he would still end up breaking us all after every holiday,” he finally said, a smile still visible on his face. “It was like routine for him. Once or twice at the end of those heavy days, looking at the expressions on the boys faces, I actually caught him grinning. Poor Maulana indeed.“

It was my turn to grin as I imagined it, and then he put his Qurʾān back into his Kurta top pocket and held out a hand.

“Come,” he said, standing up as he gestured his head toward another door. ”There’s still more I want to show you.”

I would have assumed there’s little to see in a boys hifdh Madrassah, but as Hamzah led me around, his face lit up with a nostalgic grin, for the nth time that day, I was surprised. The sports area, the Tawbah corner – which a laughing Hamza assured me that him and Liyaket had spent his fair amount of time in, the kitchen- essentially just a corner with a microwave and a kettle- until we came to a closed door, and Hamzah whispered dramatically.

“Brace yourself. I left the best for last.”

He pushed the door open, and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t to be assaulted with the smell of.. what was that smell even?

“Can you smell that?” I asked Hamza, sniffing around like a freak. “Theres a distinct weird smell here…”

He sniffed the air and shook his head, assuring me there was no smell here, but I was sure that I saw a glint of something mischievous in his eye.

Then it clicked for me and I turned to face to him, with my hands on my hips.

Euw.

”Toes!” I frowned accusingly, blocking my nose. “This place stinks of toes.”

”Ah,” he said, raising his eyebrows, and moving a chair out the way. “Is that what it is? I always thought it was the salt and vinegar chips.”

”That’s disgusting,” I scoffed, literally feeling my stomach revolt in protest to his description. I couldn’t even. He had officially spoilt salt and vinegar flavour for me for life.

I actually had no appetite at all, despite believing earlier on that I was fiercely hangry.

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching his head. “The boys used to live on salt and vinegar pringles so we could seal it up for the next night. We didn’t have the fancy flavours back then. I didn’t think it could possibly be toes…”

“Yugh. How can you ever confuse the two? You’re more sick than I thought.”

And then we were arguing on whether the place was truly smelly – it honestly reeked – or if my nose was broken (the fudge?) and way too sensitive for scents other than Issey Miyaki (Hamzah was full of compliments). We went back and forth endlessly, until I saw that mischievous glint in his eyes again, and this time it looked almost smug.

And I hated that I knew him well enough to understand why. It had been a while since we did this. I’d pulled back this past month, doing my wifely duties perfectly, but for the most part, disengaging as much as I could.

In the past, we had bickered about mundane things all the time, but not this month. This month it was limited to serious discussions and arguments. I had carefully avoided any level of personal playfulness, even if it was just over something mundane.

He had missed this, I realised, swallowing hard when I thought of how carefree and childish my husband seemed today. He had missed us. For his sake.. to keep him smiling, to save him from going down with me, I had to steel my heart and stop feeding him false hopes.

I took a step back, literally and emotionally, and casually shrugged.

“It’s irrelevant. Just show me whatever it is that so good in here.”

His expression changed too as he flicked a light switch, trying to be nonchalant, and I instantly turned my face to the couches and bean bags now in my midst.

“This is the break room,” he said quietly, not meeting my eye. “No one actually uses it, until it’s raining and we can’t go out. But, what I wanted to show you, well… look there.”

My gaze followed his pointed index finger, to the wall on the far corner, which seemed to be a giant collage of sorts.

As if sensing my confusion, Hamzah continued, “Maulana calls this the Hafidh wall.. every student gets to put up a tribute on the day of the completion. Something to put down as an official achievement.”

I was awed, but I kept silent. There had to be hundreds of laminated squares stuck to the wall. Imagine, just imagine having that many people who you connected to the Qurʾān.. who you walked through the stages of memorisation from day one, till the day they recited اللهم آنس وحشتي in front of a large crowd…

“Lets see if you can find mine,” he challenged with a wink, lightening the mood instantly. “In fact, let’s see how fast you can find it.”

It took me over 15 minutes before I did. And just as I did, my eyes settled on the quote right next to his, and I couldn’t simply look away.

The books of history contain some of his quotes which are worth their weight in gold. And amongst those quotes, I was pretty sure that this one was one of those amazing ones that made your heart shudder at its mere sight.

“It does not behove one who has the Qur’ān in his heart to go to the wealthy and affluent in order for them to fulfil his needs. Instead, his position is such that the entire creation should come to him to fulfil their needs”.

I stood rooted there for a while, just staring at those words, as if something very obvious had intervened to make me see this.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have said Hamzah set this up so I’d see this message. But there was no way that was true, because from this wall full of tributes to the pious scholars of Qurʾān, I had approached this one. I had somehow come to read this one, out of the hundreds.. and subconsciously, I couldn’t help but wonder, did I come to this one, or was I brought to this one?

I jerked backwards as warm hands settled on my shoulders, Hamzah’s voice asking if I was okay.

But I couldn’t say a thing, because I wasn’t.

I couldn’t even process all this anymore. It was getting way too emotional, and I could feel all those walls coming up again, as I took a step away from him. His eyes stayed on mine as he spoke, unaware of the feelings brewing within me.

“It was only after Maulana told me to come here that I remembered his advice to us at our jalsa,” he said softly, stepping forward to stand within my view again, his jaw rigid as he recalled the words. “The Qur’ān will always guide the Hafidh back… be the light through the darkness… the guiding beacon… even when it feels as if there is no end to the tunnel. He would always say that the journey of Hifdh never ends, and I tried my best to make it go on for me. Though I had gone off track once, I made sure that the Qur’ān was part of my life, my go-to, and my answer whenever I didn’t know where the solutions lay…”

I knew that he did. Qur’ān was so much a part of Hamzah’s life that he never left the house without one. His attachment was so intense that I envied it.

“And that’s how I know that whatever happens from here, whichever path we take, I just have a feeling that things are going to come together,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

”I’ll never give up hope, Mohsina. A believer always has hope, and that’s what I’ll cling onto forever.”

My heart literally split at the seams as he said it, and I couldn’t quite help myself as I turned away, knowing that it was time to leave, not leaving Hamzah an option of much else to say.

He followed me silently as we walked out, heart on my sleeve as I let him guide me with a hand on the lower part of my back, not able to comprehend what this all meant.

I couldn’t believe how much he had sacrificed in his journey here, and how much of a sacrifice he had undergone again as he grew and changed his life, and decided to do the right thing for Zaid. We had both made sacrifices, but right now, it felt like he was shining way more than I ever would. To deal with me was an amazing amount of patience and my heart literally ached as I saw the look on his face at times… a look that I couldn’t get off my mind, as I watched him right then, emotions overwhelming me as he guided me out the building.

And as he did it, it felt like I was coming together, and piecing myself back together, even against my better instincts. I felt like the once wounded heart I had sheltered so deeply had bled out way too much for my body to handle. Now, it was as if healing was in place and things were slowly being revived… as if parts of me had come back from the dead… and all I knew right then was how much it felt like an overload on the most vulnerable part of my conscience.

I felt like every rule had been broken, and here we were, back at square one, trying to figure out what the next step was going to really be.

I wanted to challenge him, to ask him why he’d done this. Why we had gone in reverse, when we needed to get into gear and drive away. I wanted to know what this all meant… how he expected today to turn out, once it was all over.

I wanted to know what was Plan B. What did he do when all this didn’t work out the way he planned, or when it did, and he ended up hating me because he lost everything because of me?

It just wasn’t fair. Today was beautiful and touching and oh-so-nostalgic, but what next?

Did he want me to cave and say that I couldn’t picture my life without him? Did he expect me to throw him to the wolves just so that I could have him the way he was?

I breathed out as we stepped out into the fresh air, thinking I’d feel an ounce of relief as we were out of the madrassa, but being away from it made me realise that it wasn’t the place that made me feel this way.

If anything, this amazing  institution had brought me more peace than I’d had in months.

The sinking feeling in my stomach had nothing to do with it. It was me. All me. I was the villain here and I didn’t know how to tell him this. All I knew was that I needed answers.

What did he want from me? Did he want me to admit that this was breaking me? What exactly was I supposed to do from here, in his mind?

“Why?”

I didn’t even realise I’d said it as I stood still in front of his car, my heart beating rapidly as he slowly walked around me, his hair browner now in the sunlight as he stood in front of me.

“Why what?” He asked, his expression as calm as the blue skies, as I glared at him fiercely. I was a storm, that threatened to unsettle every part of his sanity. “Why am I breaking the rules? What are the rules even, Mohsina? That we can’t talk about us ever having a future again?”

“You know the rules!” I accused him, pointing my finger at his chest threateningly, as he stepped closer instead of inching away. “You know what we need to do, how we can’t be certain if anything, but you still doing this to me. Why are you doing this to me? Why, Hamzah? Why?!”

My voice had rose to an embarrassingly high pitch as I watched him stand even taller, not even retreating slightly at my accosting tone.

I wanted to return. Again and again and again. Until we meet Him. Together.

But my body was lit with rage and uncertainty and his stance was as hard as the expression in his eyes. I didn’t even know what I was fighting against.. who I was fighting for.

I just knew that the one who gives up this fight, fails. Only the one who—due to complacency or despair—gives up the fight of constantly bringing the heart back to focus, fails in this life and the next.

But I didn’t want to hear him say it.

“For one thing,” he said simply, his eyes boring into mine as he swiped his tongue over his teeth, the only single gesture that gave away his unease at the entire situation. “I wanted you to know all this because whatever happens, i will always ask Allah for this, and I want you to promise me one thing.”

I looked at him with my eyes narrowed, flashing and holding back the tears, not knowing if I should even do this, but with everything my heart had just undergone, I couldn’t possible do anything else but nod in silent agreement, not knowing what I was promising him as I did.

Not knowing that there were no rules, in this dangerous game we were playing.

“I want you to come back to me.”

---

Just a quick one to say that this post is dedicated to a flower in the Gardens of the Righteous, who helped me to pen most of this post. I deeply appreciate the Naseehah and the extra love of Qur’ān that shone through, which she was solely responsible for inspiring. Please do give feedback on how much it was enjoyed ❤️

May Allah Ta’ala grant her much love, happiness and barakah for her future.

Much Love,

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

Especially as these blessed months dawn upon us, we make extra effort to think good of others and make excuses for them. It’s easier said than done but we make Duaa that in this way, people will also think well of us.

Nabi Muhammad (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said, “Beware of suspicion, for suspicion is the worst of false tales; and do not look for the others’ faults and do not spy, and do not be jealous of one another, and do not desert (cut your relation with) one another, and do not hate one another; and O Allah’s worshipers! Be brothers (as Allah has ordered you!”) (Bukhari)

To put it briefly, having good opinion of people implies:

• Thinking positive of others
• Avoiding suspicion and wrong assumptions of others
• Giving others the benefit of the doubt

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

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

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Scars that tell Stories

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 82

He breaks you to build you. Deprives you to give you. The pain in your heart was created to make you learn less for this life.

And to yearn more for Jannah.

Jannah. The epitome of beauty. The greatest of gardens. The most sublime kind of bliss.

My eyes moved to the message next to the bed, my senses overwhelmed with a bright new perspective as I read the post it once again.

And yes, I felt so blessed. I couldn’t help myself. Reading that post-it now on Zubair’s pedestal gave me all the feels of early morning bliss. I breathed in deeply, taking in every scent, every sound, every movement surrounding me.

‘Ubaydullāh ibn Mihsan al-Ansāri al-Khatmi (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Prophet (may Allah’s peace and blessings be upon him) said: “Whoever among you wakes up in the morning secure in his dwelling, healthy in his body, and he has his food for the day, then it is as if the whole world has been given to him.”

(Tirmizee Shareef)

I felt like Allah’s mercy was raining down on me, as I processed that I actually was here, married and a little (if not a lot) bit in love.

I knew that he didn’t usually sleep in after Fajr, but last night had been a late night and Papa had given him the day off his duties. He had even offered us one of the new glamping tents that had just been completed, but Zubair was insistent that we would stay nowhere but his humble littel bachelor-inspired abode. And I didn’t mind.

The flower pots by the window sill that Nusaybah had livened up with the most spectacular blooms were perched near the window, looking like they were giggling away at the sunlight streaming through. I could see that she had spent a lot of time livening up the pretty simple one bedroom cottage and I was so grateful to her, as I looked around me at the place Zubair called home for the past few months.

Despite the fact that it was so simple, it was homely and the personal touches added by Nusaybah them both made it feel exceptionally welcoming.

I couldn’t help my mind running away with itself as I processed this, turning to glance at Zubair again.

My gaze flickered to that mark again, and I studied it as I shifted up on the pillow, tracing the outline of what looked like a shape and some print on his upper arm.

This one was different. It wasn’t just another one of his numerous scars inflicted on his bronzed body. He had told me that he had been gifted with proof of his many different expeditions that he never wanted to talk to me about, unless I really wanted to know.

I didn’t mean to stare. An array of curved marks that tapered at the ends, elongated ones that looked like blade slashes, and then stunted scars that looked more like bullet holes.

Like a walking example, he reminded me of the conquests of the Sahabah Radiallahu Anhu that I would read about. The tales of valiant men who would take to the battle filed, leaving their brides or their children, with no fear whatsoever; sparring and fighting despite being injured and hurt, knowing that their end goal was nothing but Allah’s pleasure.

The tales of heroism were awe-inspiring.

And though Zubair denied that he’s ever had noble intentions, I knew that every scar had a tale of untold bravery but Zubair wasn’t eager to share any of his past. I understood why, knowing how much he had gone through, as I edged closer to get a waft of his spicy, pine-washed scent, inhaling him while I stared more closely at the mark below his bicep.

And before you think that I was obsessed, the actual reason why this particular mark had caught my eye was because of its specific shape. It was blurry and untidy looking, but my gut feeling was that once upon a time, there was a tragic story behind that very scar that I desperately wanted to know about.

Thinking that he wasn’t yet awake, I touched its slightly raised surface once again and then quickly pulled my hand away as he stirred in his sleep.

I glanced out the gap in the curtain,  already certain that it was going to be a gorgeous day to be out in the garden for a bit, trying to divert my attention so I could stop obsessing over Zubair’s past life.

Stop obsessing over Zubair in general.

Zubair was such a character that I could barely stop myself from falling head over heels with his humility, sincerity and the way that he made me feel that I was the centre of his in universe, over and over again.

I wriggled my toes as I stretched my arms out, trying to silently shift away to head off to the bathroom and do the whole fluffing out my hair, looking normal and brushing my teeth thing when he suddenly shifted again next to me, already awake and turning to face me, and my heart felt like it was about to burst from happiness when he looked at me and smiled.

I honestly could not believe that this was all normal and halaal and I already felt that I was drifting on some kind of elevated cloud fifty-nine.

“Hey beautiful,” he murmured, touching my nose lightly with his index finger. “Assalamualaikum.”

I could barely breathe. I mean, I knew that he was my husband and I had to get over it at some point but the ease in which he embraced everything made him feel like a dream.

“Wa alaikum salaam,” I almost whispered, like a dork, staring into his mesmerising eyes as the morning light shone through the cotton curtains.

And then of course, I covered my mouth immediately because even though we weren’t so close together I knew that morning breath could be a knock out and I didn’t want to scare him away already.

I could live with waking up to this every morning.

“You up early?” He said softly, still giving me that intense look as he spoke, half yawning it’s his own mouth covered, a slight frown forming on his face, almost as if he didn’t like the fact that I was up so early.

“I’m- err,” I started, because I didn’t want to give him the impression that I was a spoilt brat who couldn’t sleep without block-out blinds. “Just can’t sleep once I’m awake for the day. And Mohsina had messaged to let me know that she may not be contactable today. She and Hamzah are going somewhere out of range.”

Of course I couldn’t tell him that I was sitting and staring at him like a weirdo while he slept. And Mohsina had woken me up earlier with a text to say that she hoped I was okay. I wanted to ask her more about what they were up to but I also knew that things were a little fragile between her and Hamzah, and Mohsina wasn’t always eager to share feelings.

