When Hope is Hidden

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 66

Sometimes you just have to be kind.

Treat people the way you want to be treated. Be good to even the nasty people. If serving people is below you, leadership is beyond you.

And honestly speaking, service wasn’t exactly my forté. I would rather be in out in the wilderness, breeze caressing my skin, blinking beneath the cherry blossom trees and basking in the glorious sunshine, than stuck serving stuck-up corporates in a coffee shop.

But such was life at times. Sometimes we just humble ourselves, even when it’s hard.

The thing is, there were just a few valuable lessons I was learning from not being my usual lazy self.

Some people are never happy, no matter what. Some people are grateful, no matter what. There’s no feeling quite like making a someone’s day. Oh, and comfortable work shoes are worth their weight in gold.

“One latte. One carrot muffin. I’m in a hurry.”

I’ve messed up two macchiatos and spilled an entire litre of hazelnut syrup on the ground. The outdoors is looking like an awesome, unfiltered escape and the coffee machine was being an absolute horror this morning. I really could do without the added pressure that this man was persisting on giving me as he watched me nervously fiddle with the gadgets, and looked at his chunky watch again.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…”

It’s already been a few minutes since I swiped his card and I can see his patience dwindling.

Today is definitely not my day. For some reason, I can’t do a single task without messing something up.

He didn’t like to leave me here, but Zubair was apparently gone out for some emergency and Papa said he had some errands to do too. All I knew was that Papa had predicted it to be a pretty uneventful morning but as predictions go, it was anything but.

I filled his coffee just as there is a noise from the back, the sound making me stumble slightly, hoping that Papa had arrived. Before I can turn my head, my foot slips on the little residues of hazelnut sauce from earlier causing me to tip backward, the burn from the sloshing coffee scalding my skin.

In the rush, I had just spilled whatever little coffee I had managed to get out onto my dress.

“Is there anyone here who’s competent enough to get me my order?”

The guy’s haughty tone is unnerving and the sting from the coffee mixes with the tears collecting behind my lids.

What do I tell him? I can’t figure out the machine? Why did it choose now to act up? Of all times.

Why was I so useless? Give me a book under the flawless blue skies and I would sit and read it till night falls, but when asked to do something productive- I was utterly  unproductive.

Everything was going wrong.

“Am I going to get some service today?” He asked, now full on irritated as I pressed another button, water from the machine splurging out, looking up from his device as he watched  the progress with his order.

I hated dealing with male customers, especially these type. The rude type. It wasn’t very often, especially during the day, but well… wasn’t today just my lucky day?

I swallowed back my emotion and pushed up my chin. Customer service. I had to numb my emotions.

“I’m so sorry about that. I’ll make you another one, on the house.”

His lips are pursed together as he glares at me.

“I already paid. Just make the damn drink!”

I flushed. I feel like making the drink and throwing it in his face. But of course I couldn’t.

“I’ll take over,” a deep voice says from behind me, and my body freezes, wet coffee-soaked dress sticking to me as I tried to hide it with my scarf, but I knew it was no use.

I couldn’t help but spin around, watching him avert his gaze as he moved forward gracefully, pulling out another cup as I had no choice but to move aside. His unusually coloured eyes were scanning the machine and expertly I looked away as he tapped something and did some magic with it.

He was wearing his Friday attire, kurta and hat, as if he had just come in, and not the usual uniform I saw him in. Catching a glimpse of the  tasbeeh counter he had just released from his hand that was already showing quadruple digits, and I felt a stab of envy as I realised that I was still sitting in the three hundreds for my Friday Durood counter. Perhaps he went somewhere far? 

I had no idea where he was but he had probably saw the customers car from outside and thought that no-one would be helping him. Except I was. It’s just that I wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

The angry customer scoffed, his gaudy watch counting the seconds.

“I just thought I’d be able to get a cup of coffee without it becoming some kind of circus performance.”

I could see Zubairs jaw tightening as he said it, effortlessly pressing in the tray that wasn’t clicking earlier and watching the steaming water with milk shoot out through the spout.

I moved along near the till to pack the muffin, careful to use the tongs carefully before he gave me scores about that.

”Sir, I’m so sorry about -“ I started, as I placed the muffin on the counter.

”It’s ready,” Zubair cut in abruptly, and I swore I could see him shoot me a glance of annoyance as he passed the cup over, and I hurried to grab a serviette from underneath the counter, packing the muffin into an eco-packet, always aiming to please.

The customer is always right.

And though ‘customers’ can be very difficult and might not respond to you in the way you expect, despite your good attitude, customer service is never about the results or the sales. It was hard being on this side of the counter. Customer service is about the experience you create when that person is with you.

But I tried to keep in mind that every time you meet somebody, you’re selling them yourself – your image, your personality, your goals, your personal brand but most importantly … you’re also selling Deen. You are in a mode of exchange with that person through every interaction.

I just wished that people could treat others, especially in the service industry, with a little more dignity. Sometimes a simple hello and thank you can go a long, long way. Sometimes a little overlooking can also be a saving grace.

Character was gold. Whether the customer or the person who is serving, I do feel like whichever position you find yourselves in… you had to just turn it around to your benefit. It was easy to be good to people who were good to you. But people who tested your patience and gave you uphill were the greatest test. It’s just that even with that, there is a limit to what I could take.

I had to keep telling myself that.

”Thanks,” the guy said to Zubair, not even sparing me a glance as he picked up his wallet from the counter. “Next time I’ll just ask for you.”

“Next time, try and be more polite to the lady,” Zubair said back, without missing a beat, and my eyes widened involuntarily as I wondered if I had really just heard him say that.

He was looking the customer squarely in the face with a fierce look as he said it, and I could see the customers eyes flashing angrily at me before he spun around and walked out.

I took a few steps backward as I watched Zubair’s entire posture morph, almost as as if he had just put on one persona, and was slowly gearing himself to go back to the usual.

I was shocked. And I didn’t even know why I was still even standing there. That was completely unexpected.

I never thought I’d see this side of him. In fact, I didn’t even know that this side of him existed. Up until now, he had been so… passive.

Conservative. Polite. Ihsaan kind of character.

Never had I heard Papa ever mention once about Zubair even raising his voice to a single person. This was completely out of character for him, and as I took a few steps backward to escape to where the single helper was working in the back, I couldn’t help but remember what I had found in that room two weeks ago.

Perhaps now that I knew… and he knew that I knew… he didn’t have to pretend. Maybe this was the real him. Maybe he was a violent and dangerous mafia killer who lost his mind and went off in a tangent. If maybe it was just certain things that ticked him off…

I felt like asking him how and when and why, but of course I couldn’t. I couldn’t get into the nitty gritty of these things. They would just bring up more uncomfortable topics that’s I wasn’t ready to delve into. It was an opening that would lead to other sins, and I was wiser than that. I couldn’t risk more.

I shook my head at my own craziness as I grabbed my phone from next to the till, trying to dispel all the weird thoughts as I glanced to the front to see Zubair was gone, probably to change, but knowing that he would be back soon to take over.

Mohsina had been messaging me from the morning, with something about Hamzah and his strange behaviour.

He had disappeared early that morning and Mohsina couldn’t reach him. She was going crazy with worry, and though I felt for my sister, I honestly didn’t know what to tell her. Hamzah and her had way too many secrets and I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to know them all.

He’s not at work.

It was her latest message, she had sent before the rude man walked in. I tapped quickly, wanting to know if she phoned the office.

Are you sure?

Her reply was quick.

I called. They said he didn’t come in today. He’s hiding something, Jamz. You think it’s someone else? Someone from his past?

I sighed. Of all things.

Hamzah won’t do that. Maybe it’s something else. A family matter? Something to do with Liyakets estate?

Her reply didn’t come fast enough. It was at least a few minutes before she  finally messaged to say:

He just got home. Rabia is with him. Wish me luck.

I instantly wondered if that was the case, why he was being so secretive. Could he have just gone to fetch Rabia?

It was weird… this whole thing that was happening. There was Zubair and his big secret, that I could tell no one because there really was no way that I could tell anyone that Papa’s favourite worker is an arms dealer or mafia member.

Plus, I had no proof. And then there was Hamzah, who had his own secrets and was also somewhere from the morning.

The message from Mohsina came through and I found myself looking at the time.

Hmmm, interesting.

Was it just a coincidence that both of them were gone at the same odd times? Zubair usually never left in the week. Hamzah too.

It was exactly 20 minutes ago that Zubair had arrived to save the day and that was the time it took to get the Mohsina’s new place in the North.

Were they perhaps together? I wasn’t even sure if they spoke but I had an idea that they did cross paths on the farm a few times. Hamzah was always outside and Zubair didn’t really have many places to go.

I wasn’t sure if I should tell Mohsina. What I did know was that she may just hyperventilate and then we would have more problems. Where my sister and her marriage was concerned, I rather just keep quiet and mind my own business. What I did want to desperately find out was if they were together.

And as I walked along the rose bushes, drying my dampened dress, breathing in the scent of outdoors as my mind cleared slightly, I couldn’t help but set my phone aside and let my roses distract me for a while. The afternoon sun was blazing down on my covered head and I didn’t even have a hat on, but I didn’t care. I was in my element right then and that’s all that mattered.

“Hey you,” a familiar voice had called behind me, a baby perched on her hip as she smiled. “I can feel the nature vibes bouncing off you. Thought I’d find you here.

I plunged my garden fork into the ground and slowly got up, dusting my hands off onto my baggy jeans as I smiled at the little munchkin in Nusaybah’s arms. She was a few months older than Zaid and she was super adorable, with these fat cheeks and black locks.

“I had to ask Zubz where the roses were and there you are, looking as stunning as they are this spring…”

She grinned as I had blushed, well… as red as I could go, given that my skin resembled a slightly coppery colour due to all those hours in the sun. Almost like that burnt peach rose. I was actually glad that my skin burned painlessly, unlike my sister, who would peel at the slightest touch of sunlight.

Nusaybah smelt of lavender and fabric softener as I leaned in for an hug, and I couldn’t help but hug her a little tighter before she leaned back again. She had become something of a sister to me too.

”You’re embarrassing me,” I moaned with a smile, shaking my head at her and taking the baby from her. “Why don’t you come in for some tea?”

And though I didn’t know much about Zubair and his past, I did know a few things about the present. Like with his sister leaving back for London this week, it was highly probable that she was the only other person that he would have been with this morning. Maybe I could somehow find out if they were together.

It was amazing spending time with her and her dolly when she was around. She was such a natural and easy-going person to be around.

Nusaybah’s husband was here trying to get a medical post in one of the nearby hospitals and assumed that it may be good to spend a few years closer to their family here. It was just proving to be more difficult than they thought. Going back to London was a temporary fix. From what Nusaybah had said, she really wanted to be close to family, especially with her little one growing so fast.

“I would have loved to but I cannot even spare a  minute,” she said emphatically, answering my request and shaking her head. “I literally just came to see Zubair because he wasn’t around this morning and I needed to speak to him about my grandfather’s condition.”

“Ah okay,” I said softly, hoping it wasn’t too bad.

Also, that meant that Zubair wasn’t with her this morning. So who was he with? 

“I promise I’ll stay longer one day,” she said sincerely. “ I have to meet your mother properly as well… you have no idea how grateful I am that my brother is here with such an amazing family and so much of stability. You don’t know what it means to me.”

Time and time again, this girl just got me.

She was grateful? Without Zubair, Papa would be so lost and unfocused. Even though we had a few workers, it was them who breathed life into the walls of our home and business and kept the momentum going.

And though we sometimes took our extra help for granted, sometimes we genuinely disregard the amount of time they actually put into giving us the best of themselves. They sacrifice family, sleep, even their comfort in many cases, just to make sure that things run smoothly in our homes and businesses.

Now and then, a simple smile, greeting or just a thank you was something that wouldn’t hurt us to give them. The thing is, we will be accountable for how we treat the employees who work for us.

Plus, the value of trustworthiness was something that was invaluable.

It made me think of the Sahaba, and in particular, Abu Dharr Ghifari (RA) who was known for being one of the most trusted and honest Sahaba.

After the light of Islam found its way to his heart, our Prophet Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam asked him, ‘Where are you from, my Arab brother?’

Abu Dharr (RA) answered, ‘From Ghifar.’

A broad smile appeared on the Prophet’s lips SAW and his face was filled with wonder and astonishment.

However, Abu Dharr (RA) was also smiling, for he knew well that the reason behind the Prophet’s (Sallahu Alaihi wa Salam) astonishment was because the man who had just embraced Islam in front of him was from Ghifar. Ghifar was a tribe with a notorious reputation for highway robbery. Its people were famous for theft and were known as allies of darkness and night.

But as time went on, Abu Dharr’s (RA) reward was going to be abundant and his greeting blessed. He was known to have attained the highest, most honourable, and most respectable medals. Generations and centuries will pass away, but the Prophet’s opinion about Abu Dharr will always stay alive in people’s memory: ‘The earth never carried above it, nor did the sky ever shade under it a more truthful tongue than Abu Dharr’s’.

SubhaanAllah. There was no way to even honour such rare character.

“My father treasures your brother,” I said softly, shaking my head. “We should be thanking you.”

She had briefly mentioned that Zubair and his uncle had been close for a few years before the huge fall out happened just before he came to work for Papa. She had mentioned that her brother was pretty capable of looking after himself and kept apologising for the inconvenience, which I didn’t even understand. For Papa, Zubair helped us out so much that he actually felt indebted to him.

”No ways, it’s his job and he needs to keep it,” she insisted, taking a seat on the bench as her daughter started playing with my garden set.
A familiar feeling of despair arose in my gut as I wondered how on earth I could ever do anything to sabotage his job? Nusaybah was so grateful. I sighed softly and looked back at her, seeing a small smile on her face.

I switched off my thoughts to watch her daughter, finding it so cute that there was no way you could keep the garden from kids. They were just inherently magical and full of opportunity. They were drawn to it like moths to a flame.

”So, I’ve been meaning to ask… how was your weekend?”

The way she said it, with and her eyes all curious with hidden hope and her eyebrows raised, immediately got me a little suspicious. She smiled mischievously as she watched me, and I wondered how she knew. Did Zubair even know about the doctor who came to see me?

“Err,” I started, biting my lip and not wanting to say anything bad. “It was interesting…”

I could see her face transforming from excited to suspenseful and I wanted to laugh too, because somehow, the situation was just really funny.

Thinking about Muneer and his biceps were also getting me all giggly now. I’m sure Nusaybah didn’t know about that, but it really was something.

”Sorry,” she finally said, covering her mouth secretively. “I was really not supposed to say anything but I couldn’t resist. My brother will kill me if he knows that I mentioned it. I’m so sorry. I was just curious to know…”

I smiled, feeling a bit awkward that Zubair knew that I had seen someone last weekend. Actually, I shouldn’t have been surprised because Zubair was probably the one who opened for them. I’m sure Papa was the one who mentioned it and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“Do you like him?”

