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…

---

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

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