I finished my excuse weakly as he broke eye contact and turned on his back again to face the ceiling. I had a feeling he was thinking about Hamzah too. I knew that the two of them were close, and as he lifted his arm to type a quick message on his phone, the crooked mark on his arm was visible again and I instinctively touched it lightly, not expecting him to flinch as I did. He put his phone away and turned his face to look at me.

“Sorry,” I said, immediately retracting my hand as an unknown emotion suddenly flashed across his face.

It was a milliseconds before it faded, and then he suddenly smiled, as if to cover it up, reaching out for the hand that touched it, grasping it in his own, and shook his head.

His reaction was so confusing.

“No need to be sorry,” he said quietly, bringing my knuckles to his lips. “Was just sending a quick message. Scars really fascinate you, don’t they?”

I swallowed and nodded as he turned to me again, looking like he was contemplating deeply.

Yours do, I wanted to tell him, but I wisely kept silent, because I was feeling a little weird about what had just happened.

The cotton sheets were pulled up to my shoulders to cover the straps of my cute but slightly revealing pyjama set that Maahira had sent for me via express courier that week from London, and I felt weird to have them anywhere but up to my chin. The daylight was a stark contrast to the privacy that the night had presented, and I felt like we were starting all over again in some ways.

As morning came, all awkwardness was now in full force.

I was shy and conscious now, and I worried if I was being too forward and nosy by asking these questions. Zubair wasn’t an easy person to read.

Nani would probably scoff at me and say that I had no shame, asking the man about marks on his body. She was probably right, and I couldn’t believe I actually admitted that she was right about something. In actuality, she kind of redeemed herself when she behaved at the Niikah and reception, despite feeling disappointed about her darling doctorsaab.

The thing was, marrying Zubair it felt like I was unwrapping this huge present full of goodies and I didn’t want to stop until I revealed every one.

”You don’t have to tell me about it,” I added quickly, as he shook his head and sat up, placing his feet on the floor, his back to me as he pulled a blue t-shirt over his head, still not turning to face me.

”You have a right to know,” he said, not looking at me as he spoke. “But it’s nothing courageous like you think… or some mark of bravery. It was a reminder of who I was. A symbol that the people I worked for used to use when you pass your first test. It was a tattoo that I removed.“

A tattoo?

it was the first time I’d ever heard of anyone I know having a tattoo.

I didn’t know what to say. I knew that tattoos were haraam, but I knew that it was also becoming some sort of trend for young people despite that.

“So you removed it when you realised that you needed to change your life?” I asked him.

He turned to me and shrugged.

“I removed it when I found out that all my ibaadat may have been completely futile since getting it. Years went by and to think that not a thing I did might have been accepted… I was devastated- having that reminder of the very thing that tainted me would have ruined me a li. I had to remove it. The scar is there for life.”

The scar. He said it with such venom, as if he hated everything it meant to him.

This man. This man. He just got me. Every time.

Zubair had changed his life, AFTER he got the ink. Many may argue that what is in the past, has past away.

There were far greater crimes that were committed in the times of ignorance, where they use to bury their little daughters alive out of feeling ashamed of having girl after girl and no sons.

They were forgiven for such a horrendous act, and yet, he took it on him to remove that evidence.

Despite the fact that the process of tattoo removal was probably torturous and expensive, he chose to remove it because he was so intent on changing everything about his life.

Despite that fact that our Creator knows everything, inside and out.

He didn’t wait for some loophole or favourable fatwa or take a chance. He wanted to erase every bit of his sordid past.

“Was it painful?” I asked softly, watching as he slipped on his shoes emotionlessly, already switching the kettle on for coffee. Sometimes I wondered if he truly let himself feel. It was like he was surviving on autopilot.

I sat up against the wall behind the bed, knowing that I should probably stop being so lazy but still feeling like extremely self conscious about my strappy pyjamas. It wasn’t completely indecent but I wasn’t exactly ready to be so forthcoming either.

“It was more uncomfortable than painful,” he said, frowning slightly as he probably recalled the sensation of that on his skin. “But it needed to be done. And I stuck out the pain because I was stupid enough to get it.. I didn’t exactly have the guidance I needed in my teenage years to know that it wasn’t allowed. It was before Nusaybah left that my uncle started to contact me, and my father had already given up on parenting way before that. It all downhill from there. I was just sinking lower and lower and my uncle had no mercy for cowards, even though he was one himself.”

He said the last part with a certain edge to his voice, like he usually spoke about his uncle, and I desperately wanted to ask him more.

“Did he do anything bad to you?” I asked, softly, but loud enough for him to hear as he sat on the office chair and wheeled around to face me.

There was a mixture of pain and grief on his face as he looked at me, and I instantly regretted asking him. I so badly wanted to take all that pain and tuck it away; where he would never had to feel it again.

“He did enough,” he said bluntly, instantly closing up now completely, his face blank as I could see him putting up walls as I looked at him. It was like the mention of his uncle immediately shut him down. “My uncle is not a kind man.”

I noted how he spoke in present tense, sensing that emotions surged through him like never before.

I hated that I had said something that brought it back for him, and I hated that he still looked so vulnerable when I asked him. I didn’t care about slightly revealing pyjamas anymore.

Zubair had now morphed into a somewhat of a little child as he sat there, and all I wanted to do was go over and hug him fiercely, so he would know that he didn’t have to worry about his uncle and he was safe now.

Well, I hoped that was true, of course.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, shoving off the covers as I  got up and moved toward him, as the dazed look in his eyes lifted and he met my eye once again. “I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone who you could turn to, or who could protect you.”

He shook his head as I reached him, losing pluck to embrace him as I sat on the floor next to him, trying to stay as close to him as I possibly could, not knowing whether I could hols him or not.

It was weird, and Zubair wasn’t always someone who I knew how to read. Right now, he was all stiff and untouchable, and I could tell that emotion was hard for him. I instantly wondered whether not being able to touch him at times had to do with something that happened in his past.

Was it possible that this man was scarred more deeply from a pain that existed within? I didn’t want to even think of the possibilities. There was definitely a story that he didn’t want to tell.

“It’s not your fault,” he said stiffly, his body rigid now, as he pulled out two cups. “I didn’t have many people I trusted. I didn’t have the kind of upbringing where right and wrong was always clear cut. And yesterday, well, I felt like when Maulana spoke, he gave a bayaan just for me that I really wouldn’t ever forget because it really hit home.”

I looked at him as he said it, wondering what the Maulana had spoken about.

”What sterling marriage advice did Maulana give?” I asked with a smile, really curious now.

For him to remember that on his Nikah day, it must have been really quite something.

“He spoke about Tarbiyah of kids,” Zubair said simply, and my grin immediately turned into a flush that made me feel only slightly embarrassed as he said kids.

On his handsome face was a tiny smile that I could barely decipher. Kids. Okay. It’s a teeny bit too soon but I suppose it wasn’t completely off the charts to talk about.

“Don’t get alarmed,” he said, his greener eye darkening with the dry humour. “I know you guys have Zaid and it’s been a transition and to be honest, I don’t even know how I feel about kids. I just really felt it deeply when Maulana spoke about Tarbiyah, and how kids need nurturing. I know how much I lacked growing up. Now… its like as a new generation… we have so much to learn… with technology and always being so distracted, there’s so much we still need to master to ever be worthy of being parents. I know that I’m still young but it worries me that I’ve been so off track and that I’ll never reach that stage…”

His concerned expression caught me by surprise. It took me a few seconds to realise that he was scared, but not by some external factor. He was scared of himself.

“You’re not your father, Zubair,” I said softly, remembering him telling me that his father was too caught up in his own grief to really worry about Zubair after his mother passed away. Nusaybah was left as the one kid who raised the other. “Or your uncle.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said roughly, running his hands through his hair and giving me a sideways glance. “I managed somehow. I eventually realised that I had destroyed the better part of my life with sins, and when I found Allah… I realised something else so valuable that it turned my entire life around.”

I knew that his past was filled with things he wasn’t proud of. But being an orphan, and feeling like you were all alone was something that made me feel so sorry for the littel boy that he was once.

“And what was that?”

I almost whispered it as I watched him pour water from the boiled kettle, while his pretty eyes stayed fixed on the cups in front of him.

And then, he looked at me, his brown eye twinkling ever so slightly as he spoke.

أَلَيْسَ اللَّهُ بِكَافٍ عَبْدَهُ

(Surah al-Zumar, Ch.39, V. 37)

“Is Allah not sufficient for His Slave?” He said quietly, his voice so passionate when he spoke, and I realised, not for the first time, how much Zubair had taken upon himself. How much he had dealt with, all these years, on his own. How much he had truly believed and felt that verse that he had just uttered.

“And what am I, if not His ‘abd?” he continued, his gorgeous teeth now visible as he gave a small smile. “Whatever Allah wills for His slave, whatever trial He brings my way… for all the darkness within me, all those wasted years…. how can I not reform myself if Allah has said that He is enough to be by my side?”

I breathed out as he said it, tears flooding me eyes and my heart not able to hold all the emotion that seemed like his realisation was choking me with.

He was hurting in so many ways. Over his past. Over his father. Over his uncle.

I desperately wanted him to be free of if all, but I knew that I could never help him unless he let me. And I had to try.

“Zubair, you’re not who you think you are,” I said softly, touching his arm. “Maybe your father was too caught up in his grief and disappointment to know better. He should be honoured to have you as a son. He would be if he saw you now. You’ve change so much. Allah is so happy with you, you have no idea.”

”He knows the real me, Jameela,” Zubair said curtly, obviously not believing a word I had said. “And my father sees me for who I am. There’s nothing to be proud of.”

He said it as if it was common knowledge and I refused to accept it, as he promptly added a jar of sugar to the coffee tray.

”You deserve to be happy, Zubair,” I argued with him, frowning as I watched him carry the tray to the table near the window.

“And I don’t deserve you. I’m not just a black heart, Jameela. I am darkness. Disgraced by my sins and scars. You… on the other hand… are nothing but light and hope, and I still don’t deserve you.”

I couldn’t help but feel my heart clenching at his words that he was and never will be good enough. His feelings about me did nothing to douse the rising anger at his constant self-bashing.

He had settled the tray near the window and I couldn’t help but think that it was the perfect spot to sit and enjoy the scenery that the outdoors offered.

Now I know why Zubair loved this little house. Why he also holed himself up here and never came out, to grace others with his presence.

I wanted to shout to him, to let him know that he was wrong. He thought so little of himself. He didn’t realise who he was. How much he had to offer. All he saw was blackness and jagged scars deep beneath the surface, that were still bleeding in ways he didn’t know.

He was drowning in self-doubt and denial that he was worthy of so much more. Carrying on like this was not a way to live. It was difficult and hurtful, causing him so much more than was necessary.

He was convinced that he deserved no good in his life, and I had already made up my mind that I was going to save him from himself, whether he wanted me to or not.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

Especially as these blessed months dawn upon us, we make extra effort to think good of others and make excuses for them. It’s easier said than done but we make Duaa that in this way, people will also think well of us.

Nabi Muhammad (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said, “Beware of suspicion, for suspicion is the worst of false tales; and do not look for the others’ faults and do not spy, and do not be jealous of one another, and do not desert (cut your relation with) one another, and do not hate one another; and O Allah’s worshipers! Be brothers (as Allah has ordered you!”) (Bukhari)

To put it briefly, having good opinion of people implies:

• Thinking positive of others
• Avoiding suspicion and wrong assumptions of others
• Giving others the benefit of the doubt

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

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

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Falling into Place

Bismihi Taala

Mohsina 

Part 81

Most definitely, the fact that everything eventually falls into place is only a sign of Allah Ta’ala’s favour upon us.

And I know people often say that nothing is perfect and can ever be perfect, but in all honesty, how everything seemed to work out for Jameela that week, I was already a firm believer in miracles.

It was beautiful, not to mention, so emotional watching it all unfold. I couldn’t help but tear up at the sentimentality of it, although I knew that the one certainty was that it had nothing to do with me.

Despite the niggling feeling something was amiss. Despite clearly knowing that Rabia was being a Karen for reasons I had no idea about. Despite knowing that this may be the last day I spent with my family as a whole. Despite the looming clouds above, because I was waiting for something to go wrong.

Some words were extremely difficult to say. Their emotions were overwhelming.

Yet when it all went down, despite what we know about Zubair and his past, what we saw when everything came together was merely a bond of human amongst human. This was such a huge step for both of them. It was such a courageous decision that would bring so much of sweetness and fulfilment and hopefully an influx of joy.

Jameela could really not wipe that gorgeous smile off her face. She was happy and bubbly and just the sight of Zubair after the Nikah had got her all psyched up.

I, on the other hand, was exhausted. I had been buzzing around, sourcing items for the supper from various places, really having no time for anything else.

Family was plentiful. My cousins were set on blocking all the hallways and huddling in the corners, giggling away, and for once, I wasn’t annoyed. All I wanted to do was embrace this moment and live for this day, because I didn’t know what tomorrow was going to hold for me, and I really didn’t even want to…

My heart was immersed in love. Full to the brim,  and for a second there I had this ridiculous idea that everything was going to be okay. I didn’t want to think about anything else. For now, I just wanted to be here. Present.

“They make such a cute couple,” my cousin Nasreen was cooing, and for a moment there, I was shocked that she could be pleasant.

I could see her eyes lingering a little too long on Zubair but hey, I didn’t judge. All I wanted to do was tell her that he was already married so she could stop checking him out.

She had already caught me looking at her watching him and quickly turned away, at least having the decency to look embarrassed about it.

I never understood the whole lowering your gaze thing until I actually got duped into Zinaa. The gaze was so powerful, and the effect that a stray glance could cause was destructive to even who we would regard as the most pious of people.

But I didn’t judge.

We all had our things. We just have to make sure that our hearts are filled with regret, and that Taubah becomes a way of life for us.

I sighed as I switched my gaze over to Nani holding up two trays of Jalebi, and I couldn’t help but smile as she shooed everyone out the way while she made my cousins pass it around. For someone who wasn’t thrilled about this wedding, she was sure acting like an obsessed grandparent, and I couldn’t have been happier to see her there.

Zubair had awkwardly greeted her when he came in with his doctor brother-in-law, and I could see her shellshocked expression as she witnessed his very modest and normal behaviour. I had a feeling that she thought that he would come striding in here with a mafia gang and AK47 and her carefully constructed image had been tarnished. Shem.

I stifled a giggle as I watched her awkwardly greet, and then came Hamzah who as usual, started with his usual busy buttering Nani up as she put her coy face on.

“Naans, the way you make these sweetmeats, next time we‘re going to get proposals for you,” Hamzah said easily, stuffing his mouth with both Jalebi and burfee, as if he was the groom in the scenario.

Ooh, but judging from Nani’s flushed face, I couldn’t deny that he was good with the swindling. Really good.

”I didn’t get time to make all this when you got married,” Nani said to him apologetically, patting his back after she recovered. “I can’t remember why…”

Nani looked genuinely confused as she tried to recall our wedding week, and though it was a blur for me, I still remember how consumed by grief everyone was at the time.

There was no talk of fancy eats or tableware. All we could think of was how much we wanted Liyaket and Layyanah to be there, and yet the fact that we had lost them was the only reason the nikah actually happened. I remember feeling awakened by the tragedy and broken by the memories of their own wedding day too, wishing for Layyanah’s comforting words or for Liyaket’s contagious laugh to fill the house.

“Things were a little different back then,” Hamzah said quietly, but loud enough for me to hear, as he swallowed back what looked like a helluva lot of emotion. I wanted to reach out and hold him, but my body seemed so rigid and frozen in place.

I stole a look at my husband’s form, in his darker coloured kurta today, and for some reason, I felt like I was already missing him.

”But if you get married, Naans, we’ll make sure it’s all sorted out,” Hamzah stated, recovering quickly as he flashed his one-dimpled smile at Nani and winked.

Nani’s face immediately flushed again as she whacked him with the wooden spoon, and the two carried on with their banter. I turned away promptly, feeling the need to escape.