Nusaybah’s question caught me unaware.

My heart hammered as she asked me and I couldn’t help but look away. I knew that she was asking about he doctor but here I was, thinking about her brother instead.

Astagh.

What was wrong with me?

”He was fine,” I said non-committedly, hiding my true feelings. “He seemed nice. He’s a doctor too.”

She smiled but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Since her husband was also a doctor, it seemed like she may have been slightly appeased, but not entirely.

There was something on her mind and as I looked at her… something unsaid in the way she looked at me as I answered and although I wanted to ask her, but a bellowing from across the rose bushes sounded as I whipped my head around, immediately spotting Nani at the kitchen door.

Where did Nani come from? She was supposed to be at my uncle’s this weekend. There must be a reason why she decided to crop up here unexpectedly.

And before Nusaybah could even chip in and say anything further, Nani’s stern voice was already in top form.

”Jameeela!” She screeched, in our true family-renown fish-wife style, and I grimaced as I saw the amused look on Nusaybahs face.

She obviously did not know that I had company. Or she just didn’t care.

“Come quickly. Aunty Khairoon phoned back. We have news!”

I smiled awkwardly at my new friend, nervousness creeping in as I wondered how I was going to react to Nani and what she had to say. Perhaps she had some hidden hopes of something I was oblivious to.

Was it news for her or news for me?

Great. Doctorsaab was back in the picture, and I really wondered what Nani would have to say about him…

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: 

Being able to view the lives of others as if they are our own in the main building block to social media life.

It is only human to begin to think that the lives of strangers appear to be so perfect, as opposed to reality. Little do we notice that their content is carefully crafted to do this very thing, making us discontent with our lives.

To combat this, we should look to those inferior to us, so we do not become envious and begin to realise the bounty Allah Ta’ala has gifted us with.

Keep in mind:

Abu Huraira reported: The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “Wealth is not in having many possessions. Rather, true wealth is the richness of the soul.”

Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 6446, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 1051

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

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

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Secret Weapons

Bismihi Ta’ala

Saaliha

Part 65

”How’s my baby doing?” Imraan whispered in my ear as he snuck up behind me, hands lightly resting on my tummy and I could already hear the excitement in his voice as he spoke.

It hadn’t changed. From the moment I told him, it hadn’t changed. He was still obsessed with the baby in my tummy and fixated on every little detail, even if there really wasn’t much to say.

Symptoms were minimal. Even morning sickness wasn’t that bad. I could still eat breakfast without puking at least, and that was a bit different from the pregnancy with Uthman.

Actually, way different. I even felt different this time around, and I knew that it could also be because I was that much older too. A whole 8 years does a lot to your body.

My body felt so very different to what I had felt when I was younger.

”Have you told your sisters yet?”

I knew why he was asking and I tut-tutted as I shook my head at him, giving him a warning in just a glance.

He was itching to tell his sister and I could see that the restraint of keeping the secret was killing him. Imraan never was one to keep things to himself. He was more the type to open his mouth when it was least appropriate and I just hoped that he could hold himself back for a week or two more, so I felt safer in the knowledge that the first trimester would be fully over.

“I’ll tell them in two weeks when I meet them at Fareeha’s,” I said conclusively, turning around and meeting his gaze. “It will just be a better time. I don’t want to let them know too early, and it will just make my mother way too excited…”

While my mother would be over the moon, Mehnaaz was always on her own buzz. She was very busy with her new admin job at the local pharmacy. It was probably my fault too that I saw her when I saw her and that wasn’t very often.

As for Fareeha, she had already invited me for her official very fancy ‘housewarming’ lunch that she was having. I wasn’t sure how Maulana Aadil felt about that but I did know that he pretty much let her do whatever she wanted to (hence the second wife planning that seemed to be on pause for now).

Even though… The thing was… I was extremely elated that she had been too preoccupied to think of it.

Come to think if it… After coming from Hajj she had been so busy with moving house and seeing to her kids that I barely even heard from her. And I completely understood her silence because after having them with me for over a week, I knew for sure that they were all consuming.

She was also very busy with her preparations because she was inviting our entire family, plus my cousins that I hadn’t seen in years, and I was actually quite looking forward to it.

During the past few years I had purposely stayed away from family gatherings because the questions from family members would always derail my emotions. People weren’t always sensitive. The questions about when the next baby was coming, and whether I felt motherhood was too hard, so I didn’t have a second one, always caught me off-guard. Maybe I was too sensitive. But it just made me feel inadequate.

Also, the fact that my cousin Shazia was a fertility specialist that every family member always referred me to made me feel insanely uncomfortable. I knew that she meant well too but I just didn’t have it in me to ask her for any advice.

Although I bore no grudges against her or Bilal, the situation was just strange for me. Now that I was expecting again, my mind was so much more at ease to see them and talk normally.

”Has it started moving?” Imraan asked, and I could hear the humour in his voice as he watched my tummy, almost as if he was as expecting it to start twitching under his watch.

He was being way too ambitious and he knew it.

”Imraan,” I whispered back. I didn’t even know why I was whispering. I just didn’t want anyone to know yet, “It’s too early. Can you let it grow a little at least?”

He grinned and stepped back as a sound behind us alerted us that we weren’t alone, and I sprang backward.

“Euwww,” Rabia squealed as she walked into the kitchen, her face flushed from her run and all scrunched up as if she had been eating something sour. “Can you guys stop?! Just. Euww.”

Imraan grinned and brushing my cheek lightly with his lips as he turned to face her.

“Assalamualaikum to you too Rabia,” he said cheerfully, not bothered in the slightest. “Did you have a good run?”

I shook my head as Imraan turned to her, getting on with my task and careful not to create any suspicion as I watched Rabia climb up onto the stool.
She was dressed in a sports tracksuit with a cap and running takkies. I noticed her face looking flawlessly made up, and I just knew that I was probably going to see a full documentary of her morning run later on that day on social media.

If wasn’t that I judged Rabia for her constant need to capture and document everything. It was just that when I watched her, I couldn’t help but think that it was such a waste of time.

“It was way better than being in here and seeing such immoral scenes,” she crowed with a disgusted face. “Luckily, I’m going back today. So glad that I’ll have Zaid back in my arms by tonight, all gurgling and cooing. I’m sure he’s missed me just as much as I missed him.”

She sighed and smiled dreamily as she pulled out a bowl from the cupboard, turning her back to us both for a moment.

“Wait,” Imraan said as I silently cut a slice of farmstyle bread loaf, looking confused. “How will you go back? Aren’t you only supposed to be going next week?”

Rabia’s smile was disconcerting.

”Dear brother,” she said sarcastically, pouring her muesli into the bowl, and settling into a stool. “Haven’t you spoken to Hamzah? He’s on his way here. I’ve been messaging them every day since the weekend.”

Oh shame. My poor brother-in-law.

”I don’t know where’s my phone,” Imraan said, rubbing his temples and immediately looking stressed as he went to retrieve it from the lounge.

Rabia was sitting with her phone in her hand and scrolling through what I assumed was TikTok while she ate her muesli with yoghurt.

I watched her with curiosity, wondering what had inspired her sudden change in diet. Rabia was never really overweight, but she had suddenly become very healthy recently.
Even though she was only here for the week, she had filled the fridge up with a host of vegetables and protein drinks and stuff that I wasn’t even sure she as actually going to eat.

The thing was, I knew that it was all Instagram-inspired. We are social animals that are wired to mimic and emulate others. The social-contagion effect has been used to shape society for hundreds of years, from fashion trends to smoking cigarettes.

And when I looked at Rabia posing and lapping up all the attention she was probably getting for her early-morning selfie, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of despair as I watched her.

It was so sad… The need to look good and feel good was a trendy thing and although I got it, I didn’t understand why everything had to be done to meet the standards of people who mean nothing to you… and when I thought about it, what it really was, was more and more attachment to superficiality and worldly ambitions. If only we truly understood how insignificant this world was. How little it is, and how big the rest of creation is compared to everything we attest to.

Jābir (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Messenger of Allah (may Allah’s peace and blessings be upon him) passed through the market with people around him. He came across a dead goat with its ears cut off.

He held it by (the remaining part of) one ear and said: “Who of you would like to have this for one dirham?” They said: “We do not like to have it for anything whatsoever. What shall we do with it?” Then he said: “Would you like to have it anyway?” They said: “By Allah, had it been alive, it would be of little value because of its cut ears. How could it be worth anything when it is dead?”

Thereupon he said: “This world is more contemptible in the sight of Allah Ta’ala and of far less value than this dead kid to his master. If the world was equal in vale to a gnats wing in the estimation of Allah Ta’ala, He would not give a non-believer draught of water out of it’s resources.”

SubhaanAllah. It was certainly a wake up call.

“So Mohsina’s starting her cheesecake making again,” Rabia piped up, cutting through my thoughts and putting a spoon of muesli into her mouth, still looking at her phone with interest. “Two months of marriage and she’s already changing her profession. Doesn’t she know that she shouldn’t make all her plans revolve around a man?”

I had seen an advert that Mohsina had put up and I was already volunteering to do some baking orders if she had any queries from my side of the world. It was such an exciting concept and I could see that Mohsina had a real passion for it. I was also absolutely in love with her stuff. As for Rabia…

Well, I couldn’t say the same.

”Rabia,” I sighed, feeling a twinge of sadness for her. “You know your brother isn’t like that…”

She raised her eyebrows and placed her phone down as she met my eye. I could see Imraan pacing around our the patio on his phone, looking quite serious about something as he spoke.

”Hamzah?” She said with a tilt of her head and a condescending smirk. “Sawls, do you live under a rock?! Do you know how many girlfriends he’s had… if you could even call them that. He went through them so fast that there were more like just flashes of whatever he got out of them.”

I cringed as she said it, not liking how she was painting her brother.

Yes, my brother-in-law did have a bit of a rough patch and he wasn’t a saint but it didn’t mean she had to be bitter about it.

“But he changed,” I said pointedly.

He did. I know he did.

”Hah,” she scoffed, looking amused as she scooped out more  yoghurt into the bowl. “How do you know that for sure? Can a man really change? I thought they could but I don’t know anymore. Everyone says he’s in love but what is love anyway, but just another emotion?”

I sighed, knowing that she was talking from experience and I really didn’t want to argue with her.

”Anyway, it doesn’t matter… Whatever Mostly Mos finds out, it’s far worse what she’s done so there’s no way she can ever make it an issue.”

Rabia’s words rolled off her tongue so easily as she looked back at her phone, that the sheer indifference of her statement immediately made something in my chest catch.

Wait, what? It scared me, the way she said these things.

Now, I wasnt exactly clued up on how Rabia’s mind worked but I did know that she never just made statements like that with no basis.

”What?” I said, a prickly feeling at the back of the neck.

When were we talking about anyone finding anything out. That was barely even the topic. Bringing up the past and what happened… well, it was all completely missing the point.

I looked at her, hoping she was just being cynical and careless in here statements.

”Just saying,” she said flippantly, as if she don’t just make a ground-breaking statement.

“You know what I think?” I said, knowing that I wouldn’t get an answer from her and thinking of a way to remedy her thoughts as I frowned at her.

It takes skill to weave your words in a way that hit right where you needed them to. It wasn’t an easy task to do, especially with Rabia, who seldom listened to anyone but herself. I didn’t exactly have the skill that some people had of tricking people to think that my ideas were their own, but I knew that I had to try at least.

“What?” she said, glancing at her as she licked her spoon and placed it back in the bowl.

“I think love does exist,” I said simply, pulling a chair to sit opposite her, hoping to grab her full attention.

I didn’t want to forget her earlier statement. It was dangerously taunting.

“But there’s something else that’s more important,” I said, hoping it would make her see the bigger picture here.

After all, there was always a bigger picture.

“What’s that?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Taqwa,” I said simply, shrugging my shoulders. “The truth is… there will always be temptation… there will always be something that seems better or greener… but Taqwa is the only thing that stops you from doing something that will ruin you.”

I was hoping that it would stop her from opening her mouth and blabbering about everything and anything she heard. Taqwa was the only thing that pulls your dignity through at the end of the day. When you remember that Allah is always watching you, and that nothing is worth the pain sin will bring, you will automatically reroute.

“What if you’re already ruined?” she said with an evil smirk, as if nothing mattered to her anymore, but the pain in her eyes was evident.

“No one is beyond repair,” I said firmly, holding her gaze for a minute before she looked away. “Everyone is just chasing a feeling after all. But I think it helps to remember that whatever you’re chasing… it can never more beautiful than Allah… and whatever sin you want to do can never be worth risking your relationship with Allah… so you just have to keep asking yourself… is it worth risking everything just for a few moments of pleasure?”

She looked at me again as I said the last part, almost as if what I said to her was some kind of epiphany.

The thing is, Shaytaan will try anything and everything to avert us from the right track. After all, that is his sole promise… and what he vowed to do. Taqwa was the only weapon that can assist. When you are conscious of Allah and  you aim to please Him, then He will protect you even from that.

“Find me a man with Taqwa and I’ll marry him today,” she said, a smirk on her face and not missing a beat.

“But then, you have to be a woman of Taqwa,” Imraan’s voice said, before I could even respond as he came in, and I glanced up at him as Rabia narrowed her eyes.

Uh-oh. I wasn’t sure if that was the best thing to say to his sister. Especially right then.

“What are you trying to say?” she asked as her expression darkened.

“Nothing,” Imraan said, his tone light but the frown on his forehead giving away something about his state of mind.

Shooh. That was a close one.

Something was worrying him, and I was sure that it had to do with the phonecall he had receieved.

“It better be nothing!” Rabia scoffed as she pushed her chair back, huffing away as she grabbed her phone and left the room, obviously far from impressed with her brothers words.

I could tell she was annoyed and Imraan sometimes lacked a filter.

Also, he didn’t quite care about her tantrums. I was just glad he didn’t pursue the conversation else I know that there would have been problems.

I turned to look at my husband, but he barely even noticed Rabia leaving, and neither did he feel it was an issue. He was absorbed in his phone and as he typed, I could tell that he was consumed by whatever was at hand.

Perhaps the fact that Hamzah was coming today, when it was supposed to be a working day, was a teeny problem…

“Is Hamzah really on his way?” I asked, as Imraan looked up at me and then realised Rabia was gone.

His eyes met mine worriedly as he sat down. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking troubled.

“He’s coming here to try and settle a custody agreement,” he said simply, but I could hear the worry in his voice. “Hashim is meeting us and they want me to mediate. It’s a complicated matter. Hashim is a client. Hamzah is my brother. It’s going to be a tough one to keep peace. Obviously Hamzah comes first, he’s my brother after all… but Hashim trusts me and he’s not the easiest guy to deal with either…”

He looked so troubled that I couldn’t help but go forward and squeeze his hand, hoping that it would ease his mind.

“Just do the right thing,” I said softly, hoping that it would settle his mind. “Mohsina will come with?”

Imraan looked at me, and shook his head.

“He’s coming alone,” he said quietly, almost as if it was self-explanatory, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of discomfort about that. The thought was already sinking in before I realised what it meant.

Mohsina still had no idea.

”You mean he didn’t tell her,” I said angrily as I looked at him, shaking my head disappointedly.

Imraan was still sitting there, and I could see that was the last of his concerns.

“Imraan, you need to talk to him,” I pressed, not liking that they both had secrets they kept from each other. “Tell him that he needs to speak to her. How does he explain what’s going on?”

“I can’t get involved in their marriage,” he said simply. “Hamzah needs to make that decision and speak to her. Their secrets have nothing to do with me.”

I looked at him with narrowed eyes, not liking the way that he said. As if he knew more than he was letting on. As if Mohsina also kept secrets from Hamzah and Imraan knew it.

I knew that the brothers spoke often every day, and I had no doubt that Hamzah probably confided in Imraan about his marriage too.

And of course I was curious. But I didn’t want to pry. It was just that spouses were supposed to share each other, and protect each other. They were meant to be a covering for each other, like is mentioned in the Qur’ān.

There was nothing more complicated than keeping secrets when there were lives and people at stake. Those very secrets can turn out to be the most dangerous of weapons.

I sighed as he got up again, knowing that even if I had to tell him anything further, it probably wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

And I know I shouldn’t interfere. After all, it wasn’t my business. It wasn’t my child. But the love that I felt in my heart for the little guy was so intense, that I couldn’t bear the thought of Hamzah having to fight this battle about him alone. With Mohsina by his side, wouldn’t he be stronger? Wouldn’t they fare better, together against the odds that were slamming up against them?

And as Imraan went upstairs to shower and get ready, ignoring my sullen mood, my mind just wouldn’t rest.

Uthman had woken up and waltzed chirpily into the kitchen with a big salaam, happy it was his day off tutoring, saying something about astronauts and planets and for the life of me, I could barely even listen to what my son was trying to tell me right then.

“Hmmmm,” I said absentmindedly as I put some milk onto boil for his Milo, my mind barely on what I was doing. I was packing away the leftover boiled eggs while Imraan rushed down, getting ready to open the gate, and I turned away from the window on purpose as the car came into view, not wanting to increase my already heightened anxiety levels.

I was still annoyed about the meeting. Should I message Mohsina? Should I say something? I was so confused about what the right thing to do was.

Uthman, however, his tousled hair standing up in all directions, was already over at the window, his bowl in his hand while he stood chomping on his cereal, and I could already feel myself become agitated.

“Uthman, sit and eat!” I scolded him, wondering at what age kids learn that it’s not okay to wander around and eat like an animal. I knew I was super stressed but my son really did test my patience.

“Mummy I think-“

”No stories,” I said firmly, flashing my eyes at him, wanting to deal with my brewing thoughts in silence. I knew it wasn’t his fault but my moods this pregnancy had been a little severe.

He hastily went to the kitchen chair, plopping himself down, and immediately opened his cereal-filled mouth again.

Honestly, all I needed right then was to think in silence…

“Mummy-“

I turned to him with a frown, already ready to scold him for talking with his mouth full.

”Swallow your food before you talk,” I said sharply, shaking my head as I watched him, his eyes wider than normal as he looked at me, when I realised that something was wrong.

“You okay?” I said, my voice soft as I watched him look at me, almost as if he was unsure of how to say what he wanted to say.

And though he had no idea if what the impact of his next words would be, as he said it, it felt a bit like a rug being pulled out from under me.

”Mummy, did daddy call those guys over to shoot?” He said with a little concern, as my heart hammered within my rib cage.

I knew why he was asking and the next words he said as he sat up a bit straighter just confirmed my worst fears.

“Because all of them had guns.”

---

 

Mission Sunnah Revival: 

Being able to view the lives of others as if they are our own in the main building block to social media life.

It is only human to begin to think that the lives of strangers appear to be so perfect, as opposed to reality. Little do we notice that their content is carefully crafted to do this very thing, making us discontent with our lives.

To combat this, we should look to those inferior to us, so we do not become envious and begin to realise the bounty Allah Ta’ala has gifted us with.

Keep in mind:

Abu Huraira reported: The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “Wealth is not in having many possessions. Rather, true wealth is the richness of the soul.”

Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 6446, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 1051

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

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When the Heart Matters

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina 

Part 64

Life isn’t perfect. It never will be.

Everyone has their own hang ups. Their unsaid fixations and obsessions. Their flaws, and their faults that make them imperfect. Their little scars that have made them bleed and caused others to bleed too.

But with matters of the heart, it doesn’t really matter. People can change you. You can make people change. And as we go through in life, we come to learn that everyone we meet, all we experience in life, has a purpose… and it is we who choose whether to realise that purpose or not.

The thing is, it takes us a while to realise it, but every single thing, every challenge, every experience in our life was only intended for one purpose: to bring us back to our origin. Everything has flaws. We love what we love and reason doesn’t always enter into it. But we need to realise that if somewhere along the way, we’ve given our heart to the world, we have to take back the keys, and we have to reclaim it once again.

And with that…. I was still battling.

I had many hindrances. My past. My career. My sins. Social media was threatening to absorb my time again, and with being home with no Hamzah and only Zaid for company, I found myself turning to my phone more often.

But the heart, when it turns… it changes all that. So this time, I caught myself in time. I knew that I had to do something to stop it.

Diversions. I had to keep myself busy. Occupy my mind. Do whatever it took to keep myself off it.

And though I tended to find myself with feelings  caused by neurobiological withdrawal from the sense of being constantly connected… I knew that the only solution was to plunge myself into more productive tasks, like making dozens of mini cheesecake casings and considering doing a full online cakery to keep myself busy.

It was an idea that I was toying with for a while and it was my perfect opportunity to actually carry it through. I just had to have a proper plan.

And with the series of ups and downs in the past few weeks, things between Hamzah and I were actually smooth-sailing, for the first time since I could remember.

”Did he tell her about his new air fryer that he bought himself for his birthday?” Hamzah whispered, as we sat in my mothers kitchen and he stirred his coffee. “And his journal that he keeps a record of everything he eats for the week? I hope she knows what she’s setting herself up for…”

I whacked him lightly on his arm as he said it, trying to stifle my own laughter.

Poor Jameela. It wasn’t in Jameela to complain. She wouldn’t even say anything bad about him, except that he wasn’t really into traditional food. That part was a shocker.

I think the worst part here was telling Nani that Doc was a complete fail (and that he rejected her bajias)… especially when she still carried on as if the sun shone out from his behind…

“Sooooo handsome,” Nani was saying with an excited look, as Hamzah watched her almost running her hands together in glee. “And he is head doctor there, you know? Our Jameela will be the perfect wife for him, I just know it! She knows how to cook, how to bake, she will see to everything. Not like our Mohsina who can’t even fry samoosas properly.”

I narrowed my eyes, but ignored Nani as I saw Hamzah strain himself not to laugh. I was glad at least someone found her funny, because I certainly didn’t.

And okay, I know that I burnt the samoosas slightly when I was helping Nani earlier on, but she was just being a hater.
Papa still really enjoyed them.

Ma was murmuring to herself and I could see my father standing silently in the corner of her room and watching my sister, almost as if he knew her better than anyone else.

And then… There was Jameela, meek as ever, looking out into the meadow as the sun set over the grassy meadows, almost as if she was lost in a world of her own.

She was a such a dreamer that I actually could not even imagine what went through her mind at times. Her head was always in the clouds and her thoughts about life were exceptionally… romantic.

What she wanted from a spouse was probably exactly what I didn’t want. I wasn’t quite sure who would catch her eye, but I also had a feeling that once she fell for anyone… she would probably go all in, with zero defenses.

I caught her eye as I watched her pick up Zaid, fiddling with his little topee as she took it off and placed it on his head again, smiling as if she barely heard what Nani was just saying.

“He looks so cute with this on,” she said, hugging Zaid as he gurgled into his fist. He was sucking as if it was his lifeline and I had a strong feeling that his teeth were going to start cutting at any time. That was going to be fun.

And as much as I didn’t like it, Zaid had just been growing so fast. It was like I had just blinked and suddenly he was this gurgling baby who was already starting to crawl. From the mere roll, he was now crawling along on his body and it was only a matter of days before he would be moving around and probably driving me batty too.

“The topee?” I said, grinning as I turned to my sister again. “Hamzah insisted he wears one out now, so he gets into the habit of it as he gets older. I feel that he’s still a baby, but it can’t do much harm now, can it?”

I smiled as I watched him, feeling sad for a minute as I thought of Liyaket and Layyanah, who would miss every milestone that he would conquer… My heart ached momentarily as I smiled at Hamzah and caught his eye, wondering if his mind was also thinking along the same lines…

“Of course not,” she said quietly with a distant look in her eyes, snapping me out of my own thoughts. “And I know no one is perfect but I love that Hamzah has that… awareness… you know?”

I narrowed my eyes slightly, leaning close to my sister as she hugged Zaid again.

“So it’s a no?” I whispered as I sidled up to her, pretending that I was helping to pack the biscuits away. I could see from her expression that my sister was far from interested. “Doc?”

She had barely even looked at him when they were leaving.

If his mother and sister weren’t so stuck up, I might have actually pushed Jameela to go for it, but I didn’t really want her to marry into a family who was so laa dee daa. All they spoke about was brands and overseas trips, and I could definitely tell that his sister was another version of Rabia, except that she was married with two kids.

Instagram was her absolute lifeline.

“It’s an ‘I don’t know’,” she said with a grim expression. “I want… I mean… I need someone who knows where he comes from. Who knows his Rabb and loves Him. I want someone who I want my kids to take after… someone who I can talk to and listen to me and who sees into my heart, you know? I need someone who knows me here.”

She touched her heart and I smiled, suppressing the urge to tell my sister that those kind of love stories only exist in Utopia.

Nevertheless, I knew what she was saying. She didn’t just want someone who isn’t just good, but someone who doesn’t count all the good things he does. Someone who not only respects you, but someone who who would go the whole mile. Someone who inspires, who sees her for who she was, someone who made her smile…

It sounded idealistic, and that my sister was… but I knew that she had one thing that she found most important.

She was after someone who would stop at nothing to please Allah… who had Him in his heart… someone who showed her what real love was always meant to be like.

How can you ever fall in love with someone if they don’t love Allah first…

The heart matters. It matters a lot. That feeling… the inclination you feel towards someone who moves you in a way that only Allah’s love can inspire, is something completely unique.

The thing is, she was right. You had to have someone who was going to have that ‘awareness’. With Deen. With family. With kids.

If you compromise even on smaller aspects; who is to know the quality of Deen your kids will acquire. If you’re not giving them Deen, you’re giving them nothing at all… They were only the greatest gift if they could benefit your Aakhirah. What use if not for Allahs sake?

When a person passes away, his deeds come to an end, except for three:

1. Continuous charity 

2. Such knowledge, from which benefit is derived. 

3. A righteous child, who supplicates for him. 

(Muslim Shareef)

A righteous Muslim childs good deeds is the most vaulable gift to be a source of reward for the parents. Parents are encouraged to guide their children, towards righteousness, so that they can gain maximum benefit, when they are most in need of it… and that will be after their passing.

And just like her, I also wanted that. It’s what I had wanted from Hamzah too.. and I saw that in him.

And as I watched him, I could see Hamzah and Nani chatting like two metres away while Zaid had already been taken by mother, who was rocking him off to sleep in a corner of the room.

“Was it that bad?” I asked my sister, not wanting Nani to catch me prying. She won’t approve of me bad-mouthing the perfect catch.

“He was flexing his biceps at me, Mos,” she said with a shake of her head, genuinely in shocked as I watched her recall it.

I wanted to giggle at the image in my mind but supressed it.

”Ah, Jams,” I said, smiling slightly. “You’re so pretty and sweet… I could only imagine that he was trying really hard to impress you. Can you really blame him?”

She looked troubled as she smiled, shaking her head.

“Impress me?!” she asked, her voice still low, but as if she couldn’t believe he would want to impress her. “In the end, he told me he thinks it all went well and I should come see him at the hospital sometimes, and now I feel bad because what if he really proposes… I don’t know…”

With guys, you just never know. Sometimes they play along and act as it they’re so interested and just change their mind at the last minute. I’ve had friends who waited through an insane amount of Samoosa runs to finally find the one who actually proposed. It was a seriously complicated process that I just could not understand…

Jameela was so lovely, sweet and innocent that I could honestly see the anguish on her face as she remembered the guy who she had met, probably thinking about how it would ever work.

And now that I looked at her, Jameela, with her softness and her natural femininity, needed someone who was to bring out the best in her. Her heart was on her sleeve and her head was filled with flowers and fairy tales and I hated the thought of anyone who would burst that illusion she had of life. She was wholly consumed by moments in the open fields, of life on the edge of reason… having this ideology that everything that happens is with true purpose that living for each other was a rule of nature.

My sister was simple enough but she had fairy-tale illusions. I wasn’t exactly sure what she needed but I did know for sure that she didn’t need a self-absorbed guy who treated her like an accessory.

And she would never say it aloud, but I figured that this guy was not exactly the most fitting match for her. I didn’t want my sister to feel uncomfortable or forced and as Hamzah caught my eye, he leaned forward to tell me to be easy on her, seeing the complicated look in her eyes.

I watched my sister as she packed some biscuits back in the container, biting her lip nervously as she did it, almost as if her mind was on something very concerning.

“Jamz,” I said to her softly, moving away from Hamzah as he went over to show Muhammed Husayn something on his phone. “Nani will understand. There’s no such thing as you have to say yes.”

She flashed me a quick smile and nodded.

“I know,” she said quickly, and I could sense her tension ease.

I smiled at Hamzah as he squeezed my shoulder lightly, my heart feeling a surge of gratitude as I looked at him.

“I’m just going out for a smoke,” he said softly as he felt around in his pockets for his cigarettes. “I’ll see you after Asr?”

I nodded, smiling at him as his hand slid over mine lightly, before he headed out again. Nothing was perfect, but I could positively feel that the last week had been good for us. Really good, in fact.

It sounded almost fairy-tale like, even to myself, and I also felt that it probably had to do with the fact that for the first time since we were married.. we had a whole week to ourselves.

I had emailed Faadil with the proof of payment for all the money I had owed him, but what I got from him was a reply saying that he wasn’t sure why I had sent it because he never asked me for the money back. Not wanting to continue contact, I left it at that and didn’t think much of it, knowing that it was settled and feeling so much better now that I didn’t have to keep lying to Hamzah.