Maybe I should call Saaliha. She had  said she wanted to chat to me later but didn’t want to divulge what it was about until the nikah was over. She had said if was something private and I assumed that it may have had something to do with her pregnancy. Whatever it was, I was determined to do whatever I needed to help her.

I breathed in as I backed myself against the wall in the kitchen scullery, hiding from everyone and taking a minute to breathe and settle my steady heart.

I knew that Zaid was with my Choti Kala, who was down for the week, and I couldn’t have been more thrilled to see how she and Zaid knocked it off. I literally wanted to whoop with joy when I saw her, knowing that she was the only person besides Maahira that I could actually tell about the court case. She had listened to me for a full half hour last night, and didn’t stop or interrupt me to tell me what a useless failure I was. She sympathised with Hamzah, but more importantly, she sympathised with me… and I needed that.

I needed someone to see that yes, although I had made mistakes and done stupid things, I wasn’t all bad.

I was about to reach for it when my phone pinged on the counter next to me and I reached over to see a message from Maahi.

How’s the new bride?

Maahira herself had been on a Samoosa run slash friend introduction in London and she was unsuccessfully trying to dodge a guy that seemed to be pretty invested in it, while she, however, wasn’t.

From what my cute and curvy friend told me, he was trying so hard to impress her, but all she said was that he wasn’t her type. I actullay felt quite sorry for him when she gave me her tight reply.

Stop grilling me. I only messaged to check on my baby sis. Give her all my love. Duaas always x

I shook my head while I reminded myself that I needed to go and check on my sister, and as I stashed my phone and made my way to the room door, I wasn’t sure whether to knock or just wait for the two of them to come out.

It had been almost 45 minutes, and I had planned for half an hour, so that we could get Jameela changed and ready for supper on time.  A single, small function was our main priority, and even though it was at home, with Maghreb salaah in a few minutes, I knew that as much as he probably didn’t want to, Zubair had to leave the room soon.

I could feel myself feeling slightly nervy for my sister as I walked down the passage, still looking at my phone as Maahira gave me a brief account of her encounter with Mr Chunky, as she called him.

I tried to ignore the queasy feeling in my tummy, almost certain that it was brought on by the events of the day and the array of emotions of the past few weeks. I smiled as Maahi sent funny gif with some girl falling over laughing, barely feeling the eyes on me as I approached the doorway of Jameela’s room.

“What’s so funny?”

I almost jumped as I heard his voice, looking up immediately to see Hamzah’s brown eyes gazing at me intently.

He looked almost contemplative as he watched me, and for a moment, I felt so self-conscious that I didn’t know what to say. We had been avoiding each other (more me than him) for the past two days, mainly because I didn’t want to face up to what was going to happen soon. I figured cutting myself loose would make this easier for me. I didn’t think about what it would do to him.

“Just chatting to Maahi,” I said, stashing my phone in my abaya pocket and meeting his eye. I didn’t know what else to say. Saying more about her would mean more conversation, which would mean dragging him further into my life and I didn’t want to do that.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said quietly, and I realised that this passage was seeming increasingly narrow as we stood there and stared at each other like dimwits. “Running away. And I don’t like it.”

I breathed out as I tried to figure out what to do with my hands. I felt exposed, without my phone as my fidget toy. I felt like Hamzah was reading right into my soul, as he stared at me in the poorly lit passage. The noise down the hallway continued, but the two of us were almost stuck in time.

“Can I ask you something?”

His voice was still soft, and the door next to us was still closed. I was sure that their time was running out.

I nodded slowly, scanning his facial expression, and letting my eyes drop down to his chest, which was heaving a little more intensely than usual. My own heartbeat picked up as I wondered what he would say.

“Do you ever have regrets about our wedding day?” He asked softly, an expression flashing across his face, almost as if it pained him to say it. “Do you… ever… wish it wasn’t with me?”

His chest heaved slightly as he said it, and my own eyes filled with tears as I heard the fear in his voice.

All the Nikah vibes in the air had probably got his mind working and thinking all these obscene thoughts. The past week had been crazy with preparation and putting last minute things together, and for once, I was glad to have the distraction.

But what killed me was the fact that he he even thought this. I could not believe he actually asked that. How could he ever say that?

Yes, I knew that it wasn’t how we imagined it. It was rushed and for convenience and it was barely romantic. We had Zaid as our glue that was desperately trying to glue us together, and we had him as our first priority in everything that we did.

But, it still didn’t change the fact that I would have always chosen to do it with Hamzah. There was no question about that.

I frowned as I watched my husband now, his eyes telling a story that I’d never heard before. To think of Hamzah as threatened and insecure was a completely foreign concept for me.

Also, I hated that this happened and I knew that right then would not be a good time to say that I received a text from an unsaved number that I recognised as Faadil’s. I had deleted it and blocked him, but the fact that he had messaged me still threw me completely.

I was already shaking my head before I answered. There was no way that I had ever wanted it to be anyone but him. If he was talking about Faadil, he had no idea what that man had done to me. I didn’t want to think of what the content of that message may have been.

“Never,” I said with affirmation, looking him in the eye. “I’d never been so sure of anything else in my life, when I chose to marry you.”

Hamzah’s relief was palpable, but there were still questions in his eyes.

He wanted to know why. Why then, was I still willing to throw It all away. Materialistic possessions and status meant nothing to him. The pain and hurt this was causing was more than I void stomach, but for me, it was worth all that. It was my way of protecting him… his respect, his izzat.

I had been involved in so much of sin, and I couldn’t bear him to come down because of it.  Seeing the look in his eyes reminded me of how off track I had been, and more than anything, I wanted to right everything that was wrong.

And I knew I shouldn’t be thinking that way, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late… was it too far gone?

Maybe it was just too much of sin. I always knew and believed that thing with zinaa was that you were punishing yourself twice. First, is the punishment that Allah promises when you do the actual act, and the sin that comes with it. Second, are the memories that haunt and punish not only you, but that person who comes to mean so much to you, for your entire life. The effect is an immense impact on marital life. Where zinaa was rife, spouses become quickly disobedient and dissatisfied with each other, which lead to more problems in day to day family life.

I just wished that it was clearer in my head at that time.

But, I knew and had to keep reminding myself that the door of repentance is wide open. I had to keep focusing on that while I grappled with desperately trying to get myself back on track.

I was about to tell Hamzah that I was sorry that he felt the way he did. I was about to tell him that it was all my fault that he felt the way he did, and that his insecurities had stemmed from on my own shortfalls. I wanted to apologise for ever getting involved with someone like Faadil, and putting him in the crap I did.

But just as I was about to open my mouth and tell him all this, the door at the end of the passage opened, and with Hamzah’s eyes still on me questioningly, my mouth had already opened and closed while I turned to watch my new brother-in-law peel his head out the door and grin at Hamzah.

”Sorry for making you late,” he said to Hamzah, and as I glimpsed my blushing sister behind him, I kind of figured that Hamzah and my conversation for the night was over. I sinking feeling formed in my gut, because I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to tell him all the things that I really needed to.

I ignored the gutted feeling, waiting for Zubair to join Hamzah down the passage, not even checking to see if he looked back at me. I was scared. Scared of what his gaze would hold if I looked too deeply. Scared that if I met his eyes,  I would catch even more feelings than I already had, if that was even possible.

I sighed as I but my lip, holding back tears, not knowing why this made me so emotional. Emotions. Feelings. It was like they were wrecking havoc with my heart as I watched my sister retreat into the room, a picture of absolute bliss as she sighed and flung herself into the pillow. If I wasn’t so overwhelmed, I probably would have done the exact same thing, except for different reasons. Me burying my head in the pillow would probably entail a series of sobbing and I wasn’t yet ready to explain all my weird thought processes to my sister. I wasn’t too good with feelings.

Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Jameela’s face peeked at me, and I could already tell that my romantic sister was already well on her way into dreamland. She had that distant look in her eyes and everything about her was screaming lovesick puppy.

“So?” I said, forcing a smile on my face and wanting to get as much as I could out of her before the function would be on its way to starting.

I needed to have a final look at the set-up. I had spent the week sourcing some beautiful rugs to borrow and set up some fancy paper plates on the floor, and on of the most gorgeously designed table cloths. The whole theme was very minimal, but it was simple but elegant, and though Jameela wasn’t really interested in the details, I felt the overwhelming need to make this special for her. It had to feel like something that was worth celebrating.

I didn’t know that all she needed was Zubair.

She was grinning as she watched me now, a deep colour filling her cheeks as she spoke.

”My heart is so full right now,” she said softly, holding her chest. “Alhumdulillah.”

“What did he say?” I asked, expecting Zubair to be the type to pull out all the perfect swoon-worthy lines.

“Erm,” Jameela said, looking away as she twiddled with her thumbs.”He greeted, made a Duaa, asked if he could take my hand… and then… the usual…”

Oh my goodness. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that there hadn’t been much talking today. She trailed off and ducked her head again, and I kind of read between the lines because, I mean, these two had being eyeing each other for months.

”Oh my gosh, Jamz,” I moaned, freaking out and covering my eye’s dramatically while she had the audacity to giggle.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, although I knew that it was all completely normal and exactly what was expected. It was just that, these small things were kind of freaking me out, and it wasn’t only about Jameela.

The fact was, everything was changing. Saaliha was having another baby. Jameela was now a real married woman. Nani was actually becoming nicer than she was usually (how long that would last, I wasn’t sure). As for Hamzah and I, it was only a matter of time before we would change as well.

And I knew that it wasn’t meant to be a punishment but as I watched my sister gushing over her new husband, her face particularly flushed as she described her first halaal encounter with him, which she had quickly decided was very unexpected but in a completely charming way that wilfully clouded their thought process, I couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of sadness.

And though I couldn’t go back and erase it… I wished, with all my heart, that my first touch, moment of intimacy and romance, had also been so beautifully pure and untainted. I couldn’t turn back the clock, but the immense regret that I felt right then, was something that I’d never experienced before. Maybe I needed to repent more. Maybe I needed to return to Allah, after straying away, time and time again.

Maybe after this was all over, Hamzah and I needed a brand new start, where everything can just be erased, and then build up again.

I breathed in as cousins realised that Zubair had left and it was time to start hounding Jameela while she slipped on her dress for the function, and I slipped out the door, trying to clear my head and check if my mother was ready for the function on time. She had been checking on the food that she had been preparing in the coffee shop kitchen, and though she had called her regular staff to assist, they still needed guidance.

She was now completely exhausted as she rushed off to change, and I made my way to check if all the pretty lighting I had installed was on. It was a gorgeous setting with fairy lights that winked at me, and I couldn’t help but feel my heart still in my chest as I thought of all the amazement this would bring for her.

I sat in the empty garage, staring at those twinkly lights, under the starry night, praying for an eternity of happiness for them.

Jameela was married. At nineteen. I wasn’t sure whether to freak out or be ecstatic. I was beyond emotions, and no words could describe the feelings that wrecked havoc in my mind.

My heart ached for her every desire to be fulfilled. I yearned for her heart to be overflowing with happiness, knowing that she chosen one of the best. I prayed for her spouse to be the most soothing coolness of her eyes. How I desperately wished for her marriage to be a one of innumerable blessings, more than she had ever envisioned before…

My achy chest felt like it was going to burst with emotion, but I steadied myself hastily and sucked in my breath as I heard footsteps behind me, not even realising that my eyes were wet with tears as the person approached.

It only took me a few more seconds to realise that it was Hamzah, who was probably looking for me with Zaid in his arms, and I hastily wiped my eyes as I turned to watch my two favourite boys come toward me,  feeling completely disarmed as they did. Emotions were coursing through my veins as everything seemed to come into focus again, remembering everything that this day had held and everything that was to come after.

I gave them a shaky smile as they came toward me, thinking that I had hid my emotions very well until Hamzah’s thumb swiped against my cheek tenderly, a gesture that struck me so deeply that I didn’t know what else to say.

His questioning gaze was more than I could handle at that point, and hastily putting out my hands to take Zaid and distract myself, I knew that I had to avoid his questions at all costs.

And I was fully prepared with an answer, if he had to ask what was going on. I could tell him that some dust got in my eyes or that the lights were a bit too bright for my eyes. I could tell him that i was a little more tired than I realised, and this week has been more than I bargained for (at least that wasn’t a lie).

But he didn’t ask. As Zaid grabbed a fistful of my hijab and tugged on it, Hamzah’s gaze remained steadily on me, saying the words that none of us could.

His hands were stuffed in his pockets, as he took our surroundings in briefly, giving me a nod of approval to signal that it looked good.

“The hard work paid off,” he said simply, and I nodded back at him as I glanced at the settings appreciatively.

“Thanks for being so helpful,” I said softly, knowing that I had pushed him to the limit the day before while he fetched stuff for me from about 6 different places after work. “I owe you one.”

The last part was by the way. I wasn’t sure if I really meant it. I mean, I knew that it only made sense to pay a person back for what they did for you, some way or the other. And I would have bought him some pyjama pants or something else masculine as a usual payback, but things were a little too awkward to get personal.

“You do,” he said briefly, and I looked at Zaid as he wriggled around, begging to be let loose so he could crawl all over and destroy all my gorgeous settings.

I didn’t meet Hamzah’s eye. I had a feeling that doing so would be asking for a lot more than I anticipated. But he wasn’t deterred, as he continued to speak.

“I need a favour.”

I sucked in a breath and looked at him, but what I saw in his eyes wasn’t what I expected. What was in his eyes was pure desperation. What he needed from me was something very different to what I expected.

“Can we have the day to ourselves tomorrow?” He asked, glancing at Zaid briefly as he said it. “Maybe we can leave Zaid with Imraan and Saaliha? If you are okay with it, that is. I just want to spend some time with you. There’s something I want to show you.”

The last part was said in a rush and it took me a few seconds to realise that the swanky cool dude Hamzah that I had always known to be so smooth and easy-going, was actually very, very nervous.

His breathing had heightened as he watched me, and I really did not have the heart to say no to his request. More than anything else, I knew that I couldn’t just let our entire foundation… the crux of what we were, just collapse to the ground, without any regard for sentimentality. As much as the said feeling scared me, sentimentality is the thing that in retrospect, made the strife a little more worthwhile…

“I don’t know,” I said softly, looking at him as I could visibly see him stiffening at a possible rejection.

Zaid, almost on cue, instantly stuck his hand out to pinch the area between my eye and cheek, and I couldn’t help but swat his hand away, while looking at Hamzah accusingly.

“What was that for?” I mumbled, rubbing my eye. Zaid looked as contrite as ever. Little traitor.

Hamzah was grinning knowingly as I sighed and finally relented. Zaid wasn’t too happy with my answer.

“Okay,” I said finally, swallowing as I tried to imagine what my husband had planned, but knowing that I was probably going to regret giving into him.

He let out a giant breath, and it was almost as if he had mustered all the courage he could to bear his soul, and it had actually paid off.

I just hoped that this was just a little something harmless and bland that he wanted to do on the spur of the moment. All I was hoping for was for things to fall into place, the way we had discussed it. All I wanted was for his to be an easy transition, more for Hamzah’s than for anyone else.

He deserved so much more than I could give him. As much as I hated how this was all going, and as much I was falling apart over this, I knew very well that letting him go was the only way it could all fall into place…

 

---

Dear readers, I’m so sorry if the post is not up to scratch. I will probably do some edits in the morning when my brain is working. Just didn’t want to delay further

I’ll try and post again by the weekend InshaAllah.

Duaas

Much love

A x

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

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

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

 

Moments of Vulnerability

Bismihi Ta’ala

Zubair

Part 80

The world at large, but more specifically our menial lives, revolve around an information overload where the accounts and stories of awe-inspiring bravery have ceased to feature.

Whilst we get off on dopamine hits induced by arrays of pointless pictures on our Instagram feeds, we are starved of the splendour that once filled the pages of history.

The desire and restlessness that once raged within the hearts of the Sahabah have become text book incidents to us. We are foreign to a concept that entails extinguishing personal desire for lighting a longing for everlasting pleasure.