With everything on a better footing now, somehow it felt like I was giving more of me, instead of putting up the usual walls that I always built. With Hamzah, love was something that I had just begun to understand. Anyone can love a thing because. But to love a someone despite, is rare and perfect.

That’s what mattered….

And that’s what got me. Despite everything, The thing with Hamzah was that he knew my secrets and he knows my flaws but despite it… he wasn’t holding it against me. He had a good heart. He still made me feel safe. It was a foreign feeling to me, because I had always been the one to protect everyone else.

Whether it was my father, my siblings or my entire family… for the first time in my life, it wasn’t just about financial security. Hamzah made me feel protected, made me belive that that no-one could ever harm me if he was there.

And I knew it sounded stupid, but even that scared me. I was scared to let go. Scared to give it my all. Even during the moments I wasn’t scared, there was still something within me that held me back, made me question, stopped me from just letting go…

And even though we had stumbled a bit, with the rockiness over the past few weeks, for some reason, I felt like things were getting better. We were getting closer, talking more, sharing moments with Zaid and stealing any minute we could find for ourselves, just to be together and give a little bit of each other… to each other.

I knew that Hamzah had been taking his grandmothers advice to heart when she told him to keep Rabia and I apart. Rabia had been shipped off to the farm and boy, was I glad that everyone refused to bring her back, even though she was insisting that she could not cope and needed to see Zaid. And although I felt a little guilty, I also knew that it was for the best.

With Rabia’s interference, there was always a hindrance or moments when our privacy was invaded. Moving into the new place also helped tremendously, and it was all the more reason for her to demand Zaid’s time.

And as the week passed by, busy minding my own business, with Rabia’s messages to both Hamzah and I about when she could come over, she was still in my mind.

The thing was, I was a pretty forgiving person, at most times. I didn’t really hold a grudge against people, especially when they may not know exactly what it was that they had done.

And because I was feeling a teeny bit bad for her, as we sat over supper towards the end of the week, I couldn’t help but ask Hamzah about her… not really expecting my thoughts to drift to her past and her marriage, but curious nonetheless…

At first, he shrugged and looked at me, almost as if he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I wont say anything,” I assured him, holding his gaze as he looked at me. “I just want to understand her better.”

I really did. And as I watched him, I could see him mentally relenting, as he twisted his long fingers.

He looked troubled as he frowned and then sighed, almost as if he was battling with himself over the words to use.

“It was an ugly divorce,” he started slowly, scratching his chin as he said it. “At first, everything seemed good. He seemed normal enough. Rabia… She saw some messages on his phone about five months after they were married.”

“Messages?” I asked curiously, hoping he didn’t mean what I thought he did.

“He had someone else, and his parents knew it… right from the start,” he said with a sigh, and it was obvious that it had hurt him.

Ouch. I physically grimaced as he said it.

“I think she loved him way more than she should have,” he continued, shaking his head. “I’m just glad that there were no kids involved…”

I was silent, digesting what he had told me. He was right about the last part though.

Kids made everything a lot more complicated. Who knew that better than I. Zaid was the reason that everything in my life changed. But that was a good thing…

”So is he married now?” I asked, my eyes widening. “To that other woman?”

Hamzah nodded, and a slight pain flashed in his eyes as he said it.

”I think that’s what gets her more,” he said with a shrug.

I raised my eyebrows, wondering at what point I would have found out if he hadn’t told me. That was hurtful.

“How did she take it?” I asked carefully.

I felt bad for judging her and always getting annoyed with her, but I also understood that her reasons for being the way she was kind of made sense. That must be awful.

“For a long time, all we saw her doing was cry,” he said softly, his honey-brown eyes gazing straight ahead as his grip tightened on the glass that was in front of him. “You couldn’t even talk to her properly. She was completely…”

”Heartbroken?” I finished off, my eyes softening as he nodded, taking a sip of his water and looking at me. The heart was something so fragile and gentle, and sometimes you just can’t contain how much it feels until it’s too late.

“Yeah,” he replied, breathing in shakily, anger flashing in his eyes again. “He was also substance abusing. When you’re on stuff, then it’s just an ongoing spiral downward. So it was like one thing after the other, and Rabia.. well, before marriage… Rabia was actually a really good girl. She didn’t even have a phone. The complete opposite of me… you know.. I was starting my articles, after final year… messing around while she was the epitome of piety, if you can believe it.”

Rabia? I couldn’t. He glanced at me and continued.

“She even wanted to go into Niqab but then he came along… they met through a friend’s brother… and he didn’t want her to and so she just changed her entire role and dream to fit his expectations…”

Oh my word.  I never thought I would say it… but poor Rabia.

And how on earth did she even end up with an idiot like that?

And no matter what had happened. How she had provoked me. Even if she really did intend to cause problems between Hamzah and I, I really wanted to be a bit more understanding towards her.

Sometimes I wonder how that’s fair. That she was so good and pure and then her whole life and marriage gets turned upside down. I knew that Allah had His plan for her… but I was so glad that I didn’t take off with her like how I felt like doing.

Silence is golden. Even silence of the thumb, when I felt like lashing out and telling someone off on WhatsApp or social media, but sometimes you have to just hold yourself back. As tempting as it is to have your say… to say your piece…

You never know someone’s story. Maybe they had a bad day or a bad week. Or just a bad patch…

To control what you say was hard at times, but so worth the Sabr in the end.

And although I was feeling bad for Rabia, not having her around was good for us as a couple. We had gotten closer, spoke more, indulged each other a little more than we would have otherwise.

And as Hamzah and I spoke that night, drifting off to sleep a little too late for a week night, I barely even noticed him leave the room in the early parts of the morning. I was still thinking about Rabia and her past, feeling a little depressed about it in general, and as I fell off to sleep again, waking for Fajr, Hamzah was already in the shower.

And I didn’t really expect him to be ready to leave at that time. I still thought that he may leave for Fajr and jump back into bed for another snooze.

Instead, I had barely even heard him get up to take a phone call during the middle of the night. Whatever had happened during the night… I had no idea… but the cool and calm Hamzah that I thought I knew and had gotten to know so well was no longer there.

“Where are you off to so early?” I asked, watching him as he pulled on a jersey, not meeting my eye.

Was he hiding something? It was strange. This sudden change in mood.

I couldn’t tell what was going on. Did Rabia say something to him? Was it me? Was it what we spoke about the previous night?

Was it someone else that he had spoke to or upset him…

“I need to be somewhere,” he said briskly, his voice sounding strained. “It’s urgent.”

“Hamzah,” I said, sitting up and hating that my voice sounded a little too desperate. “Whats going on?”

He turned and looked at me for a second, his expression unreadable as he stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket, breathing in deeply as he met my eye.

“We’ll chat later,” he said quickly, planting a quick kiss on Zaids forehead as he touched my cheek, and hastily turned to leave.

Something was going on.

I had no idea what it was about but for some reason… I could barely still the hammering of my persistent heart.

All I knew, as fear gripped me, was a horrible feeling creeping over me that something was very wrong…

---

Mission Revive a Sunnah: Avoiding Suspicion

Many times, messages, post and videos go viral on social media. It creates a frenzy of discussion and debates and often leads us to jump to untrue conclusions.

Giving people the benefit of the doubt is part of the Sunnah. We should also avoid reposting anything that we don’t know the source of or which we cannot verify.

Abu Hurairah (Radiallaho Anho) reported that Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said something to the effect: “Be aware of suspicion for suspicion is the worst of lies.”

May Allah Ta’ala save us from being suspicious and harbouring ill thoughts of 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

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

When Instinct takes Over

Bismihi Ta’ala
Jameela

Part 63

According to a well-known proverb, it’s been often said that the darkest hour is just before dawn.

That just before the sun finds its way out, the gloom that may descend may feel all-encompassing. But very often, we find the darkest hours of our life, followed by the most defining ones. And while I was waiting for the sunshine to kick in at that particular time in my life, I was definitely feeling as if the gloom was unending…

And of course it was due to the fact that since the previous week, my entire world had been turned upside down, and almost like instinct, I was clamming up inside, and building walls around me, retreating further into my own world.

And I was probably being a tad bit dramatic, but what had happened had affected me a lot more than I had ever anticipated. It was the most defining turn on events, a cutting edge kind of development that was waiting to explode into something very dangerous.

And I know what you’re thinking. My mind was consumed with worry but… It wasn’t about a guy. It was just, well… if Papa lost Zubair, well… who else would he have?

I couldn’t bear to ever break to him the truth of what I saw until I figured out exactly what was going on.

And during that week I had seen Zubair a few times… caught his eye on more than one occasion purposely this time… and although the unruly and romantic part of me would have loved to believe it was because he actually and finally realised I exist, I knew very well why his sudden interest in me had piqued.

He knew. And he knew that I knew, and suspected that I was probably the one that had ‘broken into’ his room. What was blocking the doorway was some kind of code blockage and when it was penetrated, he immediately suspected someone had been in there. He had figured that it was me, and he didn’t know how to ever ask me.

And in anguish, so unfolded the next week of my life…

“Jameela!” Nani was literally screaming in my face the following week, watching me as I tried to force spoonfuls of Weet Bix into my mouth, scrunching up my face as the sound almost burst my eardrum. “See how you are acting! Still sitting here in dreamland! Imagine what that boy will think if he sees you like this.”

My mind was miles away and Nani was already counting out the savouries for the afternoon and there I was, still wearing my butterfly pyjama bottoms with some mismatched top, and I honestly could not even care less.

Hopefully, he’ll run away, I wanted to say, but I didn’t because I knew that it wouldn’t go down very well with Nani.

Not only would she bite my head off, but she would probably also serve it to doctorsaab when he came. With some chutney on the side.

“Nani, there’s still time,” I mumbled, not wanting her to start stressing me out so early, getting up so unenthusiastically that she had no choice but to furrow her brow and look at me angrily.

Nani was the type who could not relax if she knew a big event was going to happen in the next few hours, not only would she be hyperventilating way in advance, but she would literally force everyone else to hyperventilate with her. For her, everything, from the place settings to the dust on the passage balustrade (in case someone decides to check) had to be sorted in advance.

The truth was, I wasn’t really stressed. Yet. Besides, I had plans for the morning already, and it didn’t involve the proposal that afternoon. I wasn’t the type to sit and dwell over something that could happen or build scenarios in my head. I was more the type to stress a few minutes before they came were due to come and act like a complete idiot in front of potential in-laws.

In the meantime, I would be expertly diverting my mind on more productive things, bonding with Cocoabean, reading the new book Nusaybah had lent me last on the breezy hammock under my favourite tree and just waltzing around the farmyard like I had no care in the world.

And even though I seemed all put together and relaxed, my mind was actually tirelessly alive with questions after seeing my uncle and him suggesting that London trip again. I had managed to keep Zubair out of my mind for the last day or so but after my uncles chat, there he was. Plaguing me again.

The truth was, my Mamajee was leaving in two weeks and Nusaybah was also going to be back in the UK by that time.

After this proposal and everything else that had happened recently, I just thought that this trip would be the best thing to divert my mind and attention.

And a diversion was precisely what the doctor ordered.

After all the drama last week and making Mohsina leave the South Coast early, I had to eventually message and tell her halfway that I wasn’t exactly ready to see the guy that day and the meeting had been postponed to the following week.

And I knew it was for the best, because I just couldn’t do it, and I was extremely apologetic but to my surprise… when Hamzah and Mos had actually come to visit us that week, she was in an extremely jolly mood.

And I thought she was going to press that issue about Zubair, but all she did was ask me if everything was okay, and if Zubair had been around recently and with Hamzah being in close proximity and literally not being able to take his eyes off my sister, I supposed she was distracted enough.

It was weird how they were never really romantic when they first got married, but now, the two of them looked like they had just come back from some kind of honeymoon getaway destination. It was a warm reminder that love can most definitely grow on you and although I was happy for them and the fact that Hamzah was actually seeming more in love with my sister than I had ever seen him before… I really couldn’t focus on anything besides what I had seen in the store room that day before.

I don’t know how I kept silent for so long. Or maybe, I had an overwhelming instinct to see this doctor guy and then run away to London, before I thought too much about the whole thing… and then deal with it all when I got back.

The fact was, it had invaded me. My dreams. My entire being. I was hopeless and could think of nothing else besides the fact that the two ideologies of Zubair that I had now in my mind were so contradictory.

All I could picture were all those weapons. Guns. Pistols. Revolvers. Dozens of them. A case full of daggers. Actual, silver daggers, as if we were in some prehistoric movie. And then a sealed suitcase of what looked like some kind of treasure chest, and I honestly did not want to know what was in there.

I shook my head, realising that I couldn’t still be obsessed with him after this.

I mean, who on earth even finds this stuff even appealing? I wasn’t some kind of forlorn damsel in distress. It was sick. Right? Whatever it was. Whatever his intention was here.

During my time wondering what on earth was going on, and convincing myself that the guy was way worse than I could ever imagine, before I knew I would have tell my father about my findings, I had come to three conclusions that may have been true:

1. The weapons belonged to him- a crazy gunman who went out every night and murdered people in their sleep. Why he hadn’t murdered us as yet was a mystery though, especially with Nani’s erratic outbursts. 2. The weapons were stolen. He was keeping some mafia peoples stash in our room, and protecting their crimes. It wasn’t impossible that he still had mafia connections.
3. He was an arms dealer who did this as his business on the side. And a killer. And probably a drug lord too.

But he was poor, and aren’t arms dealers rich?

It just wasn’t making sense and I wasn’t sure which option was the most disturbing.

I didn’t even know that I had it in me to laugh about it but there were times that I did, because it was just so bizarre.

I breathed in, realising my mind had been completely transformed that week from my springtime buzz to something a little more intense and completely bewildered.

Also, I didn’t exactly mention it to anyone but the book Nusaybah had lent me wasn’t quite helping either.

And I knew that Nusaybah obviously did not mean for me to sit and obsess over the story like I was some fool, but as I sunk into the book, devouring the thrilling tales, it felt like I was stuck in some prehistoric performance, where in my mind, there were the heroes and villains and battles were playing out before me.

What I didn’t quite know was who was who. Was Zubair a prince or a hero? Or was he, as Mohsina always predicted, a dangerously alluring villain?

And okay, it was gifted to her by someone, but what got me most was the stories of the most amazing Mujaahideen of Islam, and I supposed that it was just a coincidence that the Sahabah named Zubair bin Awwaam (RA) was mentioned in the book, and immediately caught my interest.

It was both thrilling and intoxicating, and it made me realise that as one continues to search through the books of our past, one would come to realize that the most influential people to have lived, were none other than the beloved companions of Rasulullah salla Llahu ‘alayhi wa sallam.

Motivated by none other than Rasulullah salla Llahu ‘alayhi wa sallam himself, their lives tell a tale of honesty, trustworthiness and the ultimate in self-sacrifice. It was unparalleled.

Thus, their noble qualities and outstanding character earned them the title of being the greatest and most successful group of people to have ever walked upon the face of the earth, after the ambiya’ ‘alayhimus salam.

What I had also learnt was that Zubair bin Awwaam (RA) was one of those people who was of the ten whom Rasul salla Llahu ‘alayhi wa Sallam testified would be in paradise and one of the members of the consultative committee. He embraced Islam as a young man, at the tender age of sixteen, and he was tortured because of It.

It was narrated that Zubair’s (RA) paternal uncle used to roll him up in a mat and hang it up, and then he would light a fire underneath so that the smoke would reach him…. Such torment to hold onto the gift of Islam.

And then came the part that struck my heart like a dagger in itself.

The first person to unsheathe his sword for the sake of Allah was Zubair ibn al ‘Awwam (RA).

Hz. Zubair (RA) was brought up by his mother (the aunty of Nabi (ﷺ)) since his father died when he was very young.  Hz. Safiy­ya (RA) acted very carefully to educate her son. She sometimes beat him to prepare him for life. When some people saw her beating him, they said, “You break the heart of your son. You will destroy him.” She answered them as follows:

“I beat Zubair not because I dislike him but because I want him to become wiser, to be a man and to become a hero that will defeat armies and return with booty in the future.”

And as I read the story, I could honestly say that I was shocked at the parables that existed between this Sahabah and this young man who actually worked for us. Maybe my mind was running away with me but it was something that met me with complete surprise.

And even after everything, I knew that I had to shove it out of my head and approach the proposal with a little more optimism that day, hoping that this guy would come and sweep me off my feet completely.

I wanted to be healed from the hopelessness. To be cured from this silly infatuation.

Perhaps a doctor was exactly what I needed.

And of course, Nani had no doubt about it too. The house was buzzing since early morning, as I made my way up to my room to get ready after being yelled at countless times by Nani.

By the time Mohsina and Hamzah arrived with Zaid, dressed in a little suit-style romper that made me want to literally bite his cheeks off, I was actually feeling pretty hopeful.

“How are you feeling?” Mohsina asked with a smile, while she did my make up carefully, giving me a slightly smoky eyed look and some subtle warm tones on my skin.

I looked quite good, even if I said so myself. I had slipped on the pretty cream dress she had brought for me, turning to look at myself in the mirror as I spun around. I did hope that he found me passable.

I was actually getting a little more nervous as time egged on.

”I’m okay,” I said with a nod, trying to calm myself. “Actually, more than okay. I mean, the odds that he will be the one are pretty much minimal.”

It’s what I had convinced myself. Mohsina didn’t know much about my state of mind and though she had suspected the little crush I had previously, me seeing this guy today had put all her suspicions at bay.

I was trying to put on the role of the demure little girl and I was succeeding quite well.

“Just be you,” she said with her bright smile, as we watched the two cars pull into our driveway and gave me a wink. “And I’ll remind Nani not to be herself…”

I grinned as she shook her head, watching Nani floundering around even though everything was already as perfect as it could be.

Nani was abuzz with full kitchen duty as she got the eats ready. The all time favourite bajias and legendary samoosas were in preparation and Hamzah and Muhammad Husayn were very invested in the sampling until that point.

It took them a few minutes to get on their serious faces and go to the front to invite the visitors in, and by the time I entered the room, I could feel all eyes on me and honestly just wanted to run away.

Meeting one, the one with the family, wasn’t exactly what was expected. All I was doing was minding my own business while I munched on a Samoosa, trying to be as polite and obliging as possible, when Nani suddenly hissed to me from the door.

Now you see, this was the first time I was actually doing this thing. When Mohsina had her Samoosa runs, I was a lot younger than what I was then. Plus, I wasn’t exactly the type to notice stuff. And though I was trying to ignore Nani and her persistence, it was when she didn’t relent when I politely excused myself to see what she wanted, and she wasn’t on the least shy to say it.

”Why you sitting there like queen?” She hissed at me as I entered the kitchen. “You must serve tea to them. They will think you are lazy.”

She shoved the tea tray in my direction as I picked it up, trying to be as least sloppy as possible and hope that I didn’t make a fool of myself.

And I know what you thinking. That I can’t carry a simple tea tray. But honestly; it wasn’t even about that. Carrying a tray of hot drinks to a room to serve to people who could possibly be impacting your future in a significant way was extremely nerve wrecking.

I could literally feel them sizing me up as I did so, probably trying to ascertain if I was good enough for their darling doctorsaab.

When they’re all eyeing you out as if you were some kind of circus performer… well, that was something else completely.

Samoosa run nerves were no joke, and while the granny, mother and sisters all spoke animatedly as I successfully served the tea, I was honestly already feeling like my nerves were completely frazzled.

Well, until Hamzah knocked on the door to say the doctorsaab was waiting in the small lounge for me, and there I was again, a bundle of erratic nerves, trying to steady my legs as I walked past them and tried to ignore Mohsina’s penetrating gaze on me.

And as I entered, I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but I did expect him to be handsome. I just didn’t think that he would look quite like how he did. Good features. Tall. Slightly broad shouldered. Almost as if he was too handsome.

And as I walked into the room and Mohsina pulled the door slightly closed, he lifted  his gaze and stood up, I was certain I saw a look of surprise on his face.

What surprised him, I wasn’t quite sure yet…

”Salaams,” he said with a wide smile, and he reminded me a bit of Ken. Like, Barbie Ken. “I’m Muneer. Great to finally meet you Jameela. I heard a lot about you.”

I wonder what his Dadi had been telling him.

He seemed rehearsed. Or maybe he was just very experienced with meeting girls. But it didn’t matter.

This was just weird. I felt like I was on a blind date. Not a Samoosa run.

He was looking at me openly, as I looked down and took a seat, before he probably realised what he appeared like and then quickly looked away. I mumbled a reply, trying to be as audible as possible.

“How are you?”

The question was natural and I couldn’t help but feel the need to be honest. Not a bad start so far. There was hope.

“Nervous,” I said with a tiny laugh. “Sorry, it’s my first time and I haven’t really met anyone before this…”

Oh gosh, tmi.. I sounded stupid.

He raised his eyebrows.

“You can’t be serious,” he said, his smile faltering as if he didn’t believe me. “You haven’t spoken to a guy before?”

Did he think I was putting it on? 

“I mean,” I started, looking down and feeling like my cheeks were burning. “I haven’t… don’t really go out much and…”

Oh damn, why was I sounding like a nutcase. This guys intimidating gaze was disturbing.

“I meant, I don’t quite know how this whole thing works …”

His smile was open and a little staged. Maybe he was just a good actor.

“Me neither,” he said, his gaze softening slightly. For a minute, he seemed nice-ish. “But I mean, it’s hard to believe that you don’t have guys all over you. I didn’t believe my grandmother, when she told me that you were pretty. She says that about a lot of girls and she’s always wrong.”

I widened my eyes as I glanced at him, and he spoke again.

“You’re beautiful,” he said smoothly with a wink, and I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows at his open compliment.

Oh. Emm. Geeee.

Was he throwing me up?

Smooth. Too smooth. These were the guys I needed to look out for.

Did he know my father was outside?!

Astaghfirullah.

Aiy.

Here I was, stuck on an unassuming farm in the middle of nowhere and this guy was from a different, unhinged, kind of world.

”How old are you Jameela?” he asked, and I wondered why he hadn’t asked his grandmother that question.

“Nineteen,” I said softly, still not able to fully formulate words.

I was still extremely nervous. Even more so, realising this guy wasn’t. My heart was beating erratically and my mouth was dry and parched, as if I didn’t drink water the whole day. I wasn’t even sure what to think of him.

“And what about you?” I managed to say.

“Twenty six. I’m ancient for you,” he said with a grin. Shame. He seemed okay. And then he continued. “But I don’t mind the age gap if you don’t…”

Okay. Why was this guy sounding so suggestive? Or was it my imagination?

I didn’t realise that I was literally backing away until he looked at me and cocked his head.

”I promise I won’t bite,” he said with another alluring smile.

Mohsina didn’t warn me about this. This was a bit much, even if I say so myself. I wasn’t like her, all used to attending board meetings and conversing with men so easily. I didn’t quite like the attention either. I just wasn’t used to it.

Also, I needed to ask him questions else it would seem that I was just waiting for him to compliment me.

”It’s okay,” I said automatically, and I moved back a little on the couch to put more space between us.

Okay, it wasn’t so bad. I couldn’t figure this guy out yet.

My hands were all clammy and twitchy as I looked down at the carpet, feeling him staring at me.

He was just being nice. Right.

“So you must be busy in the week?” I said quickly, changing the subject. “What do you do for fun?”

He smiled easily. He seemed so calm. Like he met new girls every day. Maybe he did.

”Plenty of things,” he said easily. “I like to keep myself fit. When I need to unwind, it’s gym and swimming, sometimes cycling. Now and then there’s a night we go out with friends, but that’s only when I don’t have to work the next day. If I have a wife, that will all change of course. I want to give her all my free time.“

Perfect answer. Almost too perfect.

He was great. Really nice. Attractive. Fair, like white fair. Which I personally didn’t think was great because I was about 4 shades darker than him (maybe about 7 with the sunburn).

Okay, superficialities aside… I was just uncomfortable with this situation in general because it was something new…

“And what about you?” He asked, looking at me intently for a minute. “What do you do for fun?”

”Well,” I started, trying to make it sound a bit more interesting. “I read. A lot, and anything I can find. Help Papa with the coffee shop, and sometimes I spend time with our uncles horse-“

”Ooh, a horse?” He cut in with an impressed nod, and then broke into a low, rumble-like chuckle. “Funny story. One of the docs at the hospital have a horse. He’s a junior, right, not like the position I have… where I’m head of the department, but he’s a great guy. So the other day he invited me to come riding with him, you know… as a hobby. I think that I’ll take him up next time. We can have something in common.”

I paused, forgetting what I was saying before that. Errr. Okay.

”Ah yes, you’re a doctor?” I said, and it was about the only thing I could think of saying.

Like I could forget.

I mean, although I was really trying to keep myself with the best character here but I was no Sahabi calibre. Patience was wearing thin. But I had to try or Nani would be done my throat.

I was supposed to be the one talking, but somehow I couldn’t even get back to that.

I wanted to ask him more, like about Mosque and his Salaah but he didn’t even notice the questioning look on my face.

Just nodded proudly, straightening up as he edged a bit closer to me. The whiff of his perfume was a little bit intoxicating, even as I tried to move away.

Talk about Zinaa of the nose. I looked down as he spoke, feeling a little more self conscious.

“I’ll be specialising next year,” he said seriously, almost as if it was the natural thing to do. “So it’s going to be a tough few years. Medicine is no walk in the park. I’m going to be straight up and say that I need someone who will be okay with being on their own for long hours.”

”Oh,” I said with a nod, taking in his rough stubble around his chin.

No beard. Not even the beginning of one. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I was waiting for him to ask a question but he didn’t seem interested. Instead, he carried on speaking.

He seemed like he was very much into himself. Possibly even more than Nani was.

“I applied for gynaecology and obstetrics. That’s where the money is, everyone says,” he said with an obvious, doctor-like look.

“I’ve already helped to deliver a few babies and I kind of like the whole idea of being a part of something so life-changing. It’s just that it’s a good few years and a lot of intense studying , but you’re pretty young so that’s definitely a bonus if we hit it off. We can wait a few years and see what happens from there.”

“Wait a few years?” I said, blinking. “For kids, you mean?”

It was a little awkward but an important question and I could feel my cheeks burning after I said it. This guy didn’t get embarrassed for a thing though.

“I suppose if you want kids,” he said easily, putting his hands out, long fingers splayed, not finding the question awkward at all.

“Actually I think I would like a few rugrats.”

Rugrats?!

I loved kids.

“Maybe 3 or 4,” he continued, as if he was counting consumable expenses. “Your sister has one right?“

”She does,” I nodded, getting ready to say how much I loved Zaid even though he wasn’t my biological nephew but Mr. Full-of-Himself was already onto the next part.“He’s cute I suppose,” he said with a neutral look. What? Zaid was more than cute. “And I know you didn’t study or anything so you’ll be looking after them and I won’t have to stress about the details, so it will all be cool. Have as many as you want. I’ll be earning the big bucks.”

This guy was something. Also, was he patronizing me because I wasn’t educated beyond matric?

“I think parenting is a joint effort,” I said with a small smile, trying to hide my annoyance. “Both parties have a role to play.“

I didn’t want to raise kids without a father around, even if he was a doctor. Anyway, I wasn’t even thinking that far.

”Women are in charge of the nitty gritty,” he said confidently, holding his hands up as if dusting them clean. “Dad’s a doctor too. My mother did everything on her own. You know how it is when you’re the man of the house. Can’t exactly tell them I can’t make it because my wife is throwing a tantrum. A woman must know her place.”

Okayyyyy. So now he wanted me to be like his mother? 

I got what he was saying.

But why was he sounding so arrogant when he said it? What about some respect? I had a feeling that his father had probably drilled this into him.

He was so matter of fact when talking, then I honestly felt like stalking off.

But of course I couldn’t. Smile and bear it.

He was still droning on about his valuable experience in the field and how he had gotten this amazing post overseas and turned it down because family was important, and for a minute I kind of blanked out there, wondering why I was finding this all so shallow and boring.

And then suddenly, he was showing me his new weird orange sports watch and the topic was changed and he went on about something completely unrelated.

Was this guy on something? He just seemed… a bit, erratic.

“…and you know how it is with mind and body nutrition, you have to be on top of it…”

Wait. Why was he coming closer? I could see his watch from where I was.

“…. and so i told the guy, you know, I have to have like thirty full minutes of cardio and thirty minutes with weights ‘cos these babies, they don’t come for free…”

He was now in my face and pointing at his biceps and I couldn’t help but swallow nervously as he literally yanked up his shurt sleeve and flexed them in my face, forcing me to stare at his veiny, ripped arms with disturbing interest.

Steroids. He was definitely on those. No question about that.

Awkward was not the word.

I have never been so mortified in my entire adult life.

“… so I told him my famous line that I pull out for all the members. Nothing comes easy, you know, hard work and determination is the key…”

And as I sat there with my cheeks flaming up heatedly and him going on and on, before it took me a few seconds to notice that though I had been on one end of the couch and he had been on the other… he was suddenly now a lot closer than he had been before, showing off all his muscular protrusions as if there was nothing else in the world that mattered to him.

Or me. Or whatever.

The guy was obsessed. With himself.

Before I knew it, he was still edging closer and closer and if he didn’t stop, I would be all squashed up in the corner of the couch.