Martyrdom has, and always will be, the masterpiece of all man’s greatness. Their agonising and heartbreaking stories are a light amidst the darkness of this world. Meeting Hamzah for me, brought this alive. His spirit brought out something in me that stemmed from a selfless courage… something that I had forgotten about over the past few months.

And whilst every martyr attains unmeasurable closeness to Allah Ta’ala, the honourable title of Sayyidus Shuhadaa (RA) was awarded by Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) only to the highest and most honoured of all of them… Sayyidina Hamzah (RA). There was something about meeting my real life Hamzah, that kindled a flame within me once again… a flame that would serve to rage on, to face everything head on, fearlessly, like the men I’d read about and always admired.

Despite the monster I had once been, I knew and lived the rule that nothing is as more important but the pleasure of Allah… and now, I was done with being scared, slinking away and hiding from the past.

I pulled out the dagger I kept with the saying that filled me with vigour and determination, placing it on the bed next to me to remind me that like the blessed heart of Nabi (sallahu alaihi wa Sallam) was uneasy with a desire and craving for martyrdom, so too should mine. Nothing should scare me.

It was a risky step I was scared to take before this, because if my uncle had to get wind of it, it could be dangerous. Yes, I felt scared and vulnerable right then but I needed to overcome it.

How long was I going to continue being scared for? Taking this step with my future wife, going all out to embrace what would be half my Deen, should never make me feel more fearful. In fact, it gave me that much more strength to do the right thing.

“Joe,” I said roughly into the phone, pulling on my best jeans and watching myself in my sisters room mirror cynically as I got ready. I looked so unlike the man I felt like inside. I could practically feel my heart pounding as I thought of what today would hold. “I need your help and you can’t say no.”

I had been at my sisters apartment from the morning because she insisted, and I couldn’t say no when she asked. She wanted to spend my final moments before marriage with me, but she was so busy fussing over wedding things that she was barely present.

”Your uncle says you’re not with him anymore.”

It was a simple sentence from the guy at the end of the line, but just hearing it from him made me angry.

So angry, despite knowing that I would hear that and trying to kill that very anger that would come up every time I heard of of my uncle meddling in my life.

What right did my uncle have to interfere in my relationships? Yes, we used Joe often for his contacts and to sort out paperwork we would need to figure out who the rats in our networks were, but I was the one who introduced Joe to him to do that for us. Joe and I were school friends before we did business together. We go way back.

It wasn’t that I admired my past, but it was what it was and every person I had met along the way had helped shape me into the person I was.

”Does it matter?” I muttered, plopping on the bed as I put the phone on speaker and pulled on the new pair of spotty socks Nusaybah bought me to wear with my new Kurta.

”I’ll call you back,” he said after a few seconds, and I wanted to give him a mouthful about shoving me off, but I knew I shouldn’t.

“You’d better,” I threatened mildly, knowing that Joe didn’t say things that he didn’t usually mean.

And it was just as well that I was in good mood that day, because I might have taken the half hour drive to his place to shake him up instead.

But today… I had more important things to do… and I couldn’t believe that this day had come.

That I was actually marrying her. The girl that I had been trying so hard not to freak out by ogling her as she would be sitting at the garden bench reading, or tending to her new plants, or working diligently in the coffee shop kitchen as if he life actually depended on it. I had spent months pretending to be ignoring her, when all I wanted to do was go up to her and ask her if their was ever a possibility of this day ever coming.

And here it was. I had told her that I was striving to be better, but I was having to dig up pieces of my past to do so.

I breathed in, knowing that I had to be forceful in my tactics now, even when I hated it. I hated this side of me that was all hard and rigid and rooting for a fight, but I hated the other side more. I hated knowing that now, I would have more than just myself at risk. Knowing that I couldn’t always control things and other people close to me made me feel vulnerable like never before.

I splashed the water in my face and made my whudhu, hoping to calm my fiery spirits with it. It went without saying that I was a little edgy. I needed to resort to my Lord… to sit on that Musalla and pray to Him, the Most High, because come what may, He was the only One who held a solution. This was a big step but it was what I wanted.

I prayed with an aching fervency because I wanted this to all be okay. I wanted to tame the wild beast in me, to calm my spirits to someone who could actually be worthy of this new role that I was going to take in life. I wanted the people who were going to become my family to always stay safe and protected form what haunted me.

I wanted to change my old ways, and turn a new page in my life. I wanted to be worthy of a husband. Of a father, hopefully, someday too. A resolution that was way more than I ever imagined, but the aching need in me was persistent.

I wanted to be a sterling example, like Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was and forever will be. I wanted to be such that even when I face my uncle who had done unmentionable things to me, I wanted to be so good to him that he would be moved by my character alone. This was the journey that I was willing to take for my own betterment.

This family had inspired me. Jameela had made me want to change. She made me want to be better. It was by her acceptance of me that made me want to strive for even more now.

Character. It was the only thing that would define me now, and that’s what had been the trump card in her eyes.

My phone rang at that point, snapping me out of my thoughts and bringing me back to the present.

I needed to leave for the Nikah- my Nikah- in ten minutes, but I knew that every minute was precious.

Hamzah was trying not to disturb me this week but I knew that if I didn’t confirm that final thread of information that had just occurred to me that morning, all that I’ve been helping him with would be futile.

None of it seemed worth it if by the end of this, Hamzah and his wife didn’t work things out. There was no way that I could rest if I knew that there was something I could do to save their marriage, and didn’t.

I breathed our with relief as Joe agreed to my favour, and I tried convincing him that what I was onto was going to change someone’s life. Judging from the first time I saw Faadil, all those months back outside his apartment building, I could tell that he was up to something. The way my uncle spoke to Faadil, made me realise that that Porsche that caused the incident to erupt out of control was going to lead to much more than that.

And despite knowing that Faadil and my uncle had been in contact over the few months, I never really knew what the relationship was. I knew that my uncle worked with him to uncover money. When I cut myself off of him, I didn’t want to find out. But now, from everything I had found out, I had an idea that Faadil had framed himself to get back at Mohsina, and I just needed the final thread to prove it.

“I’ve tried asking around,” I said in a level tone, thinking of the conversation I had with Nusaybah’s best friends brother. “Ahmed can’t help. He would if he could but he doesn’t do this anymore because of his family commitments. I know it’s risky but you’re my last hope, Joe. I need to know how the evidence came to the knowledge of the company. I want to know if Faadil framed himself.”

If was the only thing that made sense. Yes, Faadils reputation would be at stake if he framed himself but if he dragged Mohsina’s name in it with him, it may be a completely different motive. If may either mean that he would try to shove all blame on to her, or it could be that they’ll go down together, which would help him to earn her trust and then rebound again.

The latter seemed more plausible right then and I knew that I had to tell Hamzah but there was barely any time left and I was going to be late for my own Nikah if I didn’t hurry the hell up.

I told Joe that Hamzah would pay anything for clearance of his wife’s name, and money wasn’t an issue. It seemed to do the trick.

We settled on a price and that’s how I found myself walking out to my brother-in-law Faheem’s car, after Nusaybah clung to me for at least 2 entire minutes for dear life, my mind trying to focus on what exactly was going down that day. She finally let me go with tears swimming in her dark eyes, and my niece tugging restlessly on her cloak.

”Smelling good,” Faheem commented in his swanky British accent as I finally entered the car. “You ready?”

Faheems voice was light but clear, almost jolting me out of my train of thought as he watched me from the corner of his eye. Him and my sister being here was more than I could ever ask for. I knew that my father wouldn’t come but I still hoped. I really wanted him to make an appearance. I had stopped by his place in the week and left an invite in the postbox. I knew he got it because I waited behind the next house wall to how long after he would come and take the mail I left every day.

I nodded as I watched him drive on, not really wanting to talk yet. After the Nikah, things would feel more relaxed. It was a low key affair. I asked for it to be as private as possible, because of how many enemies I had made along the way. My uncle had been trying to get hold of me and I knew that he had more work for me with promising financial incentives, but I was refusing to relent.

I wanted to leave that life completely, and start afresh with a purer intent in mind.

More than anything, I wanted this to stay out of my uncles knowledge, so I wouldn’t have to worry about protecting Jameela before we got married.

After marriage, I was sure to do anything to keep her safe from my history.

I breathed in as I looked ahead, drumming my fingers together as I tried to control my nerves. Faheem wasn’t much of a talker, which made sense, because my sister spoke enough for the both of them. I looked out the window, watching the cars pulling up for Asr salaah, feeling a pit in the bottom of my stomach, but not because of what lay ahead. I was worried. Scared that something may go wrong.

“Stop looking so aggro.”

Aggro. It was Nusaybah’s word that I never quite understood the meaning of.

I glanced at Faheem as he turned off the ignition, closing my eyes briefly as I tried to recollect my thoughts. There was so much going on in my mind. I needed to switch it off.

“I’m not,” I said, pushing the door open and meeting my brother-in-laws eye. “I’m just worried that things may not all go that smoothly. I have a reputation for inviting trouble. You know that.”

We were walking toward the mosque, and even with a handgun strapped to my ankle, I knew that I was always at risk.

And don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t that I was afraid of dying. Not in the way most people were.

I had faced it head on, seen it way too many times to be afraid that way. What I was scared of was what would come after. I was scared of how my Lord would deal with me, after everything I had done. I was scared that my repentance wasn’t good enough, or sincere enough. But in the same breath, I lived with the blossoming hope that in death, it was the only place that I would find complete freedom from the life I had lived in this deranged world.

“They’re just people, you know,” Faheem said quietly, his accent a little less pronounced as he lowered his voice. “People who have power in this world maybe, but don’t forget that Allah is in control of everything else and He sees you. He sees you, bro. He sees that you’ve changed and you’re trying to be better. You think he’s not going to take care of you when you’re taking one of the biggest steps to make it all right?”

I glanced at him as we entered the building, emotion welling up in my eyes as I shook my head, my heart now beating a little more steadily as I approached the place where I would read Salaah. I didn’t want to believe that I was worthy of anything good. I didn’t want to let myself believe that it would all be okay. For me, I rather expect the worst and then get surprised at the best…

And oh yes, I wished for the best. In every way, and my heart was filled with anticipation for what lay ahead as the Salaah commenced.

The Nikah was scheduled to be after Asr and as crowds came in for the prayer, and then left again, giving me a clear sight of Maulana Khalid as he spoke to someone ahead, I knew that the time for me to pull up my socks and get to the front was right then. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. People were mulling out steadily, and as I gazed at my shaky hands, I felt as if time had stood still.

And though I knew Maulana from when I was younger, he was well aware of my past and where it had led me, and now, he accepted me wholeheartedly without any judgement.

I could see Muhammed Husayn around the outskirts, and Jameela’s father approaching the front with two other men. Eyes were on me as I slowly walked up to the small crowd, knowing that this was going to be one of the most defining moments of my life.

I breathed in as I offered a greeting to them all, staying silent as Maulana Khalid introduced himself and then looked at me as if to check if I was ready.

And it was one of those moments when I seriously felt like throwing in the towel and running out of there, not because of what lay ahead for me, but because it only then when reality came crashing down on me like never before.

There was no one who deserved this less than I. My father wasn’t there, although I had hoped he would be. It was just a reminder that I would never be good enough. The truth was glaring at me as I watched Maulana hug my brother-in-law, who was also his cousin-in-law, and then turn to my future father-in-law with praises for me.

I couldn’t quite believe that I was hearing all these complimentary things coming from his mouth, where he spoke as if I was someone great. Hamzah was grinning stupidly as he said it, but I believed none of it when he pulled me to him, telling me that I was such an amazing kind of human for changing my life around the way I had.

All I knew was that this was all just for now, and when they found out what I was really like, they would quickly learn the truth about me. I didn’t know that they would look at me, as the Nikah started, with all this joy and expectation, and the only thing that kept me rooted to the spot was the thought of having a wife like Jameela who would somehow make this all make sense once again.

I wasn’t even sure how I got through the proceedings. I mean, I remembered the shivery nerves and the Maulana asking all the relevant questions. I had agreed, and I had said the binding words with a certainty that would define my life, but it didn’t change the fact that throughout it all, I still felt like I was floating.

I could feel my phone buzzing in my pocket as the small crowd came forward to greet me. I forgot about everything else for that time, living in the moment as everyone hugged and congratulated me as if this great achievement was all due to my own doing. The gratitude in my heart at that moment was insurmountable.

All I knew was that Allah Ta’ala had come through for us in a way that I never imagined. I was filled to the brim with amazement and my heart was literally bursting with pride as I found myself being guided out by my new brother-in-law, who was having a field day with Faheem at my expense.

”He’s ours now, bru,” Hamzah said with a smile as he slung his hand over my shoulder. I couldnt help but wonder how he was still smiling, despite knowing what would be the result of his own marriage very soon. “We’ll take over from here.”

Faheem grinned back, slapped my back and nodded his head.

”My wife says you’re welcome to him,” he said with a wink, looking at his phone. “No returns or exchanges.”

I knew they were joking but the tightness in my chest was still very evident. What if Jameela regretted this? What if the family realised that letting me into their little unit was the worst mistake of their lives?

The banter continued as we drove the short distance to the farm, me trying to keep my nerves at bay as we entered the farm driveway that had become home to me.

There were a few cars parked in the driveway, but knowing that this was going to be a small, private affair, I didn’t think too much of it. Winning Jameela’s Nani over was going to be a challenge, but I was going to do what it took. I could already see her from where we parked, and I couldn’t help but feel a wave of uncertainty overcome me as my father in law, Hamzah and Muhammad Husayn hopped off the car, and waited for  me to join. I already felt like part of the family and I didn’t deserve it.

I shook my head as I tried to dispel all negative emotions, doing the usual meeting and greeting with a few other family men who had just come in from the mosque.

Guided by Hamzah, I could feel his hand on my back as we waded through the people, making our way to Jameela’s family for a quick greeting, before Mohsina appeared from the passage behind the kitchen. I could barely remember who I saw, because I could think of nothing else besides the woman who I had been waiting for months to be alone with.

I wasn’t the type to get all flustered and tongue-tied. I’d seen way too much in life to let myself be swayed by such elementary thoughts.

After so long, it felt like my resolve was finally going to be diminished, and I was quite sure that once I saw her, all noble intentions of easing her into this new relationship would be dissolved.

Mohsina had already gestured to us to meet them down the passage, and as Hamzah gave me the go-ahead to pass through, it felt as if my legs were transporting me all by themselves. Somehow, being here, closer to Jameela, was giving me a courage I never knew I had. Without even realising how, I found myself in front of a room door, hearing about three female voices behind it, and knowing that I would probably have to wait a few minutes before they were entirely ready.

I knew women and their obsession with everything being perfect. After all, I had Nusaybah as a sister and semi-mother. I smiled as I heard a few hushed words and then a sudden screech, before muffled voices came closer to the door.

They were still dilly-dallying around the entrance of the room, and as I remembered my phone in my pocket, and the call I had made just before I went to the masjid.

The last thing I wanted right now in this moment was to be worrying, but Hamzah had done so much for me, and I couldn’t let him down. I knew that I had to be less selfish. I’d have to speak to him properly, to let him know about the latest developments, but as I slid my phone out of my pocket, all thoughts about Hamzah were already sidelined.

The messages were just a few, and besides Nusaybah’s emotional words that took me a full thirty seconds to scroll through, and a few other uneventful updates from Joe, my eyes immediately fell on the message from the unknown number.

I didn’t even have to slide it open to see it, and I could already feel my heart rate escalating. It was short, but it had the desired effect.

Congratulations son. 

I always hated when my uncle called me son. I wasn’t his son, and I would never be.
He never treated me like one, and this time, I needed to show him that I wasn’t that young boy that he used to lock up and control, to make himself feel strong.

It was at the point of my increasing fury that the door opened, and light immediately streamed into the passage my senses as I glanced up at the two females with Mohsina who were making their way out, stepping back and looking down again so they could pass.

I slid my phone back into my pocket, in anticipation for who I would be seeing next, but my consumed mind was still on the remainder of the unsettling message that I had glimpsed just moments before.

It was evident that it was a threat.

Heard that you are a married man now.
Enjoy it while it lasts.

---

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

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

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Sinister Vibes Only

Bismihi Ta’ala

Saaliha

Part 79

”Can you stop stressing?”

Imraan was looking at me with his eyebrow raised as I bit my lip, trying hard not to think of the thing that had been bothering me the last two days.

“It’s not good for the baby.”

He came toward me, rubbing his hands vigorously up and down the sides of my arms as if to comfort me.

It wasn’t doing much good.

“How do you know that I’m stressing?” I asked with a frown, rolling my eyes at him as I breathed out.

“You do that weird thing with your lips,” he said, shaking his head, his brown eyes twinkling playfully. “As if you’re going to nibble them off.”

I narrowed my eyes and he grinned at me humourlessly. I stuck my tongue out at him. Sometimes I wondered if we were still kids.

He was watching me carefully before I finally snapped. I couldn’t hold this in. I had to tell him.

But not yet.

“I just feel like we should be doing something!” I suddenly exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air and feeling exasperated. “You just sit around and watch me being all riled up, as if you’re not bothered. Aren’t you worried, Imraan? Can you imagine what this is going to do to Hamzah? Remember he took like fifty steps forward when he changed his life and got married. What’s going to happen after?”

Imraan merely shrugged at me before looking away, avoiding the obvious.

“I’d like to believe that it’s only a paper but with those two I really can’t be certain…”

He honestly didn’t know what else to say. My mother-in-law had retreated into her own kind of shell after Mohsina had told her about the court case. My father-in-law said nothing at all.

As for Rabia, I couldn’t help but notice something frisky in her eyes that day Mohsina told us about this nightmare they were experiencing. Well, after she literally forced them to tell her what was going on in their marriage, as if she was part of it.

And then there were the messages.

“What about Zaid?” I had asked the day before, my entire world feeling like if was spinning as I recalled what Mohsina had said about the court case. A divorce was imminent. There was no other way. “What will happen to him?!”

I was getting a little panicky. In situations like this, I tend to get prickly and not manage emotions very well. Being pregnant didn’t help the situation. Everything was like fifteen times more intense.

”He will be in between us for now,” Mohsina had said, her voice sounding strained. “He’s not feeding so much anyway. I don’t know if it’s the stress or if the milk is just drying up in the past two weeks… But without needing me all the time and us being apart… I think it’s Allah’s way of showing me that he’ll be okay.”

I watched her as her expression remained stoic, like Mohsina’s often was, but there was a certain vulnerability that seeped through the hardened exterior that she was trying to portray.

She was emotional. Unquestionably. Maybe she was feeling it that Zaid was self-weaning. She looked worn and pale and I could see that she was probably barely sleeping. All this must be taking a toll on her.

I glanced at Zaid who was sitting in the feeding chair that my father-in-law bought for him. He was family. Part of our family, and no one dared ever say otherwise. He was sucking his brocolli covered hands with such concentration that I couldn’t help but smile at him, despite the somber situation.

My mother-in-law was fussing over him and my father-in-law was alternating between watching Zaid and looking out at Hamzah and Imraan talking outside.

”So when’s it all happening?” I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know.

“After the Nikah,” she said simply, but with a tiny smile at the mention of Nikah. “My sisters  insisting that they have it this weekend. She’s such a hopeless romantic that she literally cannot wait. I thought it would be best if Hamzah and I were together for the wedding and the functions. Too many questions otherwise…”

I heard her concerns but my heart felt like it was going to crack open.

My eyes drifted to Hamzah, who was leaning against the balustrade outside while Imraan sat in front of him, speaking about something animatedly. I could see from my husbands hand gestures that they were talking  pretty seriously and I just had a hunch that they were discussing the same issues that were on my mind.

I wanted to ask her what exactly happened to make it so bad. I knew that it had to do with her old boss and that there had been some foul play involved. Imraan wasn’t the type to air anyone’s dirty laundry, no matter what it entailed, but I got the idea that Mohsina and the old boss weren’t just having a professional relationship. I had heard Rabia’s theories too, who claimed that Mohsina was very much seriously involved with him, but listening to Rabia always caused problems. She was also looking a little too smug about the entire situation for me to actually take her seriously.

Rabia had just sauntered in at that point, and from her body language I could tell that she was looking to start an argument. I’d been living with her long enough to tell.

“What time are we even eating?” She scowled, glancing at the two salads on the counter as if they annoyed her. “Do you guys even know how hungry I am? I need some protein. Like. STAT.”

I almost rolled my eyes, but Mohsina’s raised eyebrows still portrayed enough annoyance for both of us.

”Help yourself,” Mohsina said, nudging one of the salads towards her. “There’s cheese in there.”

I wanted to giggle but Mos’s straight face was too serious to even try. She had quite the quirky sense of humour, and I also got the feeling that she was upset about how Rabia had pushed them in the spotlight the day before when they told us about the courtcase.

“Not enough protein,” Rabia said with a flip of her hair. “Plus, I’m like starving. I only had my protein shake this morning and it’s been like 7 hours.”

”Ah,” Mohsina said, something unreadable in her eyes as she looked back at her, hands propped up on the counter against her face. “And where do you get your special protein shakes from?”

The question seemed innocent enough and Rabia looked pretty flattered that she was asking about her dietary requirements and restrictions. There was a certain attitude she adopted when she replied, trying to make her lifestyle sound as glamorous as possible.I always noticed it.

”Oh it’s that place near Melrose arch,” she said with an easy smile. “You know, they sell all those organic things that make you feel like your life is soooo unhealthy. Near the ice cream place that you-“

She cut herself short and quickly re-adjusted her head band as she paused awkwardly.

She had stopped mid sentence and was now shifting around and adjusting her phone cover.

Wait.

Did I miss something?

A sinister look passed between the two of them that involved Mohsina’s narrowed eyes and Rabia’s fidgety fingers, and I immediately got the feeling that there was something glaring at me here.

”I meant,” Rabia reiterated, taking a deep breath and finally looking up. “The place that I posted about that sells the most amazing flavours of ice cream.”

”The same one that has the guava and mint one, right?” Mohsina asked with a cock of her head, not missing a beat, despite Rabia’s pinched face. “I mean, I always wondered… who on earth even eats such weird flavours? Do you know how unpalatable that is, Sawls?”

Mohsina’s gaze switched to me and I frowned and shook my head at the mention of guava. I’ve never been a fan of the fruit so ordering the ice cream flavour for me was kind of out of the question.

”I-“

I turned to look at Rabia who has stopped her sentence, and I could actually see her entire body suddenly rigid, as if frozen in place after Mohsina’s gaze landed on her. She looked like she had been struck senseless by whatever Mohsina had just said.

”I used to know a guy who actually loved that flavour,” Mohsina said, ignoring her, but her face riddled with suspicion as she said it. “I wonder if he still eats it…”

She was looking distinctly uncomfortable but before I could even ask what was up, and Mohsina could continue the conversation, Imraan and Hamzah made their way inside, both looking a little frazzled by whatever they had been speaking so intensely about.

My husband, being the everlasting peacemaker, landed his gaze on Rabia’s stiffened shoulders questionably, not able to be quiet.

”Whatsup sis?” He asked animatedly. “All okay?”

He ruffled her open hair playfully and

Rabia’s entire demanour seemed to suddenly morph again as she looked at Imraan and huffed.

”Nothing,” she said stiffly, looking all tensed up and unsure of what she should do next. Her hands were twisted around each other and I watched her flatten her bouncy hair as she looked at him.

I barely even noticed it, but she had changed so much in the past year. Where she had been really strict about hijab, now Rabia didn’t bother much, especially if she was going out to gym or for her runs.

Mohsina’s face was as stony as ever as she watched Rabia, and as for Rabia… It was like Mohsina had rattled her in a way she never knew before.

Something about the ice cream place had shifted something in the atmosphere. I wish I knew what was going on.

“Your face doesn’t seem like nothings up,” Hamzah said with a small grin, the serious expression I had seen on him earlier as he spoke to Imraan slightly lifted.

It was like he didn’t want Mohsina to see his true feelings.

“I have a masters in reading your expressions and I can see when something’s unsettled.”

I looked at Mohsina who was now seated on the opposite side of the room, also watching Rabia curiously. All eyes were on her and she was feeling the pressure. For the first time in months, I actually felt sorry for Rabia.

“I’m fine!” Rabia almost shouted, throwing her hands up into the air, glaring at us. “Stop trying to read me and force me to feel stuff. What the hell is your vibe?!”

Hamzah’s expression was now completely lost as Rabia stormed off, in all her unpredictable fury. He was looking from Rabia to Mohsina and then to me, as if trying to find some answers that he wasn’t getting.

I shrugged. I was honestly just as lost.

“What on earth?”

Hamzah was looking at Mohsina, who was  unreadable, but I could tell that he had no idea either of what was going on.

“Vibe,” Imraan said as he watched he retreat up the stairs. “What the hell is a vibe anyway?”

He frowned slightly, scratching his head. Honestly, sometimes he acted ten years older than he actually was.

“It’s like a mood,” I said with a small smile, trying to move on from the outburst. “Intuition? Like something you have. I don’t know. Positive, negative. Sinister. Cool.  Good vibes only is like a thing people say right?”

I turned to Mohsina but she was spaced out as i looked at her. Sinister. Why did I even say that?

Oh yes, because that’s how Rabia had been acting.

Hamzah had been frowning at her questioningly just before he moved into the lounge to check on Zaid, who my father-in-law was very busy entertaining. As he walked forward, I couldn’t help but notice Mohsina following them both with her eyes, watching Hamzah as he picked Zaid up and kissed his face unreservedly.

I could practically see her swooning.

It was obvious that she still felt for him. A lot.

Besides, when I watched Hamzah and Mohsina, I could tell that they weren’t ready for this. As strong as they were trying to be, I could see the glances that passed between them that betrayed their words.

They were both, undoubtedly, in love. But what’s love got to do with destructive law suits that can ruin your life, right?

I didn’t understand much about the corporate world but I did know that Mohsina had been pretty deep in it. I just wished that there was an answer for her to get out of it.

“Jannah vibes!” Imraan almost shouted randomly as he held his hand up in the air. “That makes sense, right?”

Oh yes, we were still on the vibes thing.

”I mean, technically, we should all be having Jannah vibes right?”

I smiled at that. Jannah vibes for sure. I mean, no one’s ever asked me what’s my vibe before. It wasn’t like a basic conversation anyone would have. But our entire aim in this world is suppose  to be Jannah.

The thing is, in everything that we do, our core question should always be to ask: what does Allah expect of me regarding this?

Society is warped and social media has got everyone into sheep mentality, but Qur’ān and Sunnah is always unchanging and forms the best anchor. Through the lens of the hereafter, we let ourselves understand the true kind of vibes we should all have.

Abu Huraira reported: The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “Whoever is kind, affable, and easy-going, Allah will forbid him from entering Hellfire.”

Source: al-Sunan al-Kubrá lil-Bayhaqī 20806

Grade: Sahih (authentic) according to Al-Albani

And it was simple. To be good, to be humble, to be easy going and kind to everyone was part of our path to attain Jannah. And most definitely everyone’s path isn’t the same, but what I did know was that to strive to be who Allah Ta’ala wants us to be, despite how hard it may be, is goals for me.

That’s definitely some amazing kind of Jannah vibe.

”No Jannah vibes coming from that direction,” I murmured light heartedly, nodding toward the nook where Rabia was and remembering her sullen face as she left.

She didn’t come out again till the evening, and no one really asked. In fact, I kind of appreciated the peace.

If was after Hamzah and Mohsina left that Imraan and my in-laws were sitting in the lounge while Uthman had pulled out a pack of uno cards. I sat on the carpet and played with him mindlessly as I heard the conversation surrounding me, feeling myself lose any of the hope that I’d had about them sorting out the problem.

It seemed that the more time passed, the more complicated it became.

We were in the city for the week since Imraan had some work, and being Mohsina’s sisters wedding, Imraan thought that it would be best to stay till the main even, especially since Hamzah seemed to be a littel stressed out.

Mohsina had told us that we would all be invited but since her sister wanted a simple and quick affair, dates and times would be decided in the week and she would let us know from there.

And though the wedding was so exciting and fun to plan, even for me as she tasked me with baking a few dozen mini cakes for tea, I couldn’t help but feel the impending doom of what was to come after it was all over. I knew for a fact that this event was keeping them together and that it was afterwards when Mohsina and Hamzah would be forced to part ways, no matter what happened in between.

The talk was too depressing. If I heard about legal divorce and embezzlement one more time, I would probably start getting emotional. I needed a diversion and

I loved to bake. Knowing that I would be tasked with making mini cakes with a Nikah theme got me all excited. Though I kept most of my baking supplies at the farm now, I did still have some at the main house where we used to stay in Joburg. I felt myself gravitating toward the kitchen, wanting to check on what was still okay to use and make a list of what I would still need to get.

I barely noticed Rabia sitting on the corner nook, next to the grocery cupboard, until I heard her little snort of laughter. I whipped my head around to see her watching her phone. She was sitting away from the family, as usual, stuck on social media and whatever else was on that device of delusion. It was weird how people would forsake an actual conversation for something that was virtual, but with Rabia, nothing seemed to even surprise me anymore.

“All okay?” I said lightly, opening the drawers below the oven as I glanced at her.

”Mhmm,” she murmured, nodding blankly. She barely even lifted her head. She was obviously not into actual socialising today.

And it was so sad because that kind of behaviour was actually becoming so normal, that it scared me. While I thrived on visitors, actual meetings and functions that happened, the newer generation were far too comfortable sitting on their phones having fake relationships that have no depth. We are so obsessed with media, building and things, that we’ve stopped worrying about the things in life that really matter.

There is a slightly sinister side (depending on how you look at it) to how social media shapes what you care about.

“Mark Zuckerberg, a journalist was asking him a question about the news feed. And the journalist was asking him,

“Why is this so important?” And Zuckerberg said, “A squirrel dying in your front yard may be more relevant to your interests right now than people dying in Africa.” And I want to talk about what a Web based on that idea of relevance might look like.”1 -Eli Pariser

The glaring truth is: social media companies decide, for example, which tragedies will provide the option of updating your profile picture in solidarity. As we consume content about one issue, or similar types of issues, algorithms then kick in. They note our interest, and then continue to serve up similar content.

Without realizing it, we are in the ultimate brainless echo chamber.

Everyone we know is talking about the same thing and from the same point of view. It is then unfathomable for anyone to not take part, or have a differing opinion. We assume that if people simply saw the things we saw, they would think the way we think. Hours are then invested into debates over group text and comments sections sharing and resharing the content that supports our views while ignoring everything else.

People think that posting something to 100 strangers or 20 friends is going to somehow completely counteract the effects of the politico-me-dia complex.

That’s not going to happen.

What we need to do instead is focus on our more personal networks. We need to have   deeper relationships with actual people… have frank discussions with and challenge each other’s views. We need to switch off that Wi-Fi connection and build our family bonds.

Rabia was obsessed with the exact opposite.

I ignored her as I continued to search for some pastel coloured cake flora that I was so sure I had bought a few weeks ago. She was humming to herself and me, being so busy with my own task, I barely even noticed that she had something on the stove. I mean, there was plenty of food left over from earlier, but Rabia had been so annoyed with us all, for Allah knows what reason, that she didn’t even come eat.

Not only that, it was obvious that the food didn’t meet her standards, hence the reason why she was actually here, making her own packet of those ever-popular extra hot noodles that everyone had been raving about months ago.

“Something on the stove?” I asked, sniffing something a little odd but not quite sure if I was just being paranoid.

”Oh shit,” she said immediately, her eyes widening at me as I closed the cupboard and watched her literally blast off the bar stool she was sitting on.

In seconds, her phone had literally fallen onto the counter next to me as I tossed the few cake toppers I had found onto it, sorting through the lot while I heard her mumble a whole lot of incoherent words under her breath.

She was so busy trying to do damage control as she wiped the overboiled mess off the stove, that she didn’t even hear her phone ping.