He was still going on about how demanding specializing is (at least he put his muscles away) and finding the time to keep himself the way he was, (as if he was the most alluring man to ever walk the earth). He was animatedly describing the processes of training and weight lifting and the only thing I could think of doing before he came any closer was grabbing the plate of bajias from the table and shoving it in his face, hoping it would distract him.

It was a last resort. Almost as if on instinct, my hand was now somewhere in midair, armed with the almost full plate of Nani’s famous bajias.

To say he was slightly taken aback was an understatement.

Honestly, I never thought I would see the day that Nani’s bajias saved the day.

His nose crinkled, almost in disgust, as I looked up at him and swallowed, hoping he would at least take one to shove it in his mouth so he could find another use for it besides talking.

Instead, he just raised his eyebrows and looked at the bajias in distaste. I always knew that one day I would be eternally grateful for Nani’s love and support through this whole process.

“I don’t eat those things,” he said with a frown, shifting about a meter back as he raised his perfect eyebrows at me, looking absolutely appalled.

“Weren’t you listening to a thing I said?”

---

Just for laughs…. We’ll catch up on how this ended, but for kicks… how would the readers like it to end?!

Always love hearing from you guys

Much Love

A xx

Mission Revive a Sunnah: Avoiding Suspicion

Many times, messages, post and videos go viral on social media. It creates a frenzy of discussion and debates and often leads us to jump to untrue conclusions.

Giving people the benefit of the doubt is part of the Sunnah. We should also avoid reposting anything that we don’t know the source of or which we cannot verify.

Abu Hurairah (Radiallaho Anho) reported that Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said something to the effect: “Be aware of suspicion for suspicion is the worst of lies.”

May Allah Ta’ala save us from being suspicious and harbouring ill thoughts of 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

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Starry Nights

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 62

For the first time since we were married, Hamzah didn’t wake me up for Salaah.  I had fallen asleep putting Zaid to bed, and he didn’t even check in on me.

Okay. He might have checked in on me, and realised that I still had time and crept away silently, but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t wake me up.

And I could say that I expected it. Or maybe I didn’t.

What I did expect was his anger and his frustration. Maybe even his jealousy. I expected him to be flying off the rails with some kind of intense reaction.

What I didn’t expect was his silence.

And okay. I get it. I was a horrible person.

Bad, bad, baaaad. Really. I wasn’t the kind of person who was always easy and accommodating, and neither was I the most sociable, especially when it came to Hamzah’s family. I made life difficult at times. I sometimes took pleasure in his annoyance. I tested limits. I pushed boundaries. Sometimes a little too much.

And the truth is; there comes a time when it happens that sometimes you push people too far. You don’t realise how much they do, how much they put up with, how much they endure… until it reaches a point of no return. Until you’re left hanging your head in shame and trying to make up for all the times you never really appreciated them for being who they were.

And there wasn’t much that I knew, but what I knew right then was that there are few gifted people in the world who can see the good in every situation. They are trained hard to be optimistic and are blessed with the ability to see light, even in the darkest of circumstances. And that was what Hamzah was, and always had been for me, until that point. Not having him the way he always appeared and made light of every situation was a very difficult thing indeed.

Marriage was tough. It wasn’t always beautiful. You see the worst in somebody. You see them when they’re sad, when they’re mad, when they’re so unlovable that you want to scream. But you also get to see them at their wildest points, when they’re laughing so hard that tears run down their face and they’re at their worst version of crazy.

But marriage is also a way to gather rewards from Allah SWT. A good marriage will be blessed by Allah SWT and will be our chance to obtain paradise. As the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said in the following hadith:

“There is no foundation that has been built in Islam more loved by Allah SWT than marriage.”

Marriage is the foundation of love for human in the world. Its built by nothing other than honesty, sincerity and faith towards the other.

And never mind what Rabia said. How she provoked me. Made me feel this small. How she had gotten under my skin and all worked up about social media and my previous life. It wasn’t relevant.

Even her annoying look and manipulative smile shouldn’t have had an effect on me, when it came to dealing with Hamzah. The thing is, when you worry about what people think, you will always be their prisoner, and you imprison yourself. And you’re stuck there, in that cage, and you can’t find your way out until you break it open…

And that’s where it all started. From the moment I got into the car, I had let Rabia’s opinions and comments shape me. I had let her warped outlook on life stifle me. Even after Hamzah had tried to put things right, all that was going through my mind was all the opinions and bullcrap she had been hammering into my head, from the moment she got into the car.

And then was the ring. And oh my word, it came like a lightning bolt from the sky. Amidst that beautiful setting that literally made my hair stand on end, when Hamzah pulled out that black box… I was honestly feeling that there was no way that I could let him believe all the lies anymore.

And that’s why I had to tell him about Faadil.

And I couldn’t never forget the look on his face as he looked ar me, sea breeze blowing in my face, the smell of the sea heightening as the waves crashed around us. I told him that Faadil hadn’t just loaned me money. That our relationship had somehow spiralled to something where I was in a corner, and it seemed that he was the only one who could pull me out… and he had.

In the only way Faadil knew how to. By making it something that went beyond the boundaries of friendship.

I had lost faith. I had lost hope. I had even lost my own izzat in his eyes.

“Him?” Hamzah had muttered, his eyes darting back and forth in anger. “Of all people, Mohsina! Seriously?! After I warned you, you willingly got involved with that womanising excuse for a man. Do you even know what he’s capable of doing?”

I swallowed, fighting back tears as he looked at me, stalking off back to the house ahead of me as if I was worse that the scum of the earth. Maybe I was.

But it didn’t matter, right? I had changed. I chose something better. I cut myself free and rose above it.

I made Taubah. Is it not true that when you leave a sin with resolution to never return, then it’s as if you have immediately become His friend?

But Hamzah was still hurt. I figured that giving him a space would be the best idea, despite feeling like I was never going to be able to solve this hostility that was between us.

I felt hopeless as the night seemed to lengthen extensively, as I fed a very needy Zaid who was seeking extra comfort due to being in a strange place and literally waking up every hour.

I could barely stop my mind from working either, deriving the most unassuming scenarios in my head. Jameela had messaged with very little hope, saying that we could talk tomorrow about what was bothering me.

She had sounded off-ish but I put it down to her having to meet some boy who was coming to see her tomorrow. Jameela wasn’t quite the one to get excited about those things. I just hoped that she wasn’t her usual uninterested self and gave the guy a fair chance. After speaking to my sister briefly, I figured I would have to get all the information out from her the next day.

Drifting off to sleep still feeling anxious, I remember waking in the middle of the night after, around midnight, wondering if he would ever forgive me. I was in dire need of some hope and inspiration and as I dragged myself out of the warm bed and made a fresh whudhu, I knew that nothing else would be quite as effective as fervent Duaa during the depths of the night when everyone was asleep.

It’s weird how desperate situations bring out the best of us at times. How we slip into our comfortable (or sometimes uncomfortable) ruts that feed our inherent complacency.

I prayed hard. Desperately. Hoping against hope that Hamzah would come around and be okay with me again.

And who could underestimate the purity of such amazing Du’aa. Indeed, those heartfelt prayers in the depths of the night were of a magnitude that one could never perceive, until its result is seen, sometimes in ways that we can never imagine.

I hadn’t been one who was ever constant in Tahajjud salaah. But what I did know was that when the night was at its darkest, and the unfiltered magic of tahajjud pumps through the veins… there’s no other solution or answer that relieves you more than what comes after, even when you’re not expecting it.

And as I deliberated over whether going back to bed was a viable option, I already knew that I wouldn’t be able to find peace until this was settled.

I just couldn’t. I had to find Hamzah and even if I had to squeeze a reaction out of him, I had to know what was in his mind. I snuck out the room after what felt like an exceptionally long first half of night, seeing the door slightly ajar and as I crept toward the top of the staircase, I could hear his voice speaking to his grandmother. I couldn’t quite believe that she was up so late. But I figured that Hamzah and his Dadi were pretty close. They were very possibly catching up on lost time, and probably even talking over what was bugging Hamzah too.

“So did you and her have a fight?” She was saying, her voice quite concerned. “She barely spoke last night, and I don’t like to see you upset like this, Hamzoo. You still haven’t said what’s troubling you.”

I felt bad for not making conversation. I wasn’t exactly the talkative type and after yesterdays events had put an unexpected spanner in the works, it made it more difficult for me to actually strike up a conversation with anyone, let alone really chat to Hamzah’s favourite grandparent.

“It’s nothing, Dee,” he said tiredly, and I could hear the strain in his voice as he said it. “We just… argued over something stupid from the past.”

There was silence for few seconds and I could hear a microwave door opening and closing, as it went on.

“I want you to be careful,” she said quietly, but still loud enough to travel to the top of the staircase.

I sucked in my breath.

Was Dadi worried that I was going to purposely hurt Hamzah? I could feel my heart clenching as I waited for him to question her. It was he just going to badmouth me and leave it at that?

“Of what, Dadi?” He asked, his voice as curious of my mind. “We already spoke about the things that were really troubling me.”

Hmmm. I wondered what they spoke about.

”I know,” she said, her voice lowering significantly. “Everyone has faults. Marriage is not easy. It’s not only the good times. Your sister knows it too… But I see the way Rabia talks about her. Talks to her. Whatever is true or not… I think it’s best to keep the two of them away from each other…”

Her voice trailed off as they left the kitchen area and I could hear them walking away, and I scurried quickly back to the room, heart thudding in my chest, wondering why Dadi would say.

I retreated to the bed for a moment, my heart trembling slightly, cuddling Zaid to me, watching him sleep, trying to figure out how I was going to make it up to Hamzah for getting him so upset.

And it didn’t take me long to figure that I needed to do something. That they were probably discussing something that was bothering him, and I needed to fix it. I was the one at fault, after all. I couldn’t sit there and wait for it to all unravel and crumble before me.

And so I made my way down the stairs tentatively, looking for Dadi who was now nowhere in sight.

The lights in the kitchen were dim as I tiptoed through it, wondering where on earth Hamzah disappeared to if he wasn’t in the room.

I felt like a ghost, creeping silently in the shadows, as I got to the window, immediately catching sight of a cloud of smoke coming from behind the ponytail palm tree that stood behind the house. I could already see the shadowy figure sitting at one of the black benches surrounding the fountain.

It was one of those nights where the stars weren’t clearly visible at first glance, but as I stared more intently, I was sure I could see them winking at me in turns, almost as if they had a secret that they were yearning to share.

I was sure not to make a single sound as I squeezed my body through the tiny gap in the doorway and made way towards him.
I literally froze in my tracks as I caught sight of my him, legs stretched out in front of him as he sat there as if there was no other place he ever felt more at home, under the twinkling stars.

For a minute, I wished that I could read into his thoughts, as he smooched the night sky as if there was nothing beyond the dazzling beauty before him. The moon shone down clear and blindingly bright, as the sounds of cicadas in the trees and the crashing of the waves were the only thing accompanied us.

And I wasn’t sure if he saw me, but as I crept up to him, gently taking a seat right next to where his one arm rested, he didn’t even as much as sneak a single glance at me.

I didn’t want to speak, for fear of breaking the spell that the blackness seemed to have cast over him, but I also knew then that if I didn’t say anything at all, neither would he.

“Hamzah,” I said softly, watching the tip of whatever he was smoking light up as he took a pull from it, holding it in for a while before releasing curls of clouds around his face, obscuring him from my view.

Maybe that was his intention. Hiding from me, concealing his face, so I couldn’t see his expression. Emotion was a weird thing. It gets you when you don’t always expect it.

I knew he wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk. I also knew that if have to do a little more than just coax him.

”I know you’re angry,” I said, my eyes avoiding his as I spoke. “And I know it’s not fair to expect you to just forgive me. And I’m not sure where we need to go from here, whether you will want to… I know that it’s hard, and you don’t owe me anything but…”

I know that I once said that even if Hamzah didn’t want me after he found out about Faadil, I would be okay with that.

Well, not okay. But I’d survive.

But somehow, now that we were here… the more I thought about it, the more I just wanted everything to be okay. I wanted Hamzah and I wanted Zaid and as I prayed fervently for my family to remain intact, I didn’t quite understand how much Allah Ta’ala truly appreciates the slave who turns to him in absolute despair.

And oh yes, that I was. Hanging my head in shame and hoping for a miracle.

I closed my eyes again, not wanting to meet his eyes.

For a minute, his gaze had settled on me and softened, almost as if he wanted to reach out to me. But just as quick as it happened, it flickered away.

“Hamzah,” I started again, noting his ongoing silence as he tipped his joint to his lips and leaned his head back against the back of the bench. “Say something. Please.”

The silence was unbearable, and as anger splayed within me, without even thinking, I reached out and grabbed his cigar, my eyes flashing in anger as I pulled it to my mouth, watching his eyes widen in shock as I breathed in.

The prices I paid to get his attention.

Worst mistake ever. A tiny wisp of smoke escaped as I coughed and sputtered, smashing at my chest as Hamzah’s smile grew into a fully blown chuckle.

He found it funny? It was disgusting.

“How do you smoke that?!” I spluttered, still struggling to breathe as I looked at him in shock. “It’s torture!”

It really was. I handed the disgusting thing back to him, ignoring his cynical smile on me as he watched my recovery.

”Not very ladylike,” he said with a smirk, shaking his head and expertly taking in another pull as he watched me from the corner of his eye, and then looking up again at the stars as he breathed out again.

“Not ‘man-like’ either!” I retorted, feeling like I was going to gag. “It’s just… yuck! Why?!”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Why not?”he said bluntly, scowling. “Makes me feel better. When my mind won’t stop and I can’t switch off the thoughts… I can just come out here, read some Qur’ān and look out the stars while enjoying my smoke…”

It looked almost like he was whispering his sweet recitation to the starry skies as he looked up, and the Surah that mentioned the star’s immediately came to mind, just as he started to recite…

وَٱلنَّجۡمِ إِذَا هَوَىٰ ﴾

By the star when it goes down(falls).

And as I stared at him without reservations, the moonlight glowing above his smoky silhouette, he went on to explain.

“In the past, the stars were something that the Arabs would often pay very close attention to,” he said softly, as he finished his beautiful recital, making me gaze up at them too. “Something of a pass time that they would spend looking at… because well, there wasn’t much else to do, right?”

I smiled as I wondered what people in the past did without technology and laptops and instagram.

I had a feeling that they were probably better off without the mental health problems. 

“And as Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) would receive more and more revelation… they came to learn that with every shooting star, meant the shooting down of the Shayateen who would try and go up to the heavens to overhear the verses of the angels, and try and corrupt them. Basically, every shooting star was actually a symbol of the preservation of the word of Allah…”

“Amazing,” I murmured, still staring up at the blue-black skies as they twinkled. 

A shooting star wasn’t just a shooting star. It was a symbol of Allah’s mercy upon the Ummah…

“Anyways,” he said, shifting in his seat and rolling his head around to watch me. “While I was sitting and thinking about thinking… well, I figured something out. And maybe this isn’t the ideal way for this to happen but we don’t always choose when things dawn on us…”

“What?” I said, a little annoyed at his beating around the bush, not entirely sure what he was onto as he stubbed his takkie forcefully in the sandy patch around the bench and then looked up.

He leaned back and gazed up into the sky again, almost as if he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he needed to.

“You want to take a walk?” he asked bluntly, eyes fixed on me as he suddenly leaned forward.

Take a walk? Didn’t he remember where a walk had lead to yesterday?

I narrowed my eyes and looked at him, my heart beating faster as I saw something that I didn’t quite recognise in his eyes.

It wasn’t the usual way he looked at me, when he was either trying to annoy me or to get some kind of reaction out of me. This time, there was a concern and a pure compassion within them. Almost as if he was seeing right through to the depths of my heart.

I frowned as I looked back at him, feeling sad and confused and at a loss… because of everything that had happened in the past and went so wrong…

”I know I was angry,” he said, shifting around a tad bit uncomfortably. “But it’s not like I didn’t know that Faadil may have been part of your world at some point. It’s just that I didn’t want to really believe it. I had forgiven you a long time ago for what might have happened… but sometimes… we forget that Allah Ta’ala is so forgiving, and He doesn’t dig up all the old dirt when we make a mistake and deals with us. With Taubah… He’s already written out sins off, no questions. People like me… We’re just weak, you know?”

”I know,” I said, a smile playing on my face as I looked at his familiar features in the moonlight,  and there’s something so honest about it that it made me feel really vulnerable. “People like me too.”

I remember once telling Jameela that Faadil was gracious. It was at a time where I thought that money and flashy things were most important. What I didn’t realise was that the moment I chose that life, I made a trade off.

The guy in front of me was a different kind of gracious. The most purest kind. The type who did it only for the sake and pleasure of Allah. Because he knew that there was no other way to win hearts but to give of yourself, until you have given so much that you’ve literally rooted yourself into their hearts.

”Mos,” he said quietly, his gaze lifting to mine as he locked eyes with me, the tip of the cigar bright against the night sky. “You know I love you. Right?”

He said it so simply, as if he had said it millions of times before, but he actually hadn’t.

I could feel the back of my eyes pricking with tears, but I didn’t want to looks stupid and cry. Not now. I didn’t want to cry right then. Nooooo.

I nodded, fresh waves of emotion hitting me as I glimpsed the sincerity in his eyes, taking a deep breath in as I looked back at him.

He gave a small smile, reaching for my hand and holding it firmly, his thumb stroking the back of my palm.

“The truth is, I belong to you,” he whispered softly. “You belong to me. Wholly. Inexplicably. Unconditionally. No matter what we face. Even if it hurts one or both of us sometimes.”

He moved my hand until it was gripped within his palm, and gave a tortured smile as I let a tear fall from the corner of my eyes.

”Rather you don’t cry,” he said softly, brushing the tear away with his thumb. “It’s not fair on me. After everything, you know, you shouldn’t put me through this…”

His one dimple flashed as he smiled adorably, cupping my chin with his hand.

“You say so?” I asked breathlessly, still kind of in a daze, and wondering if I was dreaming. This had been so effortless. So easy. Like forgiveness was the sheer product of his love. I just hope it wasn’t the calm before the storm.

“I know so,” he said with raised eyebrows, winking at me. “Also-“

It was before he could even finish when I literally lunged at him, fiercely embracing him with all my might, barely even believing that somehow, Dadi had put a word in for me so that Hamzah would forgive me.

I had no idea what she said. How she did it. All I knew was that I was so grateful that it was all okay…

How much we owe to the wiser elders in our lives who step in when we can’t see the sense. Their value and their foresight was something that I never really valued until these years of my life.

”Easy, gorgeous,” he laughed, hugging me back as I held onto him, still not believing how easily I was let off the hook. “I was also thinking that you still have to give me your Sabaq, you’re not off the hook for that…”

”Of course,,” I said tearfully, nodding and looking back at him as I smiled through the tears. “But listen… I think we may have to leave a little earlier than expected tomorrow… actually, today. Jameela needs me home for her Samoosa run.”

Hamzah raised his eyebrows questioningly, as if it was something completely unprecedented. It was weird to be having actual conversations about serious stuff in the middle of the night.

“Ah, so we‘re trading swimming with the dolphins in for Jameela’s guy?” He said, his nose scrunching, unimpressed. “How old is Jameela again? I thought she was only sixteen…”

“She’s nineteen,” I started, feeling terrible about missing out on his plans for the morning. If we even manage to wake up on time. Swimming with the dolphins? Really?!

I had no idea that my husband was such a romantic.

But I couldn’t let Jameela down. Plus, I had to speak to her about that Zubair guy. Make sure that what he saw never gets out. Ever.

“I think we may have to plan another trip soon,” I said softly, my stretch scarf I had grabbed slipping off my head as I looked at the constellations above us. “I hardly got to spend time with your grandparents and this place is amazing…”

I could see Hamzah watching me with elation as if what I had said just made his night.

”Can we like… make it a date?” He said softly, almost awkward as he smiled, propping his head up on one arm and looked at me, as he brushed a few strands of hair away from my face.

A date. That was super cute.

“It’s a date,“ I whispered conclusively, turning my face to the starry skies again as my eyes focused on their beauty.

All we needed was time, I convinced myself, as the niggling feeling started in the pit of my stomach, as I leaned closer to him, ignoring the flurry of emotion settling in my tummy.

I just had to believe that it would be okay. And it would.

Within the twinkling stars there was a hope that shone from somewhere beyond, lifting me up to a place that was filled with new resolution… whispering sweet words that convinced me that under the starry skies, there was always a flicker of light that would shine eternally…

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Dearest Readers,

Though I was hoping for a bonus post, but I will definitely try and post again by Monday to reveal Jameela’s POV. Will reply to comments soonest.

Much Love

A xx

Just something useful I came across last week:

(Don’t laugh)

How To Fight With Your Spouse

Fights happen in marriage. It’s a normal part of the deal. Marriage consists of two people, and as such, they will naturally differ and disagree on things from time to time.

The real question is: HOW do we disagree?

What should these arguments or fights look like?

Should they be a free for all?

Or are there some ground rules, guidelines for how to conduct ourselves as husbands and wives when we do fight?

Here is what I’ve learned from my own marriage and the marriages I’ve seen around me: Do not fight dirty.

What’s fighting dirty?

Some people, when they get mad, aren’t able to contain their anger or control themselves. They feel their anger building and let it rage into a blazing inferno, raging out of control. In this state, they let loose, allowing themselves to say whatever comes to their angry mind. They deliberately target what they know their spouse is sensitive about, what will devastate and wound the spouse. They go for the jugular. They have no filter in that moment and will say literally anything and everything they can think of in order to hurt the other person and “win” the fight.

But there is no winning like this. Even if you “win” like this, you’ve lost

You’ve lost the trust and love of your spouse, you’ve damaged the relationship, you’ve sacrificed your marriage to score some cheap points in the heat of anger.

This is fighting dirty.

If a couple gets into the mode of fighting dirty, it can be hard to fix. Some things, once said, cannot be unsaid. Once your spouse has heard you belittle, disrespect, or mock him or her in a certain way, he or she cannot un-hear that. The damage is done, despite the apologies that might come later. Not all jabs are erased by even a sincere apology. Some things cut deep, and leave lasting marks. This affects the relationship quality, weakens the marriage bond.

This reminds me of a hadith of the Prophet صلى الله عليه وسلم:

قَالَ رَسُولُ اللَّهِ صَلَّى اللَّهُ عَلَيْهِ وَسَلَّمَ: “أَرْبَعٌ مَنْ كُنَّ فِيهِ كَانَ مُنَافِقًا خَالِصًا وَمَنْ كَانَتْ فِيهِ خَصْلَةٌ مِنْهُنَّ كَانَتْ فِيهِ خَصْلَةٌ مِنَ النِّفَاقِ حَتَّى يَدَعَهَا إِذَا اؤْتُمِنَ خَانَ وَإِذَا حَدَّثَ كَذَبَ وَإِذَا عَاهَدَ غَدَرَ وَإِذَا خَاصَمَ فَجَرَ.” [صحيح البخاري]

“There are four signs that make someone a pure hypocrite and whoever has them has a characteristic of hypocrisy until he abandons it: when he speaks he lies, when he makes a covenant he is treacherous, when he makes a promise he breaks it, and *when he argues he is wicked.”* [Bukhari]

It’s this last feature of the hypocrite that we want to study. In English, it’s translated as “he becomes wicked,” but the meaning of فجور (fujur) has to do with excess, extremes, like an explosion. It’s an open demonstration of disobedience and defiance brazenly, a gushing out of emotion like water gushes out and explodes in a tsunami. Out of control. Beyond all bounds.

We cannot get like this when we fight. We can’t fight dirty.

Here are some concrete things you should NOT do while fighting with your spouse:

1️⃣. No cursing, swearing, cussing. We don’t use the f-word or other filthy language, no matter how angry we feel.

2️⃣. No name-calling.

3️⃣. No using what you know is going to really truly hurt and devastate your spouse. Don’t use the intimate details they shared with you in confidence once against him or her, just to twist the knife now in a fight.

4️⃣. No bringing in other stuff not related to the current fight. Focus on the issue at hand without piling on other stuff that’s irrelevant.

5️⃣. No dragging up past mistakes your spouse made in the past, if you’ve already forgiven him or her. This is unfair.

6️⃣. No threatening divorce willy nilly. Don’t keep bringing up the possibility of leaving the other person during every small and big argument. This is unnecessary.

7️⃣. No involving the kids. Go have your fight in the privacy of your own room, especially if it gets heated.

8️⃣. No belittling or mocking your spouse in the presence of others. Show respect and restraint even if you’re mad.

9️⃣. No mocking things your spouse genuinely can’t control or help, like an illness he or she has, a fertility problem, being too short/ tall, being dark or light-skinned. These are unchangeable features of your spouse that were determined by Allah who Created him or her; this cannot be helped. It’s not his or her fault. You knew this before marriage. Don’t come now and mock it because you’re mad. This is a cheap shot.

🔟. No attributing intentions to your spouse. You cannot know someone else’s intentions, because the niyyah is in their heart, known only by themselves and by Allah. You can say what it looks like, but you cannot just assign a specific (malicious) intention to the other person when you can’t know that since you can’t see into his or her heart.

These are the top ten etiquettes that are important to stick to during marital disagreements. It’s not a free for all. We don’t go wild. There are certain red lines we never cross, even at the height of anger.

The Muslim has taqwa of Allah, even when angry or in the middle of a heated fight. A Muslim is not foul-mouthed, vulgar, or merciless. The Prophet صلى الله عليه وسلم said,

“لَيْسَ الْمُؤْمِنُ بِالطَّعَّانِ وَلَا اللَّعَّانِ وَلَا الْفَاحِشِ وَلَا الْبَذِيءِ.” [سنن الترمذي]

“ *The believer is not one who insults others, nor curses others, nor is vulgar, nor shameless.”* [Tirmidhi]

If done right, with restraint, self-control, and taqwa, a couple can actually get closer and more aligned after having a fight.

If done wrong, fights can destroy a marriage entirely.

May Allah grant us all taqwa of Him even during moments of anger, and bless the marriages of this ummah, ameen.

Umm Khalid Haqiqatjou
_____________________
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Mission Revive a Sunnah: Avoiding Suspicion

Many times, messages, post and videos go viral on social media. It creates a frenzy of discussion and debates and often leads us to jump to untrue conclusions.

Giving people the benefit of the doubt is part of the Sunnah. We should also avoid reposting anything that we don’t know the source of or which we cannot verify.

Abu Hurairah (Radiallaho Anho) reported that Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said something to the effect: “Be aware of suspicion for suspicion is the worst of lies.”

May Allah Ta’ala save us from being suspicious and harbouring ill thoughts of 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

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Springtime Secrets

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 61

Jameela

I truly believe that there’s no better place to spend the springtime than outside, with the grass beneath your toes, sun shining hot, wind blowing cold, sitting under the towering jacaranda trees, letting violet-tipped blossoms fall all around you.

And as my morning dwindled away in that very nature and I finally decided that it was time to find my way back inside, savouring the feeling of morning air that draped itself around me like a new dress, I couldn’t help but soak it all in.

Green upon green… beauty upon beauty… met my hungry eyes as I glanced back, feasting on the glorious colours that springtime had brought. Untying my soiled gardening attire and flinging it on a low bush beside the kitchen entrance, i couldn’t help but smile as I heard Nani’s voice, picking flowers and making a bouquet to post next to the kitchen counter when I stepped back inside.

It was just one of those days that I felt direly in need of having springtime sprinkled over everything.

As much as we appreciate the beauty of Spring, as we witness the splendour of the seemingly dead being revived, as colours spring from nowhere, and possibilities are abundant… when sweetness blooms… we tend to forget that our lives and our hearts need a season of blooming too.

The truth is that the true nature of the human heart is as whimsical as spring weather.

And to aid the heart, the Qurʾān and the Sunnah are two flowers whose fragrances are only smelt after they are watered. They are the spring of our life that revives our lost soul, waters our parched hearts and plant seeds of hope once again. They are a mercy to mankind, reminding us that our hearts can still bloom with love and gratitude, in appreciation of the gift that Allah sent to restore our brokenness once again.

I would never forget the first colour of spring bloom that year, and the point in time which I spotted it just before the kitchen window as Nani spoke nineteen-to-the-dozen in the backdrop. It had started off with an amazingly unique, peachy colour, as it opened into a bronzey orange that twinkled in the sunlight and that I found simply enchanting.

”I heard our Mosee is gone to the stay at Hamzah’s Dadi,” Nani was saying, her eyes looking even more serious than ever as she glanced at me coming in, her hands busy with chopping the coriander for her next batch of samoosas. “I hope she is behaving properly and not being lazy, like how she acts here. Won’t even lift a spoon and act like she is so busy with the baby. I won’t be surprised if her mother-in-law and sister-in-law are watching her every move and complaining.”

”I don’t think that her mother-in-law is with them,” I said innocently, purposely not divulging Mohsina’s annoyance about the fact that her sister-in-law was constantly in her face.

That was marriage though. There’s always someone who will annoy or irritate you and you have to just keep having Sabr and be the best kind of person you can to them.

Often in our journey in life, we forget that everything about our purpose in life should be channeled toward getting closer to our creator.

And of the most sublime characters of the propagations of Islam, is the quality that trumps all other. Good character. How we treat others.

“Also,” I piped up, remembering that she had actually been trying to create a good impression. “She took some cheesecakes with.”