And I didn’t mean to look. I just happened to be there at the time, and her phone was right next to me. It was almost like a reflex reaction. The phone buzzed as I sorted the mess on the counter, and my eyes literally shifted over to the suddenly brightened screen as I saw the sender.

The F Factor: So are you sure that she’s onto you because of that post? Wasn’t that the plan?

I blinked and looked away.

I mean who names someone the ‘F factor’? It sounded so… sinister. Not to mention, slightly crude.

It buzzed again.

And before you call me a creep and a nosy housewife with nothing better to do, let me just explain that I really never did this.

Let me make it clear. I never spied on peoples phones before.

Kinky texts or coded messages weren’t my thing anymore than pumpkin spice latte but with the second message coming in literally seconds after the first, my eyes already glided over again and I couldn’t help but suck my breath in as the next message came in.

The F Factor: Better question. After everything you said… you think Mos is onto me?

I stared at the phone for around three seconds before it registered.

Oh my goodness. I had just seen something that I wasn’t supposed to see.

Correction: I had just seen something that involved someone I cared about, that I wasn’t supposed to see.

I had witnessed something that was supposed to only be meant for Rabia’s eyes, and in that it was almost like I had incriminated her of something I never thought she would be capable of.

I glanced at my sister-in-law, oblivious to my findings, quickly scooping up the packets of edible decor before I moved along on the counter, my heart beating like never before as I recalled the message in my mind.

What in the world did it mean? It was obvious that Rabia was talking to someone about Mohsina but what wasn’t so obvious was what her whole motive behind this was. Was she trying to help Mohsina or was she trying to make things worse? The whole exchange earlier was definitely something but the bigger question was, who on earth was this ‘F factor’ person who she was feeding all this information to? I had only seen two messages but it was obvious that there was a lot more than just those two.

I couldn’t quite believe that Rabia actually had in in her to sabotage someone’s marriage and life but looking at her lately, I wasn’t quite sure anymore. It felt like the only thing that mattered to her was her social media feed and all the posts she hankered after to impress people.

Family, relationships and actual people in her life meant nothing to her. I could feel myself shaking with anger as I registered all that, feeling like I was about to explode any second with fury.

And just when I felt like I was about to boil over, and shoot questions at her like never before, when I realised that there was no way I could do that. There was no way I could confront her.

And okay. Maybe I was scared, but come on. Hear me out. This was Rabia we were talking about. At the mention of anything even remotely incriminating, she would probably hate me like never before.

I had to think about this. Really carefully. I mean, I just saw one sinister message – okay two- that could mean that this entire thing is a huge set up for Hamzah and Mohsina’s marriage to fail, but I couldn’t just jump to conclusions. As much as my gut was telling me that it was highly likely, my brain was telling me to lower the accusations down a notch before jumping to conclusions.

I had to get my ducks in a row. It was possible that I had a lot more than just baking some fairy cakes this week… and it was highly possible that Rabia was not going to like what all this would expose…

---

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

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

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

When Money doesn’t Matter

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

part 78

Who gets to determine when the old ends and the new begins. It’s not a day on a calendar, not a birthday, not a new year. It’s an event, big or small, something that changes us.

You know how they sometimes say that the whole lead up to the entire event is so much more nerve wrecking and overrated than the actual thing?

Well, let me tell you, when I spoke to Zubair for the first time, it was the complete opposite.

I mean, you would think that after all that obsessing over him from afar and conjuring up what my knight in shining weapons and armour (literally) was really like in person from figments of my imagination, I may have been a teeny bit…. extra.

But even so… all I could say was that the actual meeting with Zubair was something that I really did not expect to be so… ground-breaking. And I mean ground breaking in the sense that my entire world is now spinning on a different axis kind of ground breaking.

You see, an insaan, there’s very little that we do understand. We may think that we are wise and we are smart and that we have knowledge. But the vastness of Allah Ta’ala is something that our minds cannot fathom. We think that we know value and we know wealth, but Allahs wealth is something beyond all comprehension.

The intricacies of every creation, the anatomy of the human body, the unique patterns on every single leaf is a reminder to us that we truly know nothing of Allah and his magnificence. Nothing at all.

But we strive to learn. We go to lengths of constructing space ships, of drilling into the crust of the earth and of breaking all kinds of boundaries just to find out a little more than we already know. But still. Even the Jannati has no inkling if what Allah Ta’ala has prepared for him. Even the Jannati will get far beyond his expectations.

And sometimes on this earth, Allah Ta’ala blesses us with little pieces of Jannah, even if they are only for a short while.

And of course, my heart was only endowed with love because of the actuality of how Allah Ta’ala comes through for us.

It had been one of those exceptionally gorgeous days of the year, where the flowers were popping with colour and the sun was shining brightly. Despite it being January, there was a coolness in the air that brought little comfort. My eyes had been fixated on the roses that were coincidentally the happiest that they’ve ever been, despite being a little overgrown, but in all their colourful glory, they reminded me of happiness and joy and all things that made my heart swoon.

The fact that I knew Zubair tended to and made them even more gorgeous than they were, did something to my insides. A man who appreciated nature for me was already Mr Right.

But today, there was no time or reason for daydreams. Today, I was actually going to be meeting Zubair in the flesh, but of course, the ever present theatrics in our household that never ceased to exist made the day a little more interesting.

“Mohsina!” Nani screeched as my sister crept up behind her, trying to spy silently on what she was doing in the kitchen with about five hundred different utensils out. Nani had spun around, wooden spoon in hand and held her hand to her heart dramatically. “You gave me the frights!”

The Frights? Like, why do people even say that?

Oh my goodness, I was broken. I was holding my tummy and laughing the hardest ever as I watched Nani give Mohsina the mafia look, letting her know that she was not to be trifled with.

If there was anything to kill my nerves, it was Nani and her eccentric dramatics.

“But Nani, you gave us the frights,” Mohsina said, hiding her smile and placing her hands on her hips, while Hamzah grinned behind her. “You said you weren’t going to be here. Did Muneer and Nadeema already make their Nikah? So fast fast, Masha Allah.”

Mos had a sarcastic grin on her face and Nanis gaze faltered. I could see that for once, she was actually stumped.

“Muneer had emergency,” Nani said stiffly, adjusting her dupatta after a few long seconds, and I could tell that she was doubting something as she said it. “They came early also. Poor boy only got to talk five minutes and the message came. So hard he works, Allah, shame. But he is so rich so it’s okay.”

Mhhhmm. Shame, indeeed. She was holding out her free hand dramatically, looking as though her entire world had been shifted with the news. Only Nani will say things like that. Like money is the ultimate saviour and intervention no matter what the problem.

“But Nani,” Mohsina said evenly, raising an eyebrow. “Money doesn’t matter. You think money is going to make him a better person? He could have at least told someone else to take his place at the hospital so you wouldn’t have to rush all over the place.”

Wait.

I mean, I knew that my cousin wasn’t horrible in looks but she was was no diva I also knew that Muneer was a shallow guy. From the biceps incident, I got the feeling that a little extra cushioning here and there may have been a game-changer.

Mohsina’s eyes bulged slightly before she glanced at me with interest.

If I didn’t try my very hardest and think the best of every situation it would have definitely been an ‘aha’ moment. I didn’t want to believe the possibility that Muneer was that shallow. Surely he had to see beyond the superficial. Right?

”Don’t think I came because I’m happy with you people,” she said grumpily when she saw me. “I only came because I don’t want you to embarrass the family.”

Haai, Nani.

“Wrong granddaughter, Nani,” Mos said with an awkward laugh. “I’m the one who usually embarrasses the family. Not Jamz.”

There was something about the way she said it, that made me feel a pang of torment in my gut. Mos was dealing with so much more than I knew.

I waited for Nani to move away whilst grumbling something incoherent (probably about her useless granddaughters) and then turning into conversation to a sympathetic Hamzah before I went up behind my sister and draped my arms around her from the back. Resting my head on her shoulder, taking in her calming scent of Dove body wash and some designer shampoo, I could feel a slight tremble in her as she breathed in, and I realised that as she busied herself at the kitchen sink, she had been sniffling away.

Ah man. This day was way more emotional than I had bargained for.

”Mos, stop being so hard on yourself,” I said softly, feeling like for the first time in my life, I wanted to protect my sister. She had always been the one to protect me. To take care of me. And I knew that she had Hamzah to look after her for now but she was pushing him away and I didn’t know why she seemed so fragile all of a sudden. I wanted to wrap her up and save her from the world.

“I’m destroying someone’s life,” she said miserably, her voice breaking again. “Breaking so many hearts. I spoke to my in-laws yesterday. Spoilt the entire mood after Saaliha told us about the baby.”

My heart broke for her. She turned around and I looked at her teary face, unable to process what that meant.

“You told them?!” I asked incredulously. “I thought you were going to wait until Hamzah leaves…”

It wasn’t ideal but it made more sense.

“It was all Rabia’s fault, Jamz,” she said, shaking her head. “Honestly, I feel that she’s up to something. She mentioned that she saw Hamzah leaving work early the one day when he was coming to meet the lawyer with me.I think she was going to gym or something. She forced him to speak about it. It seemed so… plotted and vindictive. Like she wants me to fail… and I don’t even know why she hates me so much.”

She sounded miserable. And I’d never seen my sister so concerned about what someone thought about her. I guessed that perhaps because this was really affecting every aspect of her and Hamzah’s life.

I raised my eyebrows, wondering if Hamzah’s sister really was like that. She was probably just adding fuel to the fire because she enjoyed the show that came out of it.

“I can’t help feel like this is not going to end well,” she said softly, an evident panic in her eyes. “Do you know Zubair is putting himself into so much of danger trying to help Hamzah? Hamzah is still being so stubborn about everything, fighting to find a loophole. As for Rabia… she seems so thrilled, and then there’s still the instagram post…”

I wanted to ask what instagram post but it was at that moment that my attention had been diverted due to the doorbell and the swarming of butterflies in my tummy immediately turned to dragons.

”We’ll continue this later,” I said, squeezing her hand before she shook her head and smiled at me, as if she was back to being the unaffected and rigid version of herself that we were all so used to.

Zubair and family had just arrived and without even seeing him, as always, there was a heaviness in the room that made me immediately feel like I could barely breathe.

His presence was stifling.

And of course, even with all those thoughts racing through my mind, it didn’t take long after all the emotional greetings with Nusaybah and her winning Nani over with her beautiful ways before Zubair caught my eye as we walked to the small lounge, and I watched his face break out into a smile.

Honestly, after hating him for a few weeks and wanting to ring his neck, somehow, seeing him smile made me want to ring his neck even more. The way his entire demeanour had changed after Hamzah had somehow changed his mind was completely unexpected. Instead of being aloof and unapproachable, somehow it felt like I knew him so much longer than just a few months.

And there it was again, that feeling that he was not only just watching me, but he knew me without me sharing a thing.

Papa trusted Zubair, for some reason, despite his history  and rocky past.

Papa had stayed in the next room to talk to his brother-in-law, the doctor, while the two of us had made our way to the little sitting area just next to it.

And though I was so used to seeing him, it still didn’t conquer the nerves that were dampening my hands every few seconds. There I was, avoiding eye contact with this roguishly handsome guy, trying to at least pretend like I was used to this. Honestly, I was actually a little afraid of meeting his gaze, because I knew what it would do to me. Turn me to putty. Having spoken very briefly, mostly about Mohsina while Papa and Zubair were at the coffee shop a few days back, I would have thought that this meeting would have been a little less nerve wrecking.

Well, I was completely wrong.

I could feel the perspiration even under my hijab as soon as his gaze landed on me. I felt hot and cold all at the same time. My heart rate had picked up and I already felt like I was close to having some kind of panic attack due to the intensity of him looking like he could see right down to my soul.

My goodness, my heart.

”Hey. Assalamu-Alaykum…”

He looked up, and his tone was casual as he said it, and I almost did a double take when I saw him in the kind of clothes that were something other than his normal work slacks. Perhaps I was just being dramatic.

Zubair wore a blue-grey kurta with no collar, hitched up slightly as he sat down again, with a simple jeans underneath. His hair was brushed back under his topee and I had to focus on looking down so I didn’t start being all forward and staring at this man who was aesthetically quite something that I shouldn’t be looking at.

Sue me if I was attracted to the guy. It had been months of me seeing this dusty and ruffled up guy and I honestly couldn’t believe he cleaned up so well. Call me corny, but his bronzey skin almost looked like it was sparkling.

I almost giggled to myself, wanting to silence my thoughts, and then internally slapped myself instead.

I was so immature. Maybe I was just too used to virtual meetings. The meetings were showing up meant that you didn’t actually have to be present. Social media didn’t help with all of that and being a gen Z had made me socially awkward. Of course. That was it.

A weird feeling in my tummy made me a little giddy. This was so intense.

Meeting the week before had definitely made things less formal. Easier. But the swarm of butterflies were still there, in the pit of my gut. In fact, I think the butterflies were there from the minute he darkened our doorway, and never left.

“Hey,” I said back, looking at the carpet and smiling shyly. “Wa’alaikum salaam.”

I couldn’t look up. I just couldn’t.

I tried not to think of the flowing, pretty aqua dress that Mohsina had bought a few weeks ago and insisted I had to wear so he could actually see a better version of me. I kept my feet planted firmly on the ground, trying hard not to do any knee shaking that may make me seem unstable.

“How was your day?”

It was such an elementary question but the way he said it wasn’t.

”Erm,” I said softly, my lack of vocabulary a little embarrassing. “Alhumdulillah.”

Indeed. Alhumdulillah in every situation. I didn’t want to say much. Whatever the day had brought. However many emotions had been packed into it.

I breathed out while he looked at me briefly, and then placed a pink rose with a beautiful perfume on the table next to us, and my just kind of dissolved to putty. Roses were my absolute weakness and this guy knew just how to play his cards.

He brought an single rose- a colour I hadn’t seen in a long time- and while staring at it wasn’t ideal, I was working on avoiding eye contact as I sat on the couch furtherest from him, feeling all shy and out of my element, adjusting my scarf as I settled into a seat about a meter from him.

”That’s beautiful,” I said, blinking as I picked it up, noticing that he had shaved all the thorns off perfectly.

”Okay, I need to confess.”

It was him again and my heart raced again. A confession kind of scared me.

He had told Papa a lot about his past and though was good to know, I had so many more questions.

“Ive been wanting to ask you that forever,” he said with a shy smile, making me wonder what he was talking about.

I looked up, a little confused, rose in my hand, just a little speechless.

“What?” I breathed out. It smelt divine.

And okay, besides rendering me speechless every time he so much as moved, he had the most amazing teeth.

Like honestly, it was like a Colgate commercial.

”How was your day?” He said again, pearly whites all visible and … dang. “You have no idea … and you haven’t given me enough of an answer now because it looks like there’s so much more on your mind right now…”

The way this guy read me was like a book.

I looked down and I could feel my cheeks flushing a bit with the intensity of his gaze. Like, did the guy have any other way to look at people please? Everything about him was so intense and deep and completely disarming.

It made me realise that although I had been taking in by him and how criminally handsome he was, I had also been majorly attracted to the part of his personality that connected with people and made him so much more human than he realised. Yes, Zubair didn’t have money and rich parents but he was one of those few who had been blessed with integrity and amazing qualities.

From Nusaybah, I knew that he didn’t think much of himself, wanted to be better and felt that he had so much to work on… but to me, his consideration, his humility, him never overstepping the line with me even thought there was plenty of opportunity and always approaching everything with so much of thought and caution was goals.

He respected my father and in turn, he had earned my fathers respect.

”So?” He said expectantly, still giving me a small smile that knocked me for a six.

My mind needed to be sanitised. I was glancing at his mouth way too much.

“It was fine,” I managed to say, quite certain I was making a fool of myself. My hands were trembling and I sat on them to get them to stop. “Eventful. Mos is… emotional. Nani gave us quite the surprise and now you’re here…”

My words were fast and my voice had been a bit shaky but the sentence was coherent and true. It had been pretty eventful. I mean, I barely expected Nani to come.

I wasn’t sure what had happened and who had said what but her being here was something that actually consoled me. Like her presence meant that maybe things weren’t going to be so bad after all.

“I have a question.”

Questions. Right. That’s what we were supposed to be doing. I mean, I already knew so much about  Zubair but I also had questions. Questions about him that no one knew. Questions about his life that made me want to get right down to the bottom of his story. About his father. About why they never reconciled. About what really happened with his uncle and his past life.

But I wanted to believe that we had enough time. I opened my mouth and closed it again, because he was already speaking.

”Im sure you have questions too,” he said, shifting in his seat and looking at me as he did it again. He read my mind. I finally met his gaze as he watched me, feeling completely exposed as his expression turned to one of compassion. “I just needed to check… are you sure about this…?”

I could barely even nod. I wanted to ask him if he was sure about me. After so many months of my silly crushing on him, I couldn’t quite believe that he was actually here. Wanting to marry me. And liking me enough to do it.

Maybe when he knew the real me, things would change.

I looked up and it was the most intense thing, his gaze when it was on me, waiting for my answer to this very important question.

It was the first time I had seen him so up close, and though I did notice his unnatural eyes before, I didn’t quite notice how stunningly haunting they were in the daylight. Two different colours that made him seem like someone supernatural. The right one was a brown with yellow specks and the left one was a green with golden specks.

It was the first time I had ever seen anything like that in my life.

“I wanted to see you and explain this to you in person,” he said softly, not realising that I was staring into his eyes like a kuku case. “You know about my past. I’m far from perfect and I don’t even want to ever bring you into the kind of life that I was in. With a history like mine, I’m sure you realise that I’ve had quite the reputation…”

I didn’t realise that I was staring at a spot on the carpet blankly until he shifted slightly, realising that I was actually being a little weird.

”Jameela?”

His voice was soft when he said my name. And oh my word, I was a goner.

Get a grip of yourself, Jameela, I chided myself.

Zubair was worried, and it made sense. He didn’t want to drag me into a life where he had earned so many enemies along the way. Coming here to the farm had been his hide out, his safe place and I had to understand that going through with this would also bring its fair share of challenges.

And of course, being who I was, feeling the way I felt right then, and truly feeling that love could conquer everything.

I wanted what I wanted, and that was that. I wanted to truly know Zubair. I wanted to spend more time with him. To be more than just someone who he would pass by and never talk to.

I didn’t think of what could happen after.

”I’m sure,” I said firmly, with not even an ounce of hesitancy in my voice, letting myself meet his alluring gaze once more.

”I’m afraid that you may change your mind if anything has to happen. And it’s not impossible. People can find me. They can threaten me. It’s why I never wanted to marry before, but I realised that at some point I have to also let go of the past.”

”And build a better future,” I said quietly. I almost added ‘with me’ like a creep but luckily my mouth wasn’t my worst enemy that day. Only my stupid brain.

Zubair’s eyebrows were raised quizzically but I could see something in his eyes as he said it.

His words too, were laced with fear. Fear for what, I wasn’t quite sure.

“Are you afraid of something?” I asked, looking up at him now and meeting his gaze. I wished that I didn’t.

I had to look away.

He was silent for a while, before he clasped his hands together.

“I have a weakness, Jameela,” he said, after a few seconds. “Maybe it’s a strength, because it’s for people who I care about. It’s just that in the past, the people I cared about didn’t really care about me. I would do anything to protect them. Even if it goes against my natural disposition. Even if it’s risky. Even if it exposes me. Sometimes I lose myself when those people are threatened. That day in the shop…”

He stopped mid sentence, and I already knew which day he was talking about. In the coffee shop when the horrid customer threw his weight around and made me feel like the scum of the earth.

There was a side of Zubair I had never witnessed or heard my father speak about. An angry, unhinged side that made me wonder who he really was.

But now I knew who he was. I knew that he had been on the wrong path once. I knew that he was fiercely protective. I also knew that although he told my father that things could get dangerous, he would never let anyone hurt me. There was something so right in the way that felt.

“I almost lost control of myself ,” he said in a low tone.

He may have been right. He had been angry. But people aren’t always the greatest, and anger is a normal emotion and natural response.

It’s how we control it that makes the difference, and he did.
I didn’t even think what it meant for me. I didn’t even want to ponder about Zubair actually noticing me at that time, like I actually meant something. He never showed it.

”It wasn’t like you beat the man up or anything,” I said, my voice sounding slightly squeaky as I tried to make light of the situation.

“But I wanted to,” he said seriously, his voice hard and full of dark emotion. “And that’s not what I was taught after I changed my life. That’s not what the Sunnah teaches. I wanted to be better. I wanted to be able to never hurt someone else in my life. I didn’t want to go back to the man who I was. To that cold-blooded monster who didn’t think or feel, and just do what he was being controlled to do. I wanted to change.”

He was so passionate and urgent in what he was saying. A huge knot of tension had formed in my stomach. Did this mean that it scared him to get close to someone? It explained why he was always here… alone, with nowhere that he really went to and no one he met.

“I’ve undergone so much of training,” he said softly. “I’ve been trying to reverse everything that had made me the person I used to be. I wanted to be able to overlook faults. To lower my gaze from people’s wrong. I’m trying to become type of character that can emulate the Sahabah. They had to experience so much for their Jannah, and we get overcome by emotion and give up at the slightest test…”

How he said it reminded me of the beauty of the ways of the Sahabah. I knew that many of them wanted to atone for their deeds by doing something amazing to make up for all the wrong they had done.

“But I’m failing. And it feels like the entire world has fallen into a drunken state and Islam is the only lifeline to sober us up. While everyone else sees blurred coincidences of chaos, we see the signs and we see the beginning of the end of times. I’ve seen so much of rot and ugliness, and it took me so long to change. Sometimes I don’t know if we even know that we have all the answers and solutions right in our midst…”

He placed his hand on his chest and I saw it, in the top pocket of his kurta. His lifeline.

The Qur’ān. It was the only lifeline here. When we hold fast to it, that’s the only time we see light within the darkness.

I widened my eyes as his long fingers grasped the edge of the pages and held them back in place.

“I know that this is a lot to take in but I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know that being who I was may be something that may make you feel uncomfortable. There are parts of it that were horrible. Terrifying. Painful. I don’t ever want you to suffer or start to hate me because of that…”

I shook my head, indicating that I wouldn’t ever do that. He came here to see me but all he was doing was trying to get me to change my mind.

I could feel myself getting angry as he looked down now, almost as if he had defeated himself.

“Are you done?” I asked roughly, feeling irritable that he had done that. Why did he have to be so hard on himself? 
“Do you only have bad things to say about yourself?”

He looked shocked that I said it. I mean, even I was shocked at myself. Shy, dreamy Jameela actually had a mouth that spat out some vicious venom now and then.

And then, as I glared at him, with much resolve I must admit, slowly but surely, an amused smile crept onto his face, almost as if what I had said was the most hilarious thing in the entire conversation.

“No, I’m not done,” he said with a grin, his amazing teeth visible again.

The audacity. I still wanted to ring his neck and the need was more intense with every second his alluring grin widened.

I narrowed my eyes as he continued.

“I actually wanted to also tell you that I know Nani doesn’t like me,” he said, still grinning. I could feel myself flushing at that. How did he know that? 

The walls had ears, for sure.

“And I don’t blame her at all. In fact, I think she’s right.”

”What?!” I scoffed incredulously. No. He wasn’t actually saying all this.

Telling me Nani was right was way below the belt. I mean, on the one hand I had Ken, I mean Muneer, who kept inflating his own ego… and now there was Zubair who kept hating on himself.

I didn’t understand it. What was it with this guy? 

”I think she is right,” he said again, more calmly.

”Why would you say that?” I asked, shaking my head at him.

How on earth could he say that Nani’s outdated thinking could be right?

I was about to tell him so, but he was looking at me now, and his face was suddenly all serious, as if he hadn’t just been all full off nonsense and humour a few seconds ago. His jaw was set firmly and his entire body seemed to suddenly morph into something completely different. Honestly, this guy reminded me of some sort of shape-shifter.

“I know I don’t have much,” he said softly, his voice serious and foreboding. “Nani is right with that. But from what I’ve seen in life, from all the people I’ve met… I’ve learnt that these things, that everyone cares about so much, don’t really matter. I’ve seen men in mansions who are so unhappy that they are wanting to end their lives, and I’ve seen a man in a shack living life as if it’s his kingdom. Money doesn’t matter.”

He was right. It didn’t matter to me and it was obvious that it didn’t matter to him. What I knew was that pure contentment was based not on how much of money we had, but based on the richness of the heart. I’ve always heard that if you can make shukar, you will be like royalty, because everything you have will feel like it’s much more than you deserve.

The thing was, when I looked at Zubair, even in the past, I’ve noticed that whatever situation he was in, he was never wanting for something more. He was happy with his lot and he was grateful even with his little.

“I know it doesn’t,” I said, knowing that what he said was beyond true. “But yet, you still think what Nani says is right?”

Like, was she actually taking Nani’s side here after everything? Did he even know her?

“I think whatever is best for you, Jameela,” he said, sounding tired. He looked away now, and my heart couldn’t help but just sink dreadingly to my toes.

Was he really just switching me off here? Turning me away because he was afraid? Trying to change the way I felt because he really didn’t believe that he was good enough?

“I guess the point here is that I don’t want to be the one to tell you what you should do. I know that I want you to  still have a choice to have a normal life. Consider this your freedom to choose,” he said as he got up to leave. “It’s all up to you, Jameela. I don’t want to drag you into my world but the thought of not seeing you in it…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence, and why on earth did that warning just make me want it more? It was like something had been flipped on in me. Like some kind of magnetic force was drawing me to this, and nothing could deter me. No wealth, no status no worldly attribute could ever sway my decision.

His humility and his integrity was something that I could match to no one. His character had already drawn me to him from day one.

I knew what I wanted. All this time, even when I was forcing my mind to battle with my heart, I hadn’t stopped wanting it.

Yes, he had told me that I have the freedom to choose, but he had also indicated what he thought would be the best. He had, in many words, said that this wasn’t the best thing for me, but that I still had the freedom to choose…

And now, despite all that, I realised that being free isn’t ruining every good thing in your life because you have to prove you have the choice to do so. Its choosing good things because you can. Because it’s beautiful and it’s Halaal and it can do amazing things for your soul. It’s choosing to be in control of your destiny by being open to possibility.

Choosing to be happy because it makes you happy is the sometimes the only way to be happy….

Even if it was only for a fleeting moment in time…

---

Dearest readers:  extra long post to make up. My sincerest apologies for the delay. Beginning of the term was exceptionally busy for me. Please keep me in your esteemed Duaas especially this week, as these great days  dawn upon us.

Much love 

A x 

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

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

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Suspicious Encounters

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 77

It was the Instagram post that first got me suspicious about Rabia.

And okay. Maybe I had been in a particularly suspicious kind of mood since the entire thing went down, and even the slightest thing made me feel said emotion, but I called it a hunch.

I mean, even Hamzah’s whole open love confession at the minute I was ready to throw in the towel made me a teeny bit out of sorts and thinking that something may be off with his brain alignment.

Like, what on earth was with his whole love declaration that felt like it set my entire heart on fire? I didn’t even understand how someone could even have words like that and not belong in some kind of romcom kind of screenplay that made you weak in the knees.

Hamzah knew that he had to go, if he wanted what was good for him. He had agreed with me that he couldn’t lose his job. But now, emotions were coming into play and he was confused, and that’s all. I just needed to keep steering him that direction. The one that would be best for him.

And then there was going back to work for the meeting with Hammonds, when I glimpsed the new woman who had taken my place as external auditor, and the suspicion started again. The good news was that seeing Faadil made me realise how truly over him I really was.

All I felt when I looked at it, was annoyance. The bad news was that the new girl was skinny and semi-attractive, and what got to me was the way that she looked at me as Faadil walked up to join me in the meeting room that day.

There was an outright scowl in my direction,  she seemed highly invested in him who was seemingly oblivious, and I couldn’t help but be quite certain that she had also fallen under the Faadil spell. My suspicion was kind of confirmed everytime she battered her eyelashes at him, and it kind of made me want to puke.

And all that aside, I couldn’t help the prickly kind of feeling that overcame me as I lay awake in bed two days after I had caved and decided to let Hamzah stay a bit longer in our home and my life, as I scrolled through my instagram feed and snuck disbelieving looks at him. Maybe it was just a hunch.

The star husband was laying next to me, one arm slung over me as he slept as if there was no evil that existed in this world, and on the other side of me was Zaid, arms and legs splayed out in the summers heat, with blankets all kicked off.

I wanted to log this onto my memory, never to be erased, so I could keep coming back and revisiting the moment. I didn’t know how many of these mornings I would have. I didn’t want to think about it.

And as much as I tried to get Hamzah to keep his distance, all it took was his swoon-worthy words and I had already melted like ghee on a thawa, and I wanted to kick myself for it. And yes, we were in Nikah and even though Hamzah had made it clear that even if he did sign, no papers would change that… the fact was that, sooner or later, I knew that Hamzah had to go. If not, it would be scandalous.

There was no way I was going to let him risk everything he had worked so hard for once this case goes to court. Though he promised that he would stand by me with fierce loyalty, our marriage would make him a complete target for every kind of treacherous assumption. A divorce on paper and distance between us would be the only solution. For now, it was the only way.

I sighed as I gently edged away from him, lifting his arm so I could move off the bed. So much for distance. All aspirations were out the window.

And I knew that Instagram was not exactly the wisest thing to be scrolling through mindlessly at 7am but sometimes, my overwhelming nafs got the better off me, especially when it came to escapism. I knew that I should at least put the phone down, engage in some dhikr at least, and my entire day would take a turn because of it.

And I did. I wanted to make it a habit of remembering Allah when I first woke up, and not see someone’s pouty, fake-lashed filtered face instead. I had to try and at least rid myself of the dust that had collected over the past few weeks. I had been so absorbed in the allegations and everything it had brought, even my Hifdh had taken a back seat for a while.

But the amazing thing with Hamzah was that since things had erupted, he was the one who had made sure that the Qur’ān was the one constant, even during the days we were at loggerheads with each other. He kept solemnly to his promise of helping me memorise parts of the Qur’ān. It had been doing its thing… cleaning and polishing my soil from all the dirt that had overcome it. Maybe it was a hope he had that Qur’ān would bring us together, like it had before, and whatever he intended, such was the miracle of Qur’ān… that I could most certainly feel the affect on my heart.

The heart was being polished. The grime was being removed. The dust was definitely being wiped off.

And there was nothing more I needed, because the phone had taken over our lives to such an extent that we slept with it and woke up with it, and before even remembering the purpose of our creation, our limbs would stretch out for the gadget that ruled and ruined lives, without even thinking.

The thing was, I always loved social media. Always have. It was an amazing tool for marketing and networking, but a not so amazing too for making me feel great about myself.

Social media is designed to curate and promote highlights. We post the best snapshots of our days, the best meals we eat, and the best places we visit. When you have a stretch of a tough few days, it can be easy to feel like everyone else has it easy and
Dnly you are dealing with this type of difficulty.
It creates a type of insecurity. A person starts to wonder why they cannot get things together when it appears to be so easy.

Although I knew how horrible it was and that it would only feed my silly insecurities, I still couldn’t seem to wean myself off it or delete it completely. Like a drug, it would draw me back to it, craving just one more hit of juiciness until I felt a little satiated.

In fact, everything I opened the app, Instagram just made me feel crappy.

That morning, after my dhikr counter had reached 500, I squinted my eyes slightly in the darkened room, trying to figure out how Rabias social life had suddenly gotten so … quirky.

There it was. The post that made me suspicious. That would raise all the questions in my mind. A picture of the favourite ice cream place that I had been obsessed with just months ago, and a picture of three cones, two sugar and one normal, in three different flavours, snapped together.

And okay, I knew that it was a very popular place at the sometimes trendy Melrose Arch but the guava and mint flavour ice cream that had been snapped in the picture made my heart kind of contract momentarily.

And I knew that I had no damn right to feel even the slightest bit nostalgic, having this gorgeous and amazing man next to me, and the cutest baby in the world snoring like an adorable little steam engine, but the emotion came without warning.

That was Faadil’s favourite flavour. His favourite flavour, always in a normal wafer cone (never sugared, he just had this weird-so weird- thing from childhood that made him hate sugar cones). A most odd flavour, I always thought one of the least popular, and although I didn’t want to go back to that space mentally, it was the place we frequented at least three times during those few months I was with him.

It was also the place where he always said that it dawned on him that he apparently didn’t want to just be friends.

And I had no idea he allegedly felt that way of course, but it was the day he had lent me the Porsche and before that had treated us all to ice creams, before some of the less demure girls jumped into the car with him.

It had flattered me of course. How much of it was real, I still didn’t know. The tune after was that the reason he had let those girls take a ride in his car was that he was waiting for me to be the one to get in, and when I didn’t, he had to find a way to get my attention somehow.

I never did the throwing myself at guys thing, no matter what car they drove. Personally, I feel the elusive, hard-to-get factor was probably what made the chase more exciting for him.

Whatever it was, for him that’s when everything kind of kicked off in his head, and despite me regretting every bit of it months after, I couldn’t help but feel the rising suspicion as I closed the app.

How could Rabia know who Faadil was? Could the instagram snapshots that incriminated me been her doing?

No ways. She couldn’t have been acquainted with him. How could she know who she is?

I shook my head as I put my phone down, sneaking a guilty look at Hamzah because I was suspecting his sister of such lowly things.

Just glimpsing him momentarily, while he slept so peacefully, made my heart burst with all sorts of overwhelming emotion as I shoved the thought out of my mind.

I shook my head. No.

Maybe I was being a little paranoid.

Just to be sure, I would try and suss her out later when I saw her. Ask her a thing or two about the gram. Or ice cream. After all, guilty people usually act a little nice than they’re supposed to. After the whole fall out with her, I had barely seen her, but with Saaliha around in Joburg for this weekend l, I knew that Rabia was bound to be around when they give everyone their amazing pregnancy news.

I had been so excited for them that I yelped crazily when Hamzah had told me the previous night, especially since I was well aware that Saaliha couldn’t fall pregnant for years. Allah was so merciful. Rabia was definitely bound to be there, even if it was only to suck the joy out of the occasion.

I sighed as I tried to think happy thoughts that morning, and although the morning had started off on a little bit of a questionable note, Hamzah shifting around as he woke up immediately lifted my spirits.

I had made him a special breakfast (well, as special as it gets with me, who allegedly can’t really cook) and I was trying to be as nice as I could be considering the awkward circumstances. We were at this very weird stage in our relationship where we were avoiding each other but trying to spend time together at the same time. Hamzah was doing his best to respect my wishes, but he was still holding onto hope that I would change my mind and I was so close to throwing in the towel on my plans, but I knew, for his own sake that I couldn’t just abort mission.

All I knew was that no matter how hard I had tried to push him away, he always found a way to rebound, and proved himself over and over again.

And since we usually ended up in my parents area on Saturdays because of dropping Zaid with Liyaket’s mother, I knew that there was no better time to pop in at my parents and Jameela, before the big day for her tomorrow. I had been so absorbed in my life, but seeing Hamzah was a bigger gossip than I was, and after Nani’s call the other day, he desperately wanted to find out what was going on from Zubair myself. I knew that my parents were preparing for Jameela but what I didn’t know was the Nani also had her own preparations going on.

And after she had huffed and puffed about it like the big bad wolf, I really didn’t expect her to be there as yet.

And so, if course, you could understand my utmost shock when I glimpsed Nani standing at the counter in all dedication, mixing something vigorously, considering that she had so much to say about the upcoming events, the delicious smell coming from the stove made me completely suspicious.

I mean, what on earth was she up to, when she had clearly said that she was completely against that ‘aloo’ coming to see Jameela. I mean, I couldn’t believe that she was calling him a potato. Her entire reaction was enough for me to understand that there were no samoosas coming from her this time, and my parents weren’t in the least surprised. I was just glad that my parents weren’t adopting the same stance, and were actually giving Jameela scores about actually wanting to meet Zubair.

“Hey Naans,” Hamzah said sweetly, his one-dimpled smile genuine as he saw her. I had to look away when I saw the pure affection in his gaze because knowing that he would become off-limits to me soon made me feel completely out of sorts. “We’ve missed you.”

Nani immediately looked up as she saw him, and her star grandson-in-law planted a kiss on her cheek as she continued with her exaggerated gestures and gorgeous smelling treats. He was so good with swindling her that it made me jealous.

”Mos,” Hamzah said, turning to me and raising his eyebrows, holding a squiggly orange thing in his hand.

I met his eye hesitantly as he watched me. He knew what he was doing. Making this entire thing harder for me was apparently his sole objective.

“How could you not tell me that Nani makes Jalebi? This stuff is a winner.”

I rolled my eyes at him, concealing my true emotions, but I couldn’t help but smile, watching Hamzah devouring the jalebi as if it was the most delectable treat in the world.

His brown eyes twinkled as he munched, and I could see from his face that he wasn’t just throwing Nani up.

“To what do we owe the honour?”

My humoured question lost its effect as soon as Nani heard it.

“Nadeema asked me to make it,” Nani said proudly, as if my dear cousins requests were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Nadeema was still one of Nani’s favourites, despite what she did to me. Of course, I couldn’t expect Nani to understand. In her eyes, I was the married one so I wasn’t worthy of pity, and Nadeema wasn’t… so she deserved sympathy plus a kilo of jalebi for extra effect.

Jameela had entered the kitchen at that point and was standing at the door, waiting to catch my attention, but Nani had already caught it. Now, I needed to know more, and I wouldn’t let this rest.

If Nadeema wanted to Jalebi, why on earth was it here?

”So is this all going to her?” I asked with a raise eyebrow, gesturing to the pile of orangey sweet stuff that was on the counter next to the stove. The thought made me want to smash it all up so Nani could serve her jalebi syrup.

Crushed. Orange. Jalebi. Syrup.

It’s not that I hated Nadeema. It’s just that, after the incident where she literally broke off my proposal, I wasn’t exactly obliged to like her. The thought that Nani would make her stuff in our home, with our cooking oil, made me want to cry. Oil was expensive, okay. And Nadeema was not worth it.

I could see Jameela trying to gesture to me, and whilst Hamzah saw her and tried to signal me too, but I was far too vested in this conversation to pay attention.

Since Nani mentioned Nadeema, all I saw was red.

”Of course no, Mohsina,” Nani said nonchalantly, sounding oh-so-reasonable. “This is extra batter. Nadeema’s jalebi is at her house, ready for the boy who is coming to see her tomorrow.”

It took me a few seconds to process that one. Wait. Jameela’s proposal was also tomorrow. With Zubair. His sister and brother-in-law will also be there. She knew this. She had told me. Did that mean Nani won’t be here for it?

Jameela’s gestures were becoming a little more vigorous, and with it were tiny little hisses that accompanied it, solely intended to draw my attention that was refusing to be diverted from Nani.

And who could blame me?

“She’s also getting a proposal tomorrow?” I asked incredulously.

I mean, what were the odds. I wonder who was the (un)lucky guy.

My poor baby sister was now jumping up and down with pure purpose, but now that I was onto something, I averted my eyes and wouldn’t back down. Jameela knew that I was never the type to turn down a challenge. Nani was about to show her displeasure about the situation by being there for Nadeema, and acting as if Jameela’s proposal wasn’t happening.

What I didn’t know was that she had gone one step further.

“Muneer will see her tomorrow,” Nani said, her face turning slightly so I could see her beam. “After Jameela broke poor boys heart I knew that I had to try and fix it.”

”Wha-“ I was cut off as she turned back to her frying and at the point that the rage in me was threatening to boil over, Hamzah had literally steered  me out of the room, whilst Jameela grabbed my arm to pull me away.

I was so angry, I could not believe it. Nani had completely lost her mind. She was doing the exact same thing to Jameela as happened to me.

“Just leave it,” Jameela warned through gritted teeth.

I didn’t want to. I wanted to scream at Nani for being so superficial, and claw at Nadeema’s face for being such a spoilt brat, but Hamzah had wisely blocked me off so I couldn’t go back to the kitchen. The look in his eyes told me that he knew me way too well, and what I was thinking was a really bad idea.

He had called to Nani that he would be back in fifteen minutes, sending me off with Jameela to safety and was already headed to the door for his ritual smoke break, grinning at us as he grabbed his lighter near the door.

”You didn’t tell her anything?” I hissed to my sister as I was shoved up the stairs.

”I figured that some things are not worth fighting over,” she said with an exaggerated sigh.”If Nani doesn’t want to be here, so be it. She doesn’t invalidate the Nikah and it’s not like I’m being a disrespectful grandchild by marrying someone below her expected income bracket. All that aside, it’s great seeing you and Hamzah together. Do you know how much of Duaa I am making for this to be okay. And it’s so amazing because I can see it being accepted right before me. You guys are so strong.”

If only she knew we were just stringing ourselves and everyone else along. She didn’t know that by us staying together we were risking so much. It had to be temporary.

”We’re trying to be amicable,” I said simply, not wanting to explain the whole arrangement we had. “When the court case goes public he will move out. I offered but Hamzah said he won’t let me leave. So…”

She looked at me suspiciously, and then raised her eyebrows.

”So you’re basically waiting for everything to head south before you kick him out?” She asked incredulously. “Mos, are we even related? How are you this horrible?!”

I frowned at her, wondering since when my sister gave me these intensely judgemental looks that made me feel worse than what’s under her shoe.

”Jams,” I said, trying to justify myself. “He will lose everything he worked so hard for if I don’t. Then, I’ll be really mean.”

Jameela’s eyes flared at me as I said it.

”Yes, yes, you said all that, but do you really think he cares?!” She scoffs as she glares at me.

“He has to care!” I said incredulously. “How can he not? This is his entire life. His degree, career, his repuation… Everything he worked so hard for! And he agreed to go.”

“Haven’t you realised that all that stuff is barely important to him?” She was pointing a finger at me accusingly as she said it.

I sighed. But she doesn’t get it.

“It is important,” I retorted obviously.

“Says who? Has the world taken over your heart Mohsina?” she said quietly. “Is that the only thing thats important right now? Status and position and how much money you’re worth. Because if it has, you have to let the Duniyaa go. You have to claim it back and give your heart to its rightful owner.”

My heart was slowly cracking at its seams anyway. It was a searing pain that penetrated right through because I realised that I was going back to that place that I had been at months ago.

”But how?” I said to her breathlessly. “How do I even get there? I’m so weak and hopeless… and now Hamzah’s going through so much because of me and he has to leave so what hope is there for me?”

I didn’t even know what I was saying anymore. I was just getting so emotional thinking of it all.

Somewhere along the way my bond that I had worked so hard at with Allah Ta’ala had been compromised. Maybe I hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe I wasn’t sincere enough. Maybe I didn’t make enough istighfaar.

All I knew was that I wanted to make this right again, but I didn’t know how to.

“The only reason he’s going is because you threatening to leave him if he doesn’t go himself,” Jameela said to me resentfully. “He won’t be able to bear you being back to that point where you have to ask anyone for anything. Where you have to rely on someone. Even when you’re putting him through so much of pain, his only concern is for you. He only wants you to be happy, Mos. Even if he has to go and make himself miserable in the process.”

“What?” I said, narrowing my eyes at her as she looked back at me, now avoiding eye contact as  if she said something she was never meant to disclose.

“How do you know all that?”

My voice was low and disbelieving. It sounded too close to the truth that I didn’t yet know. All this talk was making me suspicious. But then again, I was being a tad bit too intense on those very emotions that week.

“I don’t,” she said, her gaze immediately faltering and I knew that she was lying.

I narrowed my eyes at her, wondering what she would be hiding.

“Spit it out, Jams!” I barked at her, swallowing back my emotion. I could see her face turning a shade of whatever she turned when she was flustered.

“Okay, fine,” she said softly, still avoiding my stare. “Zubair said so.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. Zubair said so?! Is that all she had? She’s dropped a bomb and then stopped. How on earth could I just leave it at that?

“You spoke to him?” I asked, completely gobsmacked that my usually shy and evasive sister would actually talk to a guy. And not just a guy. The guy. Handsome stranger who she’s been going gaga over for way longer than she cared to admit.

Was she talking to him now? Like talking talking?!

“You and Zubair?”I asked, widening my eyes. “Are you guys….”

Wait.

“Papa was there,” she explained hastily, her bashfulness very evident. “He wanted to see Papa and Papa thought it would be good if I was there as well. We chatted. A little. We didn’t have long but. I know certain people look down on him because they think that he’s poor but it doesn’t matter to me. Why do people think that wealth makes you someone? Sometimes people get swayed by the charms of the world as if it’s everything that ever mattered and will matter. We think we can find constancy in all these things but what we hold onto is inconstant and perishing. Money and status and everything the world presents is just a mirage….”

“You make it sound so easy Jams,” I said softly, wondering how my sister had become so wise. She was so…. pious.

On the day of Qiyaamah, Allah Ta’ala will apologise to the poor in the same was as a person does to another person in this life, by saying, “I swear by My Honour and Greatness that I did not keep away the worldly wealth from you because you were disgraced in My eyes, I did so for the sake of bestowing on you the great honours of this day; you go and look into the rows of Jahannamis for those who fed you or clothed you for My sake, they are all yours.

When the poor approach such persons they will all be drowned in their own sweat and the poor people will pull them out and lead them to Jannah. (Rodh-ar-Rayahim)

We look at wealth as if it’s the be all and end all of life. As if someone without money is not worth anything. Little do we know that there are people in this world who not a soul knows, but in the heavens, there is not an angel who does not know that blessed slaves name.

”He really likes Hamzah,” she said softly, looking all dreamy-eyed. “Thinks he’s one of the few people he can actually trust. We don’t want to lose him…”

Oh my word, they were a ‘we’ now. What. Wait. Did I miss so much? They discussed Hamzah and I as if we were something that was so important to ‘them’.

I narrowed my eyes and she looked away again and I knew that she was done for.

My word. My little sister hopelessly besotted was doing things to my insides

”I want to know everything,” I pressed, my eyes narrowing even more at her. “About what he said. About what Hamzah told him. And about what on earth you guys were chatting about. Was he pushing for this? Are we having a Nikah at the same time.. just tell me what’s going on?!”

I was completely in shock. While caught up in my own world I had completely sidelined the spicy masala moments that may have been happening at home. I was now an obsessed women, hanging onto every thread of information. And Jameela was looking frightfully suspicious when I mentioned the word Nikah.

My heart felt like it was about to explode with emotion, despite the looming clouds above.

“Relax,” she said steadily, a smile creeping on her face. “Zubair is a good guy and he’s not forcing me into anything. It’s me who wants to do this fast. Like, really fast. Make it halaal. And yes, Papa did agree that we can have the Nikah this week. It’s taken so long to get to this point and we’ve both felt this way for a while so….”

If I knew how to do a double take, I probably would. What?!

They both felt what way for so long?!

Oh my word, I couldn’t breathe.

“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” I breathed, still partly in shock.

Jameela and her bloody romancing. It was just too utopian-like.

She honestly could not wait to get married and I knew it wasn’t about the glitzy parts of the whole event for her. Jameela was too obsessed with Zubair to see beyond that.

She nodded eagerly, and I felt like somehow, this was always supposed to happen. But there was still a niggling feeling of hesitation as she said it, and I knew that there was still early days.

Nani still wasn’t okay with this. Zubair still had an awkwardly unmentionable history. Hamzah and I were still buying time.

All this time, this kind of ending for her was merely an idea but now that things were wrapping up, I couldn’t help but feel that something was completely amiss…

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Thinking Good about others  

We’re so quick to assume bad things about people, even when we have no idea what’s the real story. Thinking the best about others is part of the Sunnah of Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) and is a great way to give us a positive outlook and always be good to others.

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

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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