”Chi,” Nani said, shaking her head, not looking impressed in the least. “One tray of cheesecakes? Whose nose that will go into? When I got married we cook big, beeeeg pots of food and roll 5 kilo flour of rotis every Saturday. No one to even help until Nanas brother got married. If I had baby, I would put baby on top of counter and do work.”

Eish. Nani and her competitiveness. Honestly, it was like the people were made different back then. How they managed, I don’t know.

“But mummy, she’s improved a lot,” Ma said, sticking up for Mohsina. “From not even making a breakfast now she even fries an egg for Hamzah every day. At least she is giving him something.”

”Bhengori, you always defend her,” Nani said stubbornly, raising her finger as she pushed her scarf back. “From day one, Mohsina never learn to cook. Only one thing you and Iqbal taught her: study, study and study. Big big accounting books and no Indian delights. Jameela, you don’t get all these funny ideas. You can only study best BSc. Baking, sewing and cooking. That’s how you will keep your husband happy.”

I smiled, not trusting myself to say anything else. From my friends who were married, I knew that cooking was something that they all struggled with at first. Our generation was just a teeny bit spoilt. Our mothers did everything for us. But as I saw Mohsina growing and learning in marriage, I knew that there was hope for me too.

Besides, I knew that men weren’t only worried about stuffing their faces, right? What about love? I was a sucker for love. Feelings. Emotion. That was important too, right?

“You will have no troubles if you can keep husband happy,” Nani was going on as she cleaned the dhaniya. “And that other doctor I was talking about, Jameela, I think we must go and meet Khairoon and he can see you-“

”Mummy, I’m not sending my daughter like that so one boy can see her,” Ma said stubbornly, raising her eyebrows as she sipped her cup of tea. “If he wants to see her we need to ask Jameela if she is okay with it and then he can come home properly.”

I smiled shyly, not really feeling this whole proposal thing. They just made it sound so unromantic. Meet the boy. See if you click. And then… it’s the waiting game.

But also, maybe I needed to wake up and say goodbye to the dream of being swept away by my Prince Charming and stop saying no to every guy that everyone suggested.

For Mohsina to actually encourage me to get married before twenty was a big thing.

“Bhengori, how can she not be okay with it?” Nani said in gujarati. “Don’t give them so many choices, you must decide and let her meet him at least.”

Goodness, I must just meet all these random men. My nerves will be frazzled. The situation would be so awkward. What if I hated him?

To me, she turned and said:

”Jameela, he is sooo fair and handsome, like one white man he is,” she said dreamily, and I couldn’t help but giggle.

For Nani, fairness was gold. Why were Indian people so shallow?

What about his akhlaaq? His Deen? His attachment to the masjid? What about how he deals with people.. and how much of the Sunnah he has in his life.

Either way, Nani was going on about him like he was some kind of faultless being that fell from Jannah and also, well… if he was so nice, why didn’t she marry him?

“But Nani, I don’t think white men are my type,” I said meekly, trying to crack a joke.

“But he is a doctor,” Nani said excitedly, as if that was the be all and end all of life. “Khairoon already said he wants to come and all you have to say is yes and they will come tomorrow.”

No. She cannot be serious. This was pressure. I could feel my cheeks flaming up as Nani and my mother looked at me expectantly.

”Er, okay,” I found myself saying weakly, knowing that I was going to regret it.

The look on Nani’s face was priceless though, and I supposed it was worth her excitement if I had to sacrifice my own comfort for a little while.

And as I left the kitchen, leaving my mother and Nani to make their plans for tomorrow, I couldn’t help but feel an odd sinking kind of sensation in my gut.

And as my eyes fell on the dusty peachy orange colour of the rose as I stepped out into the afternoon sunshine, my hand automatically stretched out to enjoy the natural feel of it’s silky petals and I couldn’t help but feel my heart lifting. No matter what happened… what my heart endured… Nature just brought something out in me that I couldn’t even describe.

I would purposely go out there and read my Qur’ān and soak in all the goodness that it’s words had to offer me in this surreal setting.

I had purposely escaped Nani because I knew that spending more time around her was going to give me nerves, and as I heard someone come from behind me, I couldn’t help but smile as I glimpsed my father coming down the stairs after me.

I knew that he had been busy lately with the shop and trying to think of new ideas to keep things going. From time to time, I assisted and I knew a little about the worries he faced and him hoping not to fall back into the hands of loan sharks and people who would threaten his peace of mind.

“Salaam Papa,” I said softly as he approached me, stretching out his arm to squeeze my shoulder affectionately. I leaned in for a short embrace, realising how much I’d missed my father the past few days while I had been avoiding the coffee shop.

My father’s arms, for me, had always been a safe and comforting place. I knew that for Mohsina, being as independent as she was, she didn’t see him quite the same way. For her, Papa was the one who needed the protection. Papa was the one who would turn to Mohsina for guidance and if there was ever a problem, she always knew exactly what to say. How she took on so much was beyond me…

“I hear they’re planning your marriage,” my father said, grinning as he saw me roll my eyes. I wasn’t surprised to hear that Nani would probably even start shopping for her outfit tomorrow.

“You coming to the shop?” he said, looking at me with a smile. It was a Saturday and one of the busier days of the week.

“Are you alone there today?” I asked, not revealing anything in my expression.

He simply nodded and then looked at me again. I didn’t know that Papa was alone.

But as he said it, I vaguely remembered Nusaybah mentioning something about her and Zubair going to see a grandparent that weekend, which was something that her brother has asked for time off for.

And I couldn’t help but remember the day before when I was out there, thinking anout what a wonderful person Nusaybah was. When I first met her, I never thought that she would turn out to such an amazing character.

Meeting her was like a gust of fresh air that came with so much of amazement and splendour. Not only did I learn about the beautiful character of the Nusaybah bint Ka’b who her mother named her after, but I learnt so much more.

Nusaybah bin Ka’b (RA) was a well-known ‘sheroe’ of the time and gained a reputation as the most distinguished woman who took part in the Battle of Uhud. She was one of two women who expressed an interest in swearing their Bayah or allegiance to the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) in the second pledge at Aqaba. She believed that a woman had the same duty in defending the new religion as a man.

When I met Nusaybah, her character was so similar to the war attendant she was named after, that every time I looked at her, all I could see was this amazing and determined young lady who wanted to help the world. She was so quirky and animated, but at the same them, so focused on Deen and just trying her best to be the best.

Most of all, I could see she had this deep-rooted concern for her brother, and having no mother, had stepped into that role from ages back. She often spoke about how Zubair was so young when he lost his mother, and how she always tried to toughen him up before she died. And though she didn’t go into much detail about her brother due to obvious reasons that she probably did not want to divulge… I figured that she really loved her brother and just wanted the best for him…

“Jameela,” my father said, jolting me back to reality, and there was a flicker of concern in his dark brown eyes as he looked at me. “Are you happy with meeting this doctor boy?”

I looked at my father, not meeting his eye as he said it.

I stayed silent and looked down, feeling too shy to say anything more, as he ruffled my hair, noted my silence, and then walked along again without saying a word more.

There were times when I felt that maybe Papa knew more than he let on. After all, it was Papa who was always around when I tried so hard to mask my feelings and disappointment when Zubair would barely even acknowledge that I existed. And I knew it was wrong and that I had to fight my feelings, and this was precisely why I had been making myself even more scarce, and I think Papa knew it.

But how did I even explain that to my father?

I caught myself in the nick of time, before my little train of thought ran into a full daydream, because I knew very well that even thinking of the possibilities was steering my thoughts into dangerous territory.

As much as I tried to stop myself from forming any sort of attachment, there were some things I couldn’t control… like the severity of my beating heart when he came into the vicinity, or the fifty shades of pink I would turn if anyone mentioned his name. It was like long before we even knew of each other, something within me already had an inkling that at this point of my life, this guy would appear and take over all my sanity.

Stop, I warned myself, trying with all my might to control my nafs. My sister had warned me way too many times about him.

He wasn’t good enough. Not rich enough. Not educated enough.

He was far from suitable and I couldn’t even think about a future with someone who had no proper form of income. My father himself was still finding his footing, and to depend on him to support us was quite ridiculous. Right?

And as I walked along, with no real purpose, with the thought of everything had happened and the mention of Mohsina as well, I knew that it may be about time to check in on her. I suppose I better tell her that Nani was quite intent on calling Doctorsaab home, and that would probably be something she might want to be back home for the following day.

I recalled that she had a hectic week with people going crazy on her on Instagram after someone falsely accused her of some sinister intentions, and I hadn’t spoken to her much about it. How people could just divulge and share things with no verification was beyond me. I knew that it was a lesson to take. Social media was such a horrible platform because with the click of a button, someone’s izzat can be completely ruined.

Feeling for my phone, which I could never seem to hold onto for very long, I found myself heading back inside, purposely ignoring Nani’s voice from the kitchen.

I couldn’t deal with her excitement right then, and as I reached the lounge, the buzzing of my phone was coincidental as I grabbed it and scanned the screen, immediately seeing Mohsina’s name.

Jamz, I need to know something.

It was a simple question but I wasn’t sure what it was about the message that got me on edge.

Shoot.

My reply was casual and simple but I was dying to know what she was asking.

Was there anyone else who saw Faadil the day he came home?

That was random. Why on earth was she revisiting the past like that? Unless Hamzah…

Oh no, I was already getting nervous for her.

Me: Did Hamzah find out ??!

Mos: Just answer the question. I can’t call right now, but…

My heart was beating steadily in my chest, as I tried to think back to that day. I was in the coffee shop, pulling out the sack of flour when I saw him in his formal attire, and as I spoke to him briefly… it was clear to me then.

Clear as day.

Me: Zubair saw him from a distance. Is everything okay?

I was well aware that she didn’t like Zubair and I truly hoped that she was not going to pin anything on him.

Mos: I told Hamzah about Faadil.

Oh my word. My heart thudded in my chest as I read the message again.

Me: Mos. Is he okay?

It was a dumb question. Of course he wasn’t okay. I couldn’t imagine how that must feel. I didn’t ask her how much she said. I just hope she told him enough to clear the air.

Mos: You know Hamzah. He hasn’t said much but I can tell he’s upset. Probably hurt. We can’t talk much… we’re not home, and his sister is hovering over us like a sniper. I didn’t tell him about the day of the Nikah.

Me: You didn’t?

I was incredulous. Why was my sister like this? Why?

Mos: He will never believe that Faadil came of his own accord, and that will break him, Jameela.

Oh hell. Now I knew why she was asking. She was intending on keeping that a secret.

But was it wise?

I typed quickly, hoping to reassure her.

Mos, I don’t think that Zubair will ever say anything.

She took a few moments to reply this time, but I could see that she was typing.

I hope so, Jameela. I’m worried. My sister-in-law knows something and is causing problems for me and if this ever comes up, I don’t think Hamzah will ever believe that I wasn’t involved with him at that time. It just looked so bad…

She’s right. It looked really bad. It was as if she was stringing Faadil along all that time, when she was supposed to have ended things with him and decided to marry Hamzah. What was going through Faadil’s head at that time, I couldn’t understand either…

But the truth was completely different.

Let me think.

I sent those three words, hoping that it would settle her mind and make her stress less. Zubair was just a worker here. I doubted that he would get involved in things that didn’t concern him. i knew that there was no way.

I sighed, feeling a headache come on at the mere thought of all the admin this would entail.

Even the soothing scent of roses as I walked back to the house did nothing for my peace of mind, as a trudged along this time, wondering how on earth my sister got herself involved with a character like Faadil in the first place. Something that started with sin could never end in peace…

Now, there was this whole secret and Zubair was in the middle of it.

I felt as if she wanted me to tell him to be quiet.

I took a deep breath as I headed out, knowing that a small walk would help to settle my thoughts.

Maybe I could talk to Nusaybah or leave some kind of anonymous note. I wasn’t sure how exactly I was going to get the message across but I was quite worried for Mohsina and concerned about what this could bring.

Taking a walk around the yard as the sun made its way out for the day, I didn’t even realise that I was heading to the front of the property where the little houses and empty stable was.

With the sun blazing now in full force, I found myself trudging along thread the semi-dilapidated building that hosted a few different rooms, and two separate bathrooms for staff. I didn’t often come out there because there really was no need.

I knew that Zubair stayed around the front of the building and I purposely steered clear of that section, not wanting to intrude and intending on passing by without even giving it a second glance. Knowing that he wasn’t around today also made me a little braver, as I found myself looking around a little more intentionally, wondering which room exactly  belonged to him.

And as I purposely killed the curiosity and went around the back, despite the little yellow flowers that were blooming on the sides of the hedge, noticing that the part of the grounds were quite neglected, I couldn’t help but wander up the back pathway was looking like it needed a serious clean up. It was dreary and sandy and in dire need of some pressure hosing, and as I walked up to the little door that was once a store room for the horses equipment, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of eeriness as I approached… despite the scent of spring blooms in the air.

The cobbled pathway right there looked as if it was completely neglected, and for some reason, I was extremely wary about what may lie beyond the closed wooden doors that were now straight ahead of me. They were the typical old, oak farm style doors that were surprisingly heavy to shift, despite them being quite worn out, and as I found myself right in front of them, I couldn’t help but try and do just that.

And as I knocked on the door, just to be safe that no one was around, I couldn’t help shift myself around as I pulled up my dress slightly and used all my lower body force to attempt the door to budge.

Using my entire body weight now, it felt almost as if something was pushing against the door, stopping it from opening for some odd reason. As hard as I tried to dislodge it, it only budged like two centimetres, before getting stuck agaIn. And the more resistance it gave, the more determined to get in there I was, for some reason. I pushed and huffed a few times, putting all my effort into it, until something behind finally relented and it swung open to a certain point, giving me a tiny space just to move into and enter.

And as my eyes adjusted to the mild lighting and my eyes caught sight of what was ahead, I had to literally stop my legs from buckling underneath me, as I gazed in absolute shock.

All I knew right then was that everything that I had thought about Zubair… every little idea or inkling that we had ever assumed was true… was nothing further than the truth.

What was in front of me was the most unassuming thing that I could have ever imagined. All I knew right then was that this dark secret that had been revealed to me in this unexpected way was no coincidence, and in the depths of my heart…

I knew that there was no saving anyone from what would unfold from here.

---

Mission Revive a Sunnah: Avoiding Suspicion

Many times, messages, post and videos go viral on social media. It creates a frenzy of discussion and debates and often leads us to jump to untrue conclusions.

Giving people the benefit of the doubt is part of the Sunnah. We should also avoid reposting anything that we don’t know the source of or which we cannot verify.

Abu Hurairah (Radiallaho Anho) reported that Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said something to the effect: “Be aware of suspicion for suspicion is the worst of lies.”

May Allah Ta’ala save us from being suspicious and harbouring ill thoughts of 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

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah