In the Clouds

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 70

Travel. It had it moments. Sometimes when things get a little over the top, it’s good to remind yourself where the sunshine is. There was just something about the open skies with cotton candy clouds that made me light-headed with elation.

And then there’s one above that:

Praying to your Lord when up in the air. Well, that was just sublime. A feeling of being grounded, without actually being on the ground. A touch of freedom without actually being free. It was a most powerful weapon, a way to find home, wherever in the world you may be.

When your head finds the ground, and you are connected with your Rabb, there’s no other place you can go but higher.
It was a beautiful reminder that everything that happened and everything in existence was never our doing and always controlled by the Greatest Power of All.

And up there, amidst the great white cotton clouds, with natural silver linings from beyond, glared a light from the highest point of where one could ever conceive.

The view from the way up where even blue birds fly was something that reminded me of faith and fairy tales, and the feeling of being beyond it made my heart soar just as high as the airplane did.

SubhaanAllah.

I mean, have you ever stopped to think how Allah Ta’ala commutes people over seas, in a meagre piece of metal? How the airborne vessel actually stays up there, despite it defying every conceivable law that you’ve ever known? How Allah Ta’ala seems so much closer and greater as you peak out at the clouds, letting your imagination run wild as you wonder what Jannah really looks like, and what it really felt like to be able to have whatever your heart desires…

Narrated Abu Hurairah [ra]:

“I have prepared for My righteous servants what no eye has seen and no ear has heard, nor has it occurred to the human heart. Thus, recite if you wish, ‘And no soul knows what joy has been kept hidden for them.”’

(Sahih al-Bukhari, Muslim, at-Tirmidhi, and ibn Majah, Surah Al Sajdah, 32: 17)

It was a first for me. After Umrah with my parents years back, it was a first time I’d travelled so far and for such a worthy distance and it made me see life out of the bubble I’d always keep myself in.

The thing was; travelling not only opened your mind, but also offered a stark and rude awakening as to how status-driven the world was. The world judges according to what kind of holidays you had, how much money you forked out for your tickets and what kind of brands you sported while you continued on your mission of competing for the best instagram hits for your travel diaries.

Being tucked away in a farm in the corner of Gauteng, and with my nose stuck in books wasn’t exactly conducive to reality. This- being in the hustle of bustle of major movements and people of the world- was reality… and it wasn’t pretty.

On the up side, it was a welcome diversion from the last week at home when Nani had forced me to meet Muneer (aka Doctorsaab) again. Doc was making efforts to solidify his case as husband material, to the extent where his cringe-worthy shenanigans made me feel as if I wasn’t even remotely old enough to be subjected to his courting.

I had made sure that I maintained a safe distance on the couch at the opposite side of the room and excused myself when things got a little too haraami-like, my cheeks flaming red as Nani wiggled her eyebrows at me when I exited the room.

And there I was, thinking that the older generation was supposed to have a natural sense of modesty. Nani may have just been the exception.

I still, for the life of me, could never imagine myself actually married to him… leave alone being his smoothie chef and raising his rugrats for the rest of my life. Nani couldn’t understand how I could not want to be the wife of a Ken-look-alike who had a medical degree and the depth of a shallow pond.

I sighed, pulling out my backpack and my jacket and placing my doodling pad back in. Sketching was something I did to keep myself busy, although I wasn’t exactly amazing at it. I just didn’t want to get caught up in the in-flight entertainment this time, so I had carried enough to keep myself busy for all those hours, and not let the holiday spirit conquer the better parts of me.

I pulled my scarf on tighter, taking note that just because I was on a technical ‘break’, didn’t mean that I forgot who I was. It was a small reminder to myself that wherever we are in the world, we were Muslims first.

Dress wise, character wise and Imaan-wise. One slip could be disastrous. Deen was a complete way of life, a soothing for the lost soul, and a quenching relief when we are faced with the drought of hope that the world brings. Going out there, into the open, seeing so many new faces and places… well, it made our lives seem so small compared to the vastness that surrounded…

Being here, finally having landed in Heathrow Airport, I was feeling like an entirely different person. After going through the queues, searches and motions that came with regular travel took up a good amount of time and energy, but I was in awe of what kinds of lesson I took was going to take home here, even when my trip had just begun.

People watching had got my mind all fired up as I wondered what each persons story was… what they were here for and where they were headed. I grabbed my Qur’ān that I had placed in the seat holder, pushed my glasses up my nose, and headed out behind my uncle and aunty as they all started disembarking.

”Mo-Seena?” A voice said, and of course, I didn’t turn around because it wasn’t my name they were calling, but I heard it loud and clear.

My sisters name. Well, a version of it. But my sister wasn’t here, so…

“No,” the voice said, and I could hear her talking to someone else about how this girl looks like Mohsina but she can’t be her. “Mos’s sister, right? Jameena?!”

And at that, I swung around, nearly toppling over in the midst of people streaming around me, finally being able to see who the speaker was, and giving her a once over as I did.

A few people gave me annoyed looks and I blushed and quickly continued walking as I smiled at the girl, already recognising who she was.

I probably hadn’t seen her more than twice in my life, but I had heard plenty about her from Mos. It had been an amazing thing when she had reverted and seeing her at Mohsina and Hamzah’s function dresser completely differently to how she had been dressed the previous time had completely bowled me over.

I mean, what were the odds of meeting Mohsina’s long lost friend and colleague here in Heathrow airport today?

Definitely no coincidence. And what was her name again. Ah, yes.

“Lesley?!”

I was honestly gobsmacked to see the amazing transformation of this beautiful girl. Her hijab was tied beautifully, with not even a strand of her blonde hair showing. Her modest dress was flowy and loose, with her ankles covered, and I was honestly struck with a feeling of amazement as I watched her.

”Oh my goodness,” she breathed while I fell back and we trudged along with our hand luggage. She had echoed my own thoughts, leaning forward to embrace me, until her vanilla mixed with Orbit gum scent overpowered me. “It’s so great to see you! Assalamualaikum!”

”You too,” I said shyly, greeting back and trying not to stare, despite how intrigued I was, as we made small talk.

Her husband was at a few steps behind, dragging two hand luggage cases with him as we made our way through the long and wide corridors.

As for Lesley, who had actually just let me know that she was called Aalia, I couldn’t believe how much she had changed. She had a look of serene contentment on her face, and I couldn’t quite digest how Allah Ta’ala can take someone from zero to hero and make them one of His most beloved just through the gift of Hidayat. It was nothing short of a miracle.

When Allah wants to guide, there’s no limits.

”How is Mos, after… everything..?” She asked, her eyes concerned for my sister as we glimpsed a queue ahead. “I think of them so much. How is the baby?!”

She didn’t say it but I knew that she meant after Liyaket and Layyanah’s death. It always felt like people were too scared to mention them. I felt the same way too. Death pricks at parts of us that are sometimes buried deep below, and when we go there, sometimes it feels like picking at an old scab that doesn’t quite want to heal.

She smiled sadly and I remembered that they all worked together at one point. It was a loss that they felt unanimously.

“She’s… good,” I said, nodding. She was good. Mostly. “Zaid too. Coping. Mohsina has her moments.”

It wasn’t untrue, what I had said. I didn’t want to mention that Mohsina was having quite a few moments, up until lately.

Her moods had been a little weird lately. On top of their marital woes, they were still very obviously dealing with a tragedy, and I also knew that Rabia had gotten a little hectic too with targeting Mohsina, especially after she posted a little something malicious on Instagram last week.

I knew where it all came from of course.

And I pretended like I wasn’t shocked, but I actually couldn’t believe that Mohsina’s in-laws didn’t call their daughter out for doing it. I honestly feel that the girl had never caught a hiding from her parents before, and it entitled her to acting the way she did.

She had taken it upon herself to write a long post that about family members who were big influencers and supposed to inspire people, yet kicked people out of their houses and had sinister methods (with a whole lot more falsified drama to the story).

It was a very obvious jab at my sister and though Mohsina went a little crazy, and it came with more name calling and coverage that sent dms to @mostlymoshina too, I couldn’t quite understand what went through Rabia’s head.

Mohsina was still angry at Rabia (if not even more so now than before), and the thing was, I kind of felt sorry for Hamzah, who just looked at a dead loss when it came to the dramas between his sister and Mos. When it came to the relationship between sisters-in-law, I could see how it went.

Where Hamzah pushed to make things okay, both women pulled, making it even more complicated.

“I’m sure Hamzah is taking care of her,” Lesley was saying, after a few seconds, in step with me as we walked toward the queue. Passport control queue was going to kill us. “He always was a good guy.”

“He is,” I said, nodding in agreement, despite what Mohsina complained about lately. The usuals. That he was brainwashed by his sister and never stood up for her. But he was a good husband nonetheless. An amazing father and role model to Zaid. “That’s what’s important. And he’s good for Mohsina. You won’t believe how much she’s changed too…”

”I know,” she said, her eyes twinkling as we reached the gates. “I’ve noticed from social media… or should I say lack of it…? She’s so different to what she was… what can I say? Pre-Hamzah…? I truly believe that the best kind of spouse is one that makes you check yourself, lifts your Imaan and really brings out the best parts of you.”

Wow. To have that coming from Lesley was super inspiring.

“So true,” I said, with a small smile. “Sometimes he is the only one who can talk sense into her.”

He really was. Even when Nani couldn’t get through to her Hamzah just knew which angle to go in with.  I knew that the magic was in the words of the Qur’ān that had changed her heart, and the way she saw everything thereafter. Hamzah was just the product of her efforts, the continuation she needed for her love story with Allah to continue.

”I always knew the two of them had a thing for each other,” Lesley whispered to me with a wink. “I think everyone in the office did. Including Faadil. That’s why he sunk his paws into her. I still can’t believe that ever happened.”

I paused briefly, careful not give away too much in my expression, not aware that Lesley knew about Faadil. Not aware that Faadil knew about Hamzah either. All these office dramas were way beyond my understanding.

”Allah saved her from a nightmare,” I said, almost to myself, honestly wondering how she would have dealt with a marriage that featured someone who respected no one but his own selfish needs.

It was a twisted triangle where the better man had definitely won, and I hoped it would stay that way.

Haraam relationships had a way of biting you in the behind at some point. I just hoped that it wasn’t still making its way back to her.

And as we queued and made our way out, waving to Lesley and joining my uncle and aunty as they grabbed a taxi and finally got to the hotel, I was still completely in awe of the meeting with Lesley.

Once again I felt sublime gratitude that I saw this. That it made me appreciate Deen so much. That someone else had seen a beauty in it that made them want it too. That I could be here to witness and learn so much from what I had seen.

The hotel was a good half hour away, but getting to where there was some Wi-Fi was an amazing relief, and I couldn’t help but log on to WhatsApp quickly and send my mother, Maahi and Nusaybah messages to let them know I was in town and at the hotel.

I had to be quick because Nani was stalking me on WhatsApp, so I was afraid to go online. I knew from Mohsina that she had a habit of doing that, especially when she didn’t like the way something was going. It was a good thing that I didn’t check statuses because I kind of figured that Nani had probably put something about ideal, amazing husbands on hers, in an effort to nudge me toward the likes of Doctorsaab who seemed to fit every criteria she had set for me.

The hotel we were staying at was central but basic, and I sighed tiredly as we finally reached our rooms and plopped my bag on the floor. I had already splayed myself on the bed, enjoying the feeling of lying completely flat for the first time in over a day. M

As always, airplane seats were comfortable to sit in, but barely suitable to sleep in. Though the room I had now wasn’t big or fancy, it was neat and clean, and that was really all I needed right then.

I didn’t even realise how tired I was, until my head found the pillow and I almost instantly drifted off into a soothing slumber, only waking to the sound of buzzing next to me as I grabbed my phone.

All that flight time had definitely had it’s effect, and as I glimpsed Nusaybah’s name on the screen as I picked up, I tried my best to sound anything but drunk with tiredness as I greeted.

“Girl, where are you?” Her upbeat voice said, and I could hear the background noise as she spoke, almost as if she was in the middle of a bustling street.

I stifled a yawn, pulling my specs on, hoping I didn’t sound like a complete dead loss.

“I’m downstairs in the foyer. Waiting for you. Faheem is on call and dropped me off here on his way. Come join me.”

”I’m coming,” I croaked, trying to rub the sleepy drunkenness out of my eyes.

Gosh. Nusaybah was really something else. I couldn’t believe that she had come so soon.

I glimpsed a message for Maahira saying that she was working till late but may see me the next day. Pulling on an abaya and a scarf, I speedily exited the room before she came up to literally yank me out of bed. She was so full of energy that I really couldn’t keep up.

My mind was already overwhelmed with the new spaces as I ventured downstairs to the reception area, glimpsing Nusaybah from a distance, her niqab covering half her face as her eyes crinkled with joy.

Being in a new country hadn’t yet settled in for me.

But being here with Nusaybah… well, she was really one of those people who reminded you of Allah Ta’ala, just by seeing them. It was the reason I met her over and over again.
She was always so full of life and energy, and good advices, and it was only natural that her positivity overflowed to those around her. Seeing her already made me feel at home, even in this strange place. Just being with her gave me a whole new sense of purpose.

I couldn’t help but spend a few seconds admiring the view of the city behind us after greeting her with a huge hug, before I finally took a seat opposite her. She was studying a menu, and I didn’t even realise my tummy was rumbling until she asked me if I was fine with sharing a snack platter.

I nodded, knowing that the hotel probably didn’t offer much else halaal, just happy to see her for now.

”You’re looking jet-lagged,” She said with a grin, closing her menu. I had spoken to her on WhatsApp a few times since she left and she knew a little of what was going on. “How was the flight?”

”It was refreshing,” I said honestly. “I can’t remember when’s the last time I flew. Just glad to be here, finally!”

She grinned.

”The flight can be killers,” she said, shaking her head. “But Alhumdulillah. Everything okay back home?”

I groaned, knowing she was referring to Nani, especially since she was honoured to witness the first hand verbal assaults of my grandmother when she was going through what she called her very own kind of emergency.

”Err, kinda,” I said, still remembering Nani’s parting words before l left. “Honestly, I feel relieved to have some time out of the mix.”

I didn’t want to mention that Nani was far from happy about me running away in the middle of a proposal. Neither did I want to mention that Muneer actually did propose. Thinking about it gave me a weird feeling in my gut.

It wasn’t exactly the way I planned to spend my short break but with Nani, there wasn’t much compromising. She wanted me to give an answer in two days, no matter where in the world I was. She would have no other way.

Nusaybah smiled a quirky smile as the waiter came up to us with the platter two hot drinks that looked exactly like what I needed. It was freezing outside.

“You can tell me,” she said with a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard all the levels of cray cray and I’m not even kidding. My husbands ones sister is not exactly my cup of tea but I put up with her. Someone bothering you?”

Sounded like Nusaybah had a similar issue to Mohsina. Why were sisters in law like that sometimes? Why was Nani like this sometimes? 

Anyway, I could barely imagine Nusaybah being that kind of sister-in-law. But then again, I would never know, right?

”Remember the doctor?” I said, letting the drink warm my palms, and cutting straight to the chasr. “The one that came with a proposal.”

Her eyes widened and she looked at me and blinked once.

Exactly how I felt

“Oh Emm Gee, Jameela!” She exclaimed, and I was so sure she would spill her drink as she almost jumped up. “A stunning and amazing girl like you with so much of goodness in your heart… Of course he proposed! He would be an idiot not to!”

She chuckled to herself as she watched me, and I smiled shyly, wondering how to tell her that I was feeling completely in over my head here.

“And I would be an idiot not to accept, right?”

The question hung in the air as I said it, and she gave me a sympathetic look for a moment and grabbed a cracker, before she spoke again.

”You don’t have to do anything,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sure he’s a great guy, but I’ve realised that everyone looks for different qualities in their spouse. Usually, qualities that compliment theirs, traits that they don’t have. So if he’s got all those things that you always wanted, if he can build you to be a better person and pushes you toward Allah, then I would say, it’s a good match. But if not….”

She trailed off, and I noticed she didn’t meet my eye as she said it.

She knew. She knew that I didn’t want to marry this guy. Just like how Mohsina and Papa and my mother knew too. I just needed affirmation that I was doing the right thing. I mean, who turns down a handsome and upcoming doctor, who looks so good on paper. It was ludicrous.

But nonetheless. I still didn’t feel it, no matter how hard I tried to. The people milling around us seemed to fade out as we spoke, and I didn’t anticipate feeling it so deeply as I did then.

“What do you ask for?” She said softly, and I looked at her, slightly confused as she watched me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, slightly confused.

“I mean, like in your Duaas,” she said with a wink. “I would always tease my friend Khawlah that I wasn’t ever sure what kind of amazing Duaas she made. She got a Mr Perfect… and she got an amazing husband twice over. She had been through so much when she was younger, and then her first husband passed away when they were both really young… and I honestly wondered what kind of status she had when she got married again to her childhood friend who she never thought she’d see again. Seeing dreams come true is something like eating chocolate. Sweet and addictive. I know it sounds idealistic… but is this guy… this doctor… well, is he your dream guy?”

Dream guy. I mean, I didn’t even know if that existed, but I got what she meant. Was he everything I had imagined?

I hated to say it, but he was nothing like I imagined.

I shook my head, feeling like I’d disappointed myself by admitting it.
Nusaybah, however, looked unbothered. Almost as if she knew I would say that from the onset.

What she didn’t know was who it was that actually fitted that description for me. How I would daydream about him asking Papa about me. But of course, I could never tell her that. It was way too embarrassing to be crushing on a guy who barely even noticed I existed until I broke into his weapon house stash.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to know. I was just too afraid to tell her. What if what I said was too close to what are knew? What if she actually suspected that I was a little obsessed with her brother.

It was something I would take to the grave.

“So what do you ask for?”

What do I ask for? My Duaas were pretty basic. I didn’t really know what I wanted. The usual was a man who is brave and kind, puts Allah first and isn’t afraid to stand up for what he believes in. In this day and age, it was so hard to find the right person.

I think everyone is looking for someone who is good to them, unconditionally. Someone they can talk to and who they like to listen to. It sounds quite simple but it’s actually kind of hard to find both.

“I suppose I just want someone who is decent and has good values,” I said quietly, heading for the safe route. It was important to me though.  Someone who didn’t do others down was important. “Someone who l who sees me for who I really am…. instead of just a pretty face or whatever guys see when they look at me…”

I trailed off because I didn’t want to sound stupid. Good ethics was the best I had. But what do you know about ethics when you meet a person?

“That sounds fair,” she said with a nod. “Jameela, you’re so sweet. Like, one of the sweetest and unassuming people I ever met. You’re light and happiness and candy floss…”

I giggled as she chuckled at her own words.

I was candy floss. Really?

“I’m serious,” she said, her eyes going wide as she looked at me. “You are like that cute little poem. From the day I saw you, I thought.. ‘she’s sugar and spice and all things nice’. That’s why you need someone just as nice too, but with also a little bit of spice…”

She winked and I rolled my eyes, not even believing she was comparing me to a nursery rhyme.

“First impressions can be deceiving too,” I said with a grin, because she obviously thought way too much of me.

Nusaybahs eyes lit up.

“Zubair says the opposite,” she said with a grin, shaking her head, and my heart ridiculously raced at the mere mention of his name. “One of his many theories. Because I always ignore first impressions, and he doesn’t. He says you never get a second chance to make a first impression. Sometimes when you know, you know…”

I swallowed awkwardly, wondering how we ended up on the topic of Zubair again. And why, when it was precisely what I was trying to avoid.

“At least now that he’s away from my uncle I can have actual conversations with him,” she continued, almost absentmindedly as she went on. “He was so young when our mother passed away, and being there for him was second nature until something happened between my father and him and he fell into the wrong crowd. I honestly wish that I could turn back the clock, and guide him toward the right path before he got caught up, but it is what it is. My mother used to say that Allah’s plans for us are always more beautiful than our own wishes. Maybe it was my wish to always be there for him, but maybe it was Allahs plan for him to somehow end up right where he is.”

Oh my goodness, this was getting way too close to home.

The reality that hit me was like a wall of bricks cascading down. It had just occurred to me that I was so completely obsessed with her brother that I couldn’t even hear about him without acting like a complete idiot, and blushing as if I was already a new bride.

I was trying to walk away and hold on at the same time, and any thread of hope that she was offering was like glimpsing that silhouette of sunlight, like the one peeping out at me from behind the clouds.

What was wrong with me? I was so messed up. Completely done for. I felt like I needed to bath in Nani’s phook water. Or maybe I needed something stronger.

My mind is was in the gutter. Completely and utterly.

I was in the gutter. In the gutter. In the gutter.

But what Nusaybah said next was about to pull me out of there, and lift my hopes right to the clouds.

I just didn’t know it yet.

 

---

Dearest Readers

My sincerest apologies for the delay. Just that crazy time of year again, but I will try and post the next masala by Friday. Hehe.

Much Love,

A

x

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

Nabi (SAW) gave attention, spoke and showed love to even the worst person of a nation until the person felt that he is being given special attention.

May Allah make us of those who uphold the Sunnah of character always.

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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Pieces of the Past

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 69

Life consists of two days. When it’s for you, don’t be proud and reckless, and when it’s against you, be patient… For both days are a test for you. 

When I was younger, in my childish idealism, I always believed that everything could be fair. To me, no one should be wronged or hurt, and if they were, justice must be served. I failed to understand that this world is inherently imperfect.

We will always mess up. And in those mess ups, people would be hurt. The world would not always be fair.

It took one look at Hamzah for me to realise that he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t angry at all.

What he was, was something worse.

Dis-a-ppointed. It sounded like three different words, not just syllables, as I felt the depth of his emotion sink within me.

And as I scrolled through my social media feed in a moment of silence and unfiltered disbelief, in desperate need of a distraction, I thought I would find some relief. Luck had it (or maybe it was completely intentional) that a snap of Rabia with her breakfast smoothie, on my kitchen counter, immediately came onto my feed, and I could tell that she had posted it as soon as she left.

Clichéd caption:

Morning goals! *smoothie emoji*

And then the hashtags.

#gymvibes #heathfreak #loveyourbody and it went on and on with the audacity to add in a #brotherbear somewhere there until I literally wanted to barf on my iPhone.

And honestly, I was peeved. And I wished that I was reading it wrong, but to me it just went to show that even after all that, Rabia had absolutely no remorse for anything she had said. It didn’t matter who she hurt. What she said. How deep her words cut.

That was social media, folks. No matter the cost, the post must be posted, and the game must go on.

I wasn’t the kind of person who got offended easily. I had always been a tough nut. But after what Rabia had said, with everything that had happened so far between Hamzah and I, the fact was that I was hurt by her words. It was like she intended harm, and would stop at nothing.

I was way angrier than I’d been in ages and Rabia had been the cause. I wanted to grab her face and shove it in the soapy sink, but of course I couldn’t do that.

Not without looking as psycho as she was.

But here’s the thing: Sometimes when everything else in you is spent,…and there’s no more space for hurt and betrayal… Sometimes there’s nothing else that’s left to feel, but disappointment. It was just that sometimes disappointment in itself feels like you’ve lost everything that ever mattered.

And I know that forgiveness was divine and all of those very sensible things that people usually say to cushion the blow of brokenness.
The thing was, I could see what Hamzah felt, but I was too angry to even give a damn.

Rabia had crossed a line.
Hamzah tolerated it. It was simple.

And maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh, but I couldn’t help myself. Breaking up pieces of me didn’t come without consequences.

Rabia still had the audacity to look unruffled, even as I stalked out of the room, while Hamzah watched us both with his mouth half hung open.

“Mos,” Hamzah called, and I had seen his entire entire expression change as I slammed the bedroom door.

And while I paced, I picked up the words ‘stuff’ and ‘wait in car’, but I didn’t bother to even try and stop them before they were going to wherever they would be going. Frankly, I was sick of this game Rabia was playing and I was really so done with being the doormat.

If livid was a person, then I knew i would be it. I flashed my eyes angrily at Hamzah as he came in and looked at me, and I could feel his questioning gaze on me before I even met his gaze.

Why? His eyes were saying, and I wished that you had the guts to yell at him.

“Mos,” he said aloud, and I could feel the awkwardness in his voice, trying to hold back his own emotion. “What happened?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” I said nonchalantly, not wanting to explain further, knowing my words had probably penetrated deep.

He paused and watched me as I busied myself with TikTok instead. I knew he hated that but I was doing it to rile him up. For some sick reason, I wanted a reaction out of him, like Rabia had invoked a reaction out of me.

I was waiting for it, but what he said still felt like a punch in the gut.

“Did you really have to be so harsh with her?”

Oh. No. He didn’t.

The question came after 10 seconds or so of silence, and I couldn’t help but glare at him as he asked it.

How dare he? How dare he?

“You know what?” I said, my voice sounding as if someone was strangling me. “I’m exhausted with your games, Hamzah. First you leave, ignoring my calls, with no idea of what on earth happened to -“

”Mos, let me explain-“ he started, but I was done with him talking.

He had enough time to talk. The whole damn day was enough opportunity. Maybe it was the last straw. Maybe it was that instagram post. But right then, was when something within me snapped, and there was no going back.

”Let me finish,” I barked, anger rising within me again. Maybe it was hormonal and it was too much for that day, but I just couldn’t hold myself back. I wasn’t going to let him shut me up as if my feelings don’t matter. Was it only Rabia that mattered?

“You leave the house in a horrible mood,” I said in a raised tone, my finger pointed and voice sounding foreign to even myself. “Without any idea of what’s going on the entire day. I try to call you like a billion times, but you choose to ignore me! You turn up after twelve full hours, unannounced with your sister who hates me from the day we got married, and literally camps at our place! She is vicious in every sense of the word, obsessed with Instagram and digging up pieces of my past, and on top of that, she insults me, tells me that I just happened to land myself a husband by default, while accusing me of being a damn gold digger who only married you for Zaid and your money! And after putting up with all her crap, you still have the audacity to come in here, all high and mighty, asking me if I really had to be so harsh with her?!”

I was fuming. My voice had risen to a high pitched screech and my chest was heaving from the outburst.

I was barely the snitch type, to harbour ill feelings and talk about what people did to me. I really wasn’t. I was more the type to silently let these things brew, and tolerate insult after insult, putting up walls and acting as if it barely bothered me, even when it did.

I could not believe that I had said all that. He was looking like he had been stunned to silence.

”She really said that?” He asked, his expression turning stoic as I stared back as him after almost a full minute.

I wanted to laugh in his face, but I didn’t even have the energy for that.

Like I would lie.

I hated feeling this way. It was as if I had to prove myself. I was trying to creep out of this big black hole and I kept on slipping and falling right back in.

Anger was all consuming. It made you mad. it made you irrational. It was also in those highly charged moments that you lost control of all these sensible, sometimes even your thoughts.

And I wished that I could tell Rabia that I wasn’t after money. It was barely my intention. I wished she knew what I had turned down to make this work. And I knew that I didn’t deserve a pat on the back, but I definitely didn’t deserve the crap that I put up from her.

And as much as I tried to fight it, the feelings and upset and hopelessness were consuming me.

Hamzah had spun around, looking slightly disorientated, and I could only assume that he had gone to drop Rabia back home, leaving me with a gaping hole in my gut that left me feeling at a complete loss.

And that’s when the demons find their way in, through the little nooks and crannies that pave a path into the mind.

And at that point, I couldn’t believe it, but the feelings of inadequacy right then had reduced me to a point where I found my thoughts going back to Faadil and my past, and wondering if things might have been any different if I had chosen another path, instead of putting myself through this.

And I knew it was wrong. But when Shaytaan gets even the smallest of gaps to penetrate, it’s highly possible that he will go all out in his efforts and have an absolute field day.he makes you question your life. Your choices. He even makes you wonder… what if, the path you had chosen, wasn’t the right one for you, even when taqdeer had already deemed so.

Indeed, Iblis (Satan) only enters people by the measure he is able. His ability to do so is increased or decreased according to the degree of their mindfulness, their negligence, their ignorance, and their deeds. Know that the heart is like a fortress. (The fortress needs to be protected by the mindfulness of Allah) 

And I wasn’t even sure where Hamzah had gone. He hadn’t even apologised. I had an idea that Zaid was still at his Ma’s place, and I was sure that he would be were perfectly fine for a at least an hour or so more. I had even expressed milk for him, but now that he was eating a little, leaving him for a few hours wasn’t that bad anymore.

I sighed as I cleared the kitchen counter, trying to coax myself into calming down as I went back to the room, barely even hearing the door opening behind me as Hamzah walked into the room again, hands stuffed in his pockets as he watched me carefully. Perhaps he was trying to figure out if I had regained my sanity. I could see him hesitant, trying to figure if it was safe to talk, but I was far from worried about what he thought, and I was so done.

I didn’t ask him where he went to. I didn’t ask him what had happened with Rabia. I didn’t even want to know.

”Mos, this is all my fault,” he said softly, and I could see him preparing for something bigger he wanted to say. “I’m so sorry. I won’t keep anything from you again. I’ve been thinking that we need fixing, and I came back here precisely because I didn’t want to keep anything else from you and there’s no better time that to fix this than right now…”

And then I felt bad. Like, why was I even like this? I couldn’t even stay angry with him properly, when he clearly deserved it.

He wasn’t done though.

“This morning, when I came back, I came to tell you that Liyaket’s mother asked me to help with the house,” he said softly, and I felt a stab of emotion as he said it, knowing exactly what he was talking about. We were meant to go back there months ago. “She wanted me to do it when I dropped Zaid. I couldn’t bring myself to go in there on my own.”

Although he had gone in once or twice to let a cleaner in, I knew that he hadn’t spent as much time as he needed to sort things out.

I didn’t answer. I was feeling guilty and annoyed at once. It wasn’t a very pleasant place to be….

I wasn’t sure if it was the emotion in his voice, or the responsibility that I owed to Layyanah that made me turn and look at him. His eyes were downcast and his fingers were twiddling together as he spoke, and I could tell that he was feeling uneasy about it. I could also tell that his emotions were all over the place and he wanted to do this as much as he wanted to stuff toothpaste up his nose.

This entire thing was going to be one of the most difficult experiences since Liyaket’s and Layyanah’s death and I was feeling heart sore for everything it would bring.

And that was why I just couldn’t be the kind of person who would leave him to face it in his own. From the moment our friends passed away, it was like their deaths were the invisible thread that connected us together.

I couldn’t imagine him having to go through and sort their stuff out on his own. I couldn’t imagine all those emotions  he would feel, and how he would fare with them if I wasn’t there to support him through.

”Would you like to come with?” He said softly, and I knew that it was coming from a place of desperation.

I couldn’t just ignore his request. Not now.

Without even realizing it, I had nodded and agreed, knowing that it may be time that I tucked away my pride and cut him some slack.

“Oh, and I’m sorry about Rabia,” he said softly, shaking his head apologetically. “She won’t be allowed home for a long time.”

I felt a little lighter, as he said that. I did think that she had crossed boundaries, but I also felt bad that I had been so forthright with her.

It wasn’t even his fault, but I didn’t want Rabia to take up more of my energy. I wanted to move past her for now and deal with her later.

I had been angry. So, so angry. I also knew that the issue with her would be resolved with time. I would sort it out, and things would be okay. The girl just had a helluva lot of tension and she was making us her punching bag.

“I’m coming,” I said vaguely, letting the words be our truce as he walked out and I pulled on an abaya and scarf, trying to psyche myself up for the rest of the day ahead.

And perhaps I should have seen this part coming. The part where we picked up the pieces of the past. Maybe with meeting Hashim and all this talk about Zaid and Liyaket, Hamzah knew that he would have to do it sooner than later.

What I didn’t expect was feeling the way I did as we too the offramp, realising that it was the first time that I would face the reality of Layyanah’s passing head on.

Everything that had happened so far had made me question do much. Liyaket had pushed her to resolve things with her family. Hashim pushing so hard had made me question what happened with Layyanah and her family during those last few weeks. When I was with Faadil, I hadn’t been as close to her as I wanted to. I was pulling away on purpose.

Had she gotten to where she wanted to be? Did they actually make some kind of resolution to be civil? It made me question why they didn’t come forward sooner, or why they hadn’t come into the picture when Hamzah and I were still trtying to figure our way around a new born baby.

The questions were mulling over in my mind as we drove through the outer lying town in the outer suburbs where our farm and Liyaket’s mother still stayed.

We made small talk as we entered the little suburb, feeling it awkward without Zaid there as the buffer.

And reaching the house felt like how it always did.

From a feeling of grief, it had become  a mixture of anxiety with just a tinge of sadness. The feeling reason for the anxiety every time we came here was because I knew for a fact that Liyaket’s mother never opened the house. I knew that at some point, we would have to be the ones to do it, and today, the emotions that overcame me were a little too severe to internalise.

“You okay?”

It was the second time Hamzah had asked me that in the last two days, and I knew that he had good reason to. I could literally see the fear written on my face. Coming back here, knowing that if I have to face the life that they’re lived along with everything they owned was sending a fierce kind of turbulence through my system.

I was frozen in my spot for a few minutes before we stepped onto the patio. I knew that it wasn’t going to be an easy task, but as Hamzah turned the key that he had in his pocket in the lock, I really didn’t expect all the emotions that flooded through me as we stepped into the house. It had been over four months, and from the minute I lost Layy, I knew that my heart would never be the same again.

And as Hamzah greeted loudly, his serene voice soothing me in ways that he couldn’t have imagined, my eyes were already fixated on the hook on the wall, where Liyaket’s jacket and Layyanah’s scarf hung, like someone had just put it up there.

I sucked in a breath as I saw it, not believing for a few moments that they were really gone from this world for good. It was so, so freaky… being here, as if we were bystanders in their life, when in fact, they were never coming back to live it. The ache in my gut seemed like it could never be filled.

And my word, I barely expected the emotion that stifled me at that point. Even after these months, it felt almost surreal.

I had already made my way into the kitchen, trying not to notice the two plates that were still lying on the dish rack, as if they had just been washed this morning. The fridge was still running, and the microwave time was flashing with some nonsensical time, as if waiting for Liyaket to come sort it out, like I’d heard Layyanah nag him to do before.

We had already moved through the main area, noting a table cloth folded on the chair next to the nook and natural light streaming in through the Venetian blinds as we passed through to the dining room and hallway… hesitating for a moment before we entered the bedroom.

And somehow, as I met his eye before reaching the threshold just before the passage, I couldn’t help but hold his gaze for a little longer, wanting to savour this feeling of being bound by something that had connected us in so many ways, once upon a time.

Two bedrooms were positioned on either side of us as we stood, next to the couch that Hamzah had gifted Liyaket when they had gotten married. And even though we weren’t proposed at the time, Layyanah wouldn’t fail to express her appreciation about Hamzah (even though it annoyed me to no limits) for buying them the most comfortable couch that ever existed. I watched Hamzah’s face as he took it all in, letting emotions settle as he watched me back, knowing that without them; without their intervention the way Allah had planned it… there would have probably been no us.

I turned away as the realisation hit me, breathing in shakily as we both gazed at the remnants of a life that was lived with so much of hope and vigour.

I could literally picture the exact spot on the corner couch that Layyanah would sink herself into with a bowl of popcorn and coffee (which was her go-to even before she had fallen pregnant), with some Islamic book while she chatted away as if she didn’t have a care in the world. I could almost hear Liyaket’s voice calling for Layyanah from the entrance, before he made the Salaam to announce his arrival after going out to the Masjid.

I felt tipped over by the gusts of life that had come without warning, falling to the floor and shattering in its wake. Who would have thought that we would ever be where we were now, Hamzah and I yanked out of our menial lives and forced into adulthood almost overnight, making decisions that would carve the rest of our lives out with such precision…

It was as if an arrow of grief had struck my heart once again as I remembered, and I didn’t even realise that I was crying until a lone tear made its way down my cheek, and Hamzah refused to meet my eye.

And it felt crazy because there we were,  both standing  at the entrance to their room, and my legs literally felt like lead as I tried to lift them up to move forward. I wasn’t ready to open the door. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to.

Their bedroom would be the place with the most memories… a venture into an unknown territory where I could only assume would be the most poignant kind of emptiness that one could feel.

“Must I open it?”

It was Hamzah who was asking me, almost as if he needed permission to go ahead and turn it. I knew exactly how he felt. Like we were intruding in something we weren’t supposed to see.

I found myself nodding as I looked at him, watching his hand as his long fingers twisted around the knob, carefully turning it, almost too scared to force it open.

And as it loosened, and we stepped back, almost in fearful anticipation, I really wasn’t sure what we expected.

Maybe we thought our friends would jump out from their bedroom and tell us that the last few months were just a big joke. Maybe we expected some kind of major intervention that would take place as we glanced into the empty room. Perhaps we were just expecting something noteworthy.

But all we got was the deafening silence and reminder that no matter what went on in this world from the moment they had gone, nothing had changed. Nothing in this world was going to bring them back, and everything that lay before us right then was nothing but a reminder of how temporary this world was and would always be.

From the half drunk water bottle that lay next to Layyanah’s bed, to the car magazines and that Liyaket had an obsession with from the time he was a kid next to his bed pedestal… I knew for certain that no one had been in this room since the Night Of. The Accident. It was like a bad word that none of us ever spoke of.

And even though we both stood back for a while, not wanting to touch a thing, but knowing that we had to if we had to achieve what we came here for, it was one of the most difficult tasks in my life to step inside. It took us a few minutes, but I went forward first, as I picked up the bottle, feeling the layer of dust on my fingers as I held it, watching Hamzah from the corner of my eye go over onto Liyaket’s side in quick succession. It was like breathing in an old scent that we had once been addicted to.

The grief felt like my chest was ready to cave in from the weight of the pain that sat in my rib cage.

“I’m taking this for Zaid,” Hamzah almost whispered as he folded a prayer hat that lay on the bed and put it in his pocket. “It was Liyaket’s favourite.”

The reality of what he had just said almost broke my heart. It’s like all this time, we had forgotten.

For Zaid. Only he wouldn’t really know the man who it belonged to. Everything we own, everything we treasure…

Only for our heirs, right? In actual fact, everything here belonged to their heirs. Everything we own, even the most basic piece of fabric, couldn’t even go with Liyaket because there was nothing in this world that holds enough weight to carry through to the Aakhirah.

I breathed in, letting the bitter taste of loss settle in my chest, feeling like I had lost a piece of myself that I could never replace.

The feeling hovered over me as Hamzah’s wheeled in some cases we had come equipped with to pack in, and as we worked, albeit silently, it felt as if something in the air had shifted that moment. It was like coming back there had somehow settled our scores, grounded us, and made us realise once again, what we were here for… ultimately.

Knowing that there was a purpose and some kind of reason we were doing this too, helped us to weather the pain.

There were so many things that had been collected and stored in just that short time they were married … things that we didn’t know what to do with, things that we were sure that would probably never get used… but we packed silently because the plan was to move everything to storage so the house could be rented out as an income for Liyaket’s mother. It was about time that we gained the strength to do it, and I knew that we were doing the right thing, despite how difficult it was.

“Holding up?”

Hamzahs voice was soft as he said it, and I knew that he was checking on me, despite always being stronger than I felt. I was somehow holding myself together, but I knew that Hamzah was the last person I had to hide from. He was the one person who knew exactly how this felt.

“This is hard,” I said softly, not expecting my voice to sound like it did, as I raised my eyes to his. “Like heartbreakingly hard. You know?”

He looked at me, his face devoid of the usual smile he sported when he said it back.

“I know,” he said simply, in his usual tone, blinking and biting his lip to conceal his own emotion.

It felt like I was screaming from within my soul, but I knew that with every pang of loss I felt, Allah was purifying me throughout it all.

Through every emotion, everything else seemed trivial. I supposed that was what loss did to you. What life was about. Bigger things that happen make the smaller things seem so insignificant. Rabia, Nani and Jameela were distant thoughts to me, that barely fazed me.

There was something about picking up the pieces of the past that calmed my demented spirit. It was like I was slowly healing from inside, when I didn’t even know that I was bruised.

“There’s no way we can finish it all today,” Hamzah said softly, turning to me whilst running his hand through his hair under his prayer hat. “But at least it’s a start. I’m just a little disappointed that I took so long to do it. I was a chicken. Scared. Being here… It’s comforting… in a weird way.”

It was. It so was. Instead of that gnawing loss, the fact that we were here and doing what was the right thing… it gave a sense of purpose.

“We can try and do the whole room today, at least,” I said, not even worried about the timing. I would check on Zaid and feed him while Hamzah went for salaah and then come back after.

“We can,” Hamzah said. “We don’t have to go to my parents today. Rabia will be around. I know she was out of line today. Sometimes I feel like she doesn’t think she is worthy of being good. Like she things that she’s only worth something or recognised when she acts up…”

I kept silent. Rabia was definitely crazy but I didn’t handle it in the best way either. I just couldn’t say it out loud.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry,” he said softly. “ I don’t want this to become a gaping hole you feel you can’t talk about. Please find it in your heart to let this go. I know she’s difficult but she doesn’t always mean-“

He was always so defensive…. still making excuses for her.

”Hamzah,” I said in a warning tone, stopping him mid-sentence, not wanting to go there again.

I knew what he was saying. He wanted me to be the noble one. To be compassionate and to forgive her. To win her over with goodness. I wasn’t sure if I had it in me.

Mu’adh ibn Anas reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “The best of virtues is that you maintain relations with one who cuts you off, that you give to one who deprives you, and that you forgive one who insults you.”

Source: Musnad Aḥmad 15191

And I got the lesson, but I also needed time. Some things don’t come as easily to others as they do to us.

Somehow, I knew that this battle would continue, but not now. It was still too fresh. Too raw. And didn’t it also work both ways? Rabia owed me an apology too. I just wasn’t sure if I would get it.

“Not here. Please. Let’s just… talk about something else,” I said quietly.

I didn’t want to fight. That was the last thing I wanted to do in Liyaket and Layyanah’s home, and if they were here, they probably wouldn’t approve either.

He stood silently for a minute, flashing an awkward smile in agreement before moving the suitcase and turning to the cupboard next to him, and speaking again. He took a deep breath  again, and I wondered what next he had to say.

”Sure,” he said evenly. “Sorry. I was just wondering…. so… can I tell you about yesterday?”

I glanced up at him, a pair of Layyanah’s hair grips still in my hand as I packed them in a little vase I had carried for smaller things, and I couldn’t help but smile.

And why not? There was much to be said, I was sure. A whole lot more than I even anticipated. The main problem with couples these days is that instead of talking to each other, they talk to others, and that’s where the problems all start.

I really wanted to hear what he had to say.

I just didn’t know how it would blow me away, erasing my previous impressions a creating entirely different sort of scenario to the one that if had in my mind all this while.

“Tell me everything,” I demanded, knowing that it may take a while.

I wanted to hear every bit of what had been going on, from the beginning of when things got even a little bit complicated.

And he did.

---

Dearest readers

My apologies about the delay. A longer post to make up for it. A little less drama… I think we need some calm for now… hehe

Shukran to all for reading, loving all the comments.

Much Love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

Nabi (SAW) gave attention, spoke and showed love to even the worst person of a nation until the person felt that he is being given special attention.

May Allah make us of those who uphold the Sunnah of character always.

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 we Lose Ourselves

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 68

We all have our things that we do, that no one knows about. We all have our sins that we hide, until we find ourselves sinking into them. We all have moments when we lose us, who we really are, and become something that we’re not.

And as I gazed outside, the sun making its way out for the day, I found myself wondering at what point in ones life you hit that Nanima level, where the sun is at its brightest, and you can sit with a kitaab the entire day, and have no inclination to chase after the next best thing.

I often wondered, when I thought of Nani in great admiration, at which point I could ever be like that.

In theory, it sounded easy. Be good. Read your Qur’ān. Sit for Taaleem. Keep away from sin. Just stop craving excitement. Stop chasing the need to always be entertained.

And I wish I could just be so straight and pious, but the fact is that, as noble as our intention are, and as easy as it may seem in theory to only have Jannah vibes, we’re not always as strong as we think.

And it scared me. There were days when I felt that I was just barely pulling through. Almost like when you’re looking out after the sunset, into the darkness, trying to see the shadow of your hand… or even the glimpse of the shadow of it in front of you, and all you can see is the blackness.

That was me.

I was in a state the entire morning. I couldn’t sit. I couldn’t bake. I couldn’t focus on much besides the fact that Hamzah was completely ignoring my messages and I had no idea what had happened to make him like this.

Only, I couldn’t handle the pressure, and so I caved.

I slipped. I had spent way too long fighting my inherent tendencies to be the horrible person that I was, and so I caved and finally let it out. It had been way too long, staying away from all the haraami-girl things that I stayed away from during the last few months and somehow, I just gave in the the inner Shaytaan because I couldn’t hold myself back any longer.

Completely and irrefutably. I had absorbed myself in the new Netflix Turkish series that everyone was raving about while trying to divert my mind, until I realised that it was two-o-clock and I hadn’t even taken a shower.

Yes. That bad.

And then Saaliha messaged to say that Hamzah was there at the farm with some mafia guy and was meeting more mafia people and that’s when I turned into Nani and found myself losing every desire for haraam, because I felt like I was probably being punished for slipping up.

And I supposed that it happened for a reason.

I sighed.

And now, after all the drama of caving and guilt after, came a Mohsina who was panicking about her husband who seemed to have thrown himself into the midst of people who were most probably after our blood.

I was sitting on the couch, tasbeeh counter on hand, Nani style, diligently reading page after page of the book she had gifted me on my Nikah day.

My. Goodness.

I was turning into Nani. And the notion was making me feel all kinds of crazy, but as I sat on Friday evening in my burka and with my pansoora, as Nani would, making a very fervent Duaa for Allah Ta’ala to save us from all harm and destruction, I felt very positive that I was turning into my grandmother way ahead of time.

And although those moments were very rare, I had a very strong feeling that it was only in these private and desperate moments that I was finding my base, my truth and really connecting with my Lord to find my own self. It was true that dhikr was the only time that I could find myself warding off the tactics that Shaytaan always used with me…

There was just way too much going on all at once and simply being the way I was used to being didn’t help a thing.

And besides stressing over my husband having a death wish, the next thing I knew, Nani was WhatsApp calling me (like normal calls don’t even exist) and told me in her very secretive voice that Doctor Muneer had proposed for Jameela, and I went into a state of panic.

Jameela was nineteen. Nineteen. Was it really wise for her to be embarking on the marriage journey right then? 

“Don’t tell anyone yet,” Nani had almost whispered into the phone.

She didn’t call me often but when she did, you had to be certain that she had some really juicy news.

“Khairoon says he wants go there properly and speak to her again, but you know Jameela will think too much.”

“Mhmm,” I said vaguely.

She was allowed to think too much. Was Nani suggesting that she should just accept blindly, without even thinking properly, just because the proposal looked good on paper? 

She was still talking.

My sister was beautiful. Intelligent and amazing, and all the rest. I also knew that Doc was quite a realist and very much in touch with his own self, and it may be a bit of a shock to her. But also, well, isn’t that exactly what she needed to come back down to earth?

“…but I told them to rather phone and give proposal first and make it quick. You know Maulana was saying we must do whatever goood we can do fast fast, because the fitnas also are coming so fast. Fast fast.”

I wasn’t sure if Maulana had meant forcing your granddaughter into a marriage, but she was right about the fitna part. It was like things were overcoming us without even warning. Everywhere I looked, there was some new kind of challenge for people like me, who got trapped into everything. With social media so accessible, and everything so fast-paced… There were no gaps between to even give us a break between, and true to the Hadith, it felt overwhelming in every sense.

Just like the beads fall from a necklace, the fitan are falling with no relent… it felt like the darkness was layering upon more darkness until we were just slipping more and more underwater.

And who knew it better than me, who was always consumed with some social media event or something online. Our phones had become the main source and cause of this and the reason for Imaan leaving a person.

It is narrated on the authority of Abu Huraira that the Messenger of Allah (may peace be upon him) observed: Be prompt in doing good deeds (before you are overtaken) by turbulence which would be like a part of the dark night. During (that stormy period) a man would be a Muslim in the morning and an unbeliever in the evening or he would be a believer in the evening and an unbeliever in the morning, and would sell his faith for worldly goods.

It was so true. So true that we won’t even realise that the trials are overtaking is. So achingly true that we had to keep in guarding ourselves, even when we didn’t feel threatened.

“She doesn’t know how lucky she is,” Nani was still going on for herself. “He will make Jameela soooo happy. It’s not often doctor comes with marriage proposal.”

I wasn’t sure about him making Jameela happy. Being a doctor or a Maulana for Nani was the ultimate career option for a spouse. Being fair and Nani’s connection was an added bonus.

But all that didn’t matter, I reminded myself. What Jameela wanted was most important.

“As for you Mohsina,” she was saying, and I already knew that I was in for it. “Now you are moved into your place, you must make habit of Taaleem every week. All this phone phone phone business is no good for your silly head. You don’t know what what kind filthy fitna can come into your home..”

As much as I wanted to roll my eyes, I knew that she was right. And I knew that I needed to do it but I was just so damn lazy.

I sighed as went on a bit about how my mother is having Taaleem that week and I had to come, before she rushed off to make her whudhu for Asr, and I put my phone down, thinking about how much was going on.

My brain was overloaded and emotions were overwhelming. Marriage wasn’t always beautiful and easy, and the thought of Jameela heading that was making me a tad bit anxious.

Now, I had to do what I needed to build my shield. Now, I had to do whatever good I could do. Now, I had to keep encouraging my man to attend masjid for every salaah. Now, I had to make a resolution to do daily taaleem.

I had to immerse myself in so much of goodness before I felt like I was so overwhelmed with darkness that my heart was completely submerged.

”Oooh,” Rabia squawked as she sauntered in, making me jump slightly as I realised that she was actually here, in my flat, with Hamzah wheeling in her bag behind her. “Fanc-eeeee!”

It wasn’t fancy. It was just spruced up. Her eyes swept over my table setting for two as she walked in, scanning me momentarily as I held my chin up. Underneath the burka, I was all dressed up, a simple wrap over dress and I had even put on a little heel to appear more alluring.

Zaid was seated in his chair with some boiled carrots, stuffing his soft hammer toy in his mouth instead, and lucky for me, she had already gone over to him before any further comments were issued.

I glanced at Hamzah for a minute, putting my kitaab down and noting him give me an apologetic look as I moved around to the kitchen counter.

“Sorry,” he whispered, coming over and pecking my cheek as I got up to busy myself cutting cucumber while Rabia turned her back to us “I’m so sorry. It’s been a crazy day. Everything’s looking… wow. I didn’t get a chance to warn you about Rabia though…”

”It’s okay,” I said, plastering a smile on my face as he squeezed my shoulder apologetically. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

I really didn’t mind. After what if learnt about Rabia, I had decided to cut her some slack. So what if she annoyed me sometimes, right?

It wasn’t like I was the type to sit back and take it. I would just focus on trying to be a better person and make her feel that maybe I was on her side. Maybe I just needed to win her over. I could handle my own just fine.

As for Hamzah, after going through the notions of wanting to scream, strangle and then chase after him that day, I was now at the pathetic stage of just being glad that he was here, alive and in one piece. I really was.

And the thing was, I know that I hadn’t been the best person in the world. I had been selfish and petty. I had been proud and unapologetic at times. I knew that I had much to work on myself and the entire day alone was enough to make me rethink my entire stance on life.

I needed to be better. No. I wanted to be better. I had tried several ways to divert thoughts and improve the way I lived life, but I had still gotten caught up.

“How was your day?” He asked softly as Rabia took Zaid to the room with her, and he left his bag near the door.

Where did I even start? 

“Jameelas guy called to propose.”

The words were out of my mouth sooner that I could even think about them.

Hamzah raised his eyebrows.

“Mr Smoothie?” He said with a shocked expression, and I could help but let out a snicker.

Mr Smoothie, indeed.

Shame. He was just super health conscious, and according to Jamz, he was super smooth too.

”You think she will accept?” He asked, narrowing his eyes slightly as he pulled at his beard and leaned over the counter.

He had removed his kurta and hung it up on a coat hanger near the door that proved to be so useful.

I was having so much of fun buying all these sale items for our new place to make it functional.

Functionality was the new fashion. Decorating on a budget was also a great diversion from all the online junk I usually got caught up in.

“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “I heard that she got her London visa and I doubt that Nani will be happy about her going. She wants everything to be ‘fast fast’. Quote unquote.”

I looked at him and he smiled.

”That’s good advice,” he said softly, a hint of emotion behind his voice. “I wish we… anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s good advice.”

And although it gave me a slight ache in my gut, because it was our choice to delay everything… I knew that he was right.

So much could have been avoided if we really did make it fast fast.

The topic immediately took me back to all the things that happened in between, and how things had digressed with Faadil and I really wished that sometimes I could smack some sense into my past self.

“Are you okay?” He asked me, standing up and glancing at his phone, a quizzical look flashing on his face as he paused to watch me.

I wasn’t sure what to tell him. I wasn’t really okay, but I had tortured myself enough for the day and I really didn’t need any more.

“I’m just worried,” I said truthfully, knowing that it encompassed most of the feelings that had been on my mind. Not about him getting murdered, specifically. I could be worried about anything, really. “Are you okay?”

So much was still hanging in the air between us. I wanted to ask him about his mafia people. About what was going on with Zaid. But Saaliha had sworn me to secrecy.

All I knew was that he was looking a million times better than he had that morning. That morning, he had been all agitated and on edge, as if he was waiting for a bomb to explode at any second.

“I actually met with Hashim,” he said, dropping his voice as he spoke.

I had to pretend to be shocked at least.

”Hashim?” I asked, feeling my chest constricting with the mere mention of his name.

He nodded feebly.

”Do you know how dangerous he is?” I said, realising that Hamzah probably had no idea of what Hashim was really like.

I was angry earlier, but now that I had calmed down and was getting angry again… it was like another emotion entirely.

I loved my husband, but he wasn’t always the easiest person to read and I hated that. I really wished that he was just more open with me.

“But it was all okay, Mos,” he said calmly, coming closer and reaching for my hand, trying to placate me.

I pulled back, not bothered about how this all looked if Rabia, who had just waltzed in, had to see. What mattered was that he had put himself into a situation that was completely compromising.

From what Saaliha had said, the entire thing had a potential to get so dangerous. And I knew that I was relieved that he had made it home, but him being so careless and flippant about it was what was frustrating me more.

He had a meeting with one of the people I had sworn to never give the time of day to, about our son, and didn’t even bother to inform me.

What was consuming me now was the possibility that Faadil and Hashim were conspiring against us in a most dangerous way, and I just couldn’t figure it all out.

What if it was all a big ploy? Somehow, all these pieces that seemed interlinked, just weren’t fitting together. All I knew that Faadil was never one to back down easily, and hurting someone else to get to me wasn’t beyond his abilities.

We needed to talk. Hamzah and I. Properly. But now, with Rabia here, was barely the time.

The thing was, as much as I felt like he was hiding something from me, I hadn’t been completely open with him either, and the more that I thought if this situation, I couldn’t help but feel that it was my fault too.

It was a long, torturous night. Hamzah was busy till late and with Rabia around, the conversation was completely stunted. It was extremely difficult having an argument with someone else in the house.

I knew that she sensed something was up between us. She hadn’t asked but the more Hamzah tried, the more annoyed I got. I wanted to have a full discussion but it was really difficult to fight with your spouse in the midst of company. I knew that it would have to wait till the following evening, if I wanted to have some solution.

I hated sleeping without speaking, but he had been busy on a call and somehow, things were still awkward between us the following morning.

And with the weekend starting, Saturdays were always a busy day. We often went to Liyaket’s mother to see her and spend some time with her, and Zaid sometimes stayed with her for an hour or two. He sometimes tried to go through some of Liyaket’s stuff when he was there. It was Hamzah’s way of fulfilling his duty to his friend, and paying tribute to the legacy he left behind.

With Hamzah and I still on shaky ground and Rabia around that particular day, I had decided to let Hamzah take Zaid on his own, and finish some baking before I headed off to my in-laws that evening. It just seemed like a feasible plan at the time, and I barely realised that it may have not been the wisest one.

I had already got a host of orders for the following week and as Rabia came in from the gym, which was literally opposite out apartment block, I gave her a once over while she sat opposite where I worked, sipping on a health smoothie that she had probably bought from there.

“Salaams,” I greeted kindly, cleaning out the bowl of cheesecake filling as she watched me work. “Did you have a good workout?”

I had ventured out on the gym scene for a few months when I had first started working but as soon as my mother found out about it, she had made my father stop me. There was way too much of free mingling for her liking, too much of blaring music and the thought of me being seen on the treadmill next to some strange muscle man gave her a hernia.

“Amazing !” Rabia swooned brightly, looking all shiny and refreshed with her hair pulled back and her cap on.

Somehow, there was no space for hijab in her gym attire. I wasn’t judging her but with her new vibe that she was trending, I could see that she was trying a little too hard to fit in to the whole new instagram fitness trend. I knew it because at one sordid stage in my life, I had been exactly where she was.

”Cool,” I said, not really wanting to engage in conversation as I piped a caramel topping over some completed mini cakes.

It took a certain amount of concentration to do them neatly, and I was kind of glad that it distracted me from saying anything I would regret later. It was her expression. The whole gym with instagram and having to always validate herself with her selfies. I knew exactly where she was in life and how illusive that world could seem.

“Lots of orders came in?” She said inquisitively, sipping on her smoothie again as I continued with my task. “I see you’ve been very busy with the advertising.”

“Mhmm,” I said absentmindedly, hoping she would get the hint and go and get dressed. The sooner we went to my in laws, the sooner the rift between Hamzah and I cousins be resolved.

I honestly just wanted to be alone so I could wallow in self-pity for a bit longer. I was feeling confused and depressed, and I couldnt quite figure out why.

“A friend of mine sells the most amazing cookies from home,” she said admirably, swiping her phone open to open sole insta account. “When she told me how much money she makes, I was shocked. The home industry has amazing potential, doesn’t it? I’m sure you’re coining it, nuh?”

I frowned slightly, wondering what she was getting at. Money wasn’t the most important thing.

Pastry cheffing was my passion. If my father hadn’t insisted I study something ‘real’, if would have been my default career. I loved every bit of creativity it squeezed out of me. I loved the thrill of completing orders, and the looks of utter besottedness that I see in clients faces when they fetch their orders.

Although auditing was fun, for me, that contentment was nothing like I felt when I saw the sheer appreciation with the result of my delicious creations.

”I love your ring, by the way,” she was going on, looking up from her phone and glancing at the diamond ring on my right hand, her eyes almost bulging as she gawked at it openly. “Is it your wedding band?”

She looked confused because there hadn’t been a wedding band. There was barely any time for that when Hamzah and I made nikah. We weren’t even thinking about those things…

”Hamzah gifted it to me a few weeks back,” I said quickly, before she said anything else. To tell the truth, when we got married, we were both so bowled over by grief and emotion that we didn’t think beyond Zaid and just trying to make things work between us.

”Wow,” she said, looking surprised. “So the eternal flame pendant… and now the ring…”

I narrowed my eyes slightly, feeling the acceleration in my chest as she mentioned the pendant, hoping she wasn’t going to ask me about the pendant.

Be patient, Mos. Rabia doesn’t really mean to annoy you. She just can’t help herself. 

I wanted to be good. To be strong. I had slipped yesterday and didn’t want to lose my resolve to be a better person. I had to try, as hard as she made it.

“It seems like my brother will do anything for you,” she said, her voice sickly sweet, but I could tell from a glance at her that she was being anything but.

I breathed in deeply, avoiding eye contact with her. What was this girls vibe? 

I had a resolve to be better, but she was making it really difficult to. 

”I didn’t ask for the ring,” I said stiffly, knowing what she was thinking. She was implying that I was a gold digger. Duh.

“Oh, you don’t have to ask,” she said. “Hamzah lurrrvs to spoil his women.”

His women? Did she really just say that?

“I’m not women,” I said bitterly, anger rising like bile in my chest. What was her problem? “I’m his wife.”

I wasn’t sure if I was being sensitive, but I felt almost as if she was poking me where she wanted it to hurt most. Why, I wasn’t even sure. She was way too comfortable with talking people down.

“Well, since you made it here by default,” she cooed with a cynical smile, cocking her head at me. “I hope that you don’t plan on cashing in from him this entire marriage. I’ve seen the type of things you like to show off…”

My mouth dropped open as she said it, looking so serious as she stared me dead in the eye, and I couldn’t help but gaze at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to say she was joking, or at least retract her statement.

But she didn’t. She didn’t, and I was not going to stand here, in my home, in my kitchen, to listen to her saying things to me that made me want to break her lip-glossed mouth.

“Please leave,” I breathed, my cheeks flaming and my voice steady as I glared at her, just as I heard the key in the door turning. “Leave.”

At that point, I didn’t care what she had been through, and I didn’t care what I sounded like. I didn’t care that Hamzah was there, staring at us now as he entered, as I placed down my piping bag, stiffened my shoulders and gave her a death stare.

All I knew was that this girl needed to go, right then, before I lost my mind. Before I lost myself.  All I knew that there was no way I could spend a single second longer in her company, without punching her in the face, and so I had to get rid of her before I did.

“Please just go,” I said again, my voice thick and slicing through the air like a knife.
“Just leave my house and never come back.”

---

A little bit of dramatics… is Rabia pushing the limits or is Mohsina overreacting… will reply to comments soon 💕

Love to hear from all the readers

 

Much love

A x

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

 

Missions of Submission

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 67

Never judge a book by its cover.

It was a pretty self-explanatory, old school rule of thumb, but there was no time that I felt it more than than when my own conscience pricked at me to learn that very important life lesson.

Inside every person, there’s a person you may not know. Everyone has secrets. Secrets that they hide within the darkest tunnels of obscurity. Some they keep to protect others. Some they keep to protect themselves.

And whilst learning this, I eventually came to know that there are few real men amongst men, who are idling in a certain kind of slumber in this temporary world, as if they are souls of free birds, stuck inside their physical bodies.

These are people who know where they belong, long before they even taste it. There are people of such absolute faith and conviction, that they hesitate not even a moment before they are ready to sacrifice themselves in Allah Ta’ala’s path.

While us weak souls will mourn separation from their wives and children, there are others whose hearts are inebriated with everlasting exhilaration. Who truly see martyrdom as the masterpiece of man’s greatness.

And I never thought I would see this… and I never expected it from a guy like I saw it in… but when the yearning for something other than more of this Duniyaa struck my heart, it was only then that I realised the essence of the menial life.

And it was one lazy Sunday evening when I took Mohsina to see her parents, that I had somehow found myself immersed in an idealistic train of thought, wondering quite aptly what made people who they were. Was it their past? Was it their present?

I was watching this macho-looking guy as he stood on one side of the yard, watering the rose garden with such dedication, even on a Sunday afternoon as if the rest of the world didn’t matter at all, and I couldn’t help but ask him the question on my mind.

“Hey, aren’t you off today?” I called out, after nodding in greeting.

Being outside, stealing moments for my smoking addiction would always put us in each others midst. I just never really took out the time to ask him much before that, and I kind of felt that maybe it was time to.

Zubair turned back as I felt around in my pockets to light up my cigarette. That damn lighter always evaded me at the most inappropriate times.

Watching me with the unlit joint in my mouth, he lifted his shirt slightly, dug into his pocket and tossed me a red lighter.

I lit the end with fervour, tossing his lighter back to him before before realising that he didn’t answer my question.

“Not going home?” I asked again, taking in a pull of the cigarette and savouring the calm it brought me.

I had been smoking for years and though I knew Mohsina hated it and I did want to stop someday, I needed it too much to even think of it anytime soon.

Zubair gave me a simple smile while he turned around to switch the hose off.

“This is home,” he said, with a certainty that caught me completely off guard as he turned to me, and my eye caught site of something shiny attached to the top of his pants, as he pulled up his t-shirt to pop his lighter back in.

It was so quick, that I would have probably missed it, but I was watching him carefully all the while and there was no way I could have mistaken what I saw. I immediately narrowed my eyes at him as he looked back at me, almost to challenge me. It was almost as if he expected me to ask more, but I wasn’t sure if I should live up to the challenge.

The thing was, I didn’t know much about Zubair. From what my father-in-law had said, I had figured that he was a good worker. A decent character, who didn’t cause much trouble and minded his own business, all the months he had been there.

Basically, he was what every good worker was. He was honest and hardworking, and he basically sorted out all the technicalities of the farm labour… the stuff that the old man couldn’t do himself.

And no one would expect any less, but I could see that under that baggy t-shirt, he was hiding more things than lethal weapons. His fort-like physique itself would probably be a force on its own, and as my curiosity piqued, and I was barely one to stay quiet when something pricked at me, so I couldn’t help but narrow my eyes at him slightly as I puffed out a cloud of smoke, and asked him exactly what I wanted to know.

”So who exactly are you?”

I didn’t ask it with a rude intention. I really and genuinely wanted to know who he was and where he came from.

After all, he worked for my in-laws who were people that I had become increasingly protective over the past few months.

My brother-in-law Muhammed Husayn was in the midst of adolescence and easily influenced, and if he wasn’t forced to study right for his end-of-year exams, then I knew he would be outside with him. Obviously, Muhammad Husayn had his own theories about who Zubair was, but you couldn’t exactly trust the theories of a teenager who wore army clothing and collected shiny weapons as a hobby.

Zubair was smirking at me weirdly while his white teeth shone from behind his curled up lips while he rolled up the hosepipe expertly around his well-toned arm, almost as if he wanted to tell me some kind of scandalous story, but was deciding against it. His arms were a deeply tanned almond bronze, and I could only imagine that he spent many hours out here in the sun, working like a dog.

He must be built with some solid stuff.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m just a regular guy?” He said with a humourless smile.

I gazed at him for a minute, and then shook my head.

”No.”

He grinned, his cheeks spreading even wider this time, as if he expected that.

”Well then,” he said, placing the hosepipe on the hook on the wall and coming a few steps closer. I noticed that he didn’t make any moves to light his own cigarette.

I wasn’t sure if he smoked, but why he kept a lighter with him was beyond me. Instead, he took out a miswaak from another pocket, giving me a flash on that shiny looking object once again, while he chewed on it softly.

“Well then, what?” I said, looking at him, even more confused.

”Well, then you’re right,” he said, without a moments deliberation, not smiling anymore. “I’m not a regular guy. I’m someone who you would probably stay very far away from, if you knew who I really was.”

I raised my eyebrows, wondering if he was threatening me.

But he didn’t look like he was, and I wasn’t a stupid guy. I had heard Mohsina talk about this guy.  I didn’t really understand what she was saying, but now that he was literally in front of me, I could understand it. I could see it worried that her siblings would spend their time around ‘bad blood’. What that meant, I wasn’t entirely sure.

The guy had quite a presence, and it wasn’t the most comforting one.

He looked at me for a few minutes, and then leaned against the wall, almost as if he was deliberately stalling the big reveal.

“Are you some kind of mafia?” I asked, feeling stupid even asking that. Of course what I’d heard Mohsina say could never be true.

He didn’t even look a tiny bit fazed by my accusation.

He shook his head, steadied his gaze on mine, and then pulled up his shirt slightly, before unstrapping the holder that I had glimpsed just a few minutes ago.

Within a few seconds, the shiny metal weapon lay within his hands, and as I looked at the intricate carvings, I couldn’t help but take a moment while I caught my breath.

There was no doubt that this was some sort of dagger or sword, but it wasn’t an ordinary one either. This weapon was something that was specially made, for a special purpose. And as I glanced at it, I couldn’t help but remember a Hadith about how a Sahabi would keep a dagger strapped on them, to defend the Deen. Him standing there, his dusty kurta hitched up, reminded me of nothing less. And as I took the weapon he was holding out, holding it carefully, I couldn’t help but feel the truth of the words engraved on it.

Forgive him who wrongs you;
join him who cuts you off;
do good to him who does evil to you;
and speak the truth
even if it be against yourself.

It was astoundingly beautiful, both the blade and the saying, and as I looked up at him, bewildered about what this all meant, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of wonder.

According to a narration, It said that one of the swords of the Beloved sallalahu alaihi wa salam was written that very inscription.

When the weapon of the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi Wa Sallam), had been assembled, I found on the handle or blade of his sword three sayings, “Maintain relations with those who cut you off, speak the truth even if it is against yourself, and be good to one who is evil to you.”

Source: Mu’jam Ibn al-A’rābī 1507

Grade: Sahih (authentic) according to Al-Albani

Even on the battlefield, the Message of the Beloved sallalahu alaihi wa salam, inscribed onto Their tool of war, was one of forgiveness, kindness, compassion. What a stark contrast to the usual message drilled into soldiers, which is to show no mercy to the enemy.

It was inconceivably amazing. What this all meant about Zubair, I wasn’t quite sure. I looked at him, searching for an answer, still in awe of this weapon in front of me.

“It’s a new one,” he said with a small smile. “I have plenty of others with less admirable sayings… but I was truly hoping that with this, would be a new start…”

So there were more of these daggers he owned? How many of these things did he even own?

The aching question was… Why would he even keep these kind of daggers?

”You’re a good guy,” I almost whispered, questioning that myself, shaking my head, still awestruck and unbelieving. The next answer was soon going to answer my query.

”I’m a trained assassin,” he said without a hitch, watching me as I widened my eyes. “I don’t have to tell you what that entails. I’m trained to kill for money.”

I gulped and looked at him, shaking my head disbelievingly.

He was joking. Right. Hah.

He was just messing with me.

But as I lifted my eyes from the piece of lethal metal and met his, there was not a hint of humour in his murky eyes.

Oh hell. This guy was even worse than I had ever assumed. It was the first time I’ve ever heard of anyone with that type of job description and I couldn’t help but feel my heart tremor as I digested it. Did this guy think that he was from some Killers movie or something?

“You’re joking, right?” I murmured, my voice foreign even to myself as I stubbed my cigarette in a pot plant, trying to distract myself as he looked back at me, his eyes following my fingers as I stubbed the joint a little too ferociously.

”You serious?” I said after a few seconds, gazing at him now with a look of disbelief as he looked back at me seriously, knowing that his silence meant something.

Up close I could see his eyes were some kind of different colour.

He smiled and looked down, almost in humility, as I studied him, slowly beginning to believe the truth. All these months, my father-in-laws farm worker was a trained assassin. The question now was, was he here for business or not?

”So you’re here to kill someone?” I asked, a little protectively, trying to understand what his motive was for working here.

He shook his head, taking the dagger back and strapping it away silently, before looking back up at me.

”I would never hurt anyone in this family,” he said immediately, almost as if his life depended on it, and I actually believed him.

“But why?”

He looked at me, and for a second, I actually wondered if he was sussing me out, as if trying to figure out if he could trust me.

I almost wanted to laugh at the concept, but then he spoke.

“I hated who I was until I heard a talk one day,” he said softly, as if uncertain about whether to continue. “And it was like my entire heart had been cut open and penetrated by the message. Ironic… considering that I’ve done that to people in the past.”

I swallowed, feeling a shockwave pulsate through me. He really killed people in his past. I wasn’t sure whether I should still even be there.

“Anyway,” he continued, shaking his head as if he was trying to shake the memories away. “I went up to the Aalim to ask him… with my sins and my past, how it is ever possible for me to be a friend of Allah? I was so sure that he would kick me out of there. Tell me that people like me have no place in Islam. But then he looked at me, with so much of conviction, and he told me: ‘Raise your hands with deep regret, remorse in your heart, and turn to your Rabb. Shed a few tears… even if you’re faking it… but turn to him and meaningfully say: Oh Allah, I want to be Your friend, so forgive my sins I committed since maturity and grant me the ability to only do what pleases you in the future.’
And that was it. So then became the beginning of a new life for me, and my mission in life became something completely different to what I had known my entire life.”

The words struck my heart almost immediately, and as the weight of his words hit me, I was awestruck by its magnanimity. I understood that even if he was a bad guy at some stage, it was obvious that he was no longer on that misplaced path. That just the faith of this Aalim was someone who had brought a man in the deepest rut of darkness, onto an illuminated path.

“So what is your new mission?” I asked, finding my voice after a few seconds. All this talk about   assassins and missions was seriously making me think that one of us were deranged. I was pretty sure it wasn’t me. “And how do I know if you’re for real?”

I was cynical. I felt like I was stuck in some kind of prehistoric world. I needed to know more, to learn more, and I wanted to test him.

”I protect people now,” he said simply. “I see to those who can’t do it themselves… take care of what people can’t defend themselves…”

I looked at him warily.

“And how do I know what you’re actually here for?” I asked him, because I was never the type of guy to just take someone for their word.

”Maybe one day I’ll get to show you,” he said with a shrug, almost as if he wasn’t really interested in proving anything to me, specifically.

A mission of submission, he called it.

It was like he had made his peace with himself and he had already decided that he had changed. It was between him and his Lord and that was that.

I wasn’t sure if he could really be trusted. I also wasn’t sure why I asked him to come with me. Maybe I wanted to trust him, or maybe I wanted him to prove himself to me.

And if I hadn’t known better, and I hadn’t asked, well, I would have never known exactly who Zubair really was.

Maybe he had dealings with Hashim in the past or maybe he just wanted to help, but when he asked to accompany me, there was really no way that I could refuse him because he seemed so intent on helping me.

And I didn’t expect much when he offered to help me. I honestly and truly just expected Zubair to be an innocent bystander, watching the interactions between Hashim, his two burly armed guys and and Imraan and I, and silently listen to our interactions. I didn’t know on what level he had worked in the past, and how people saw him. I didn’t know how unhinged he really was.

And I had watched him as he got into the car, knowing that all he carried with him was this strangely shaped dagger with a message that changed his life, for some reason, I felt strangely inspired. Awakened. It was as if Allah had placed this guy directly in my midst to learn some important lesson, and all that was about to be revealed in good time…

And honestly, the way he had become right then was very much like how the Sahabah was. With his dusty Kurtah and fearless spirit, with nothing short of fervour and hopeless ambition in his eyes. It made me think that maybe I was the one who had been on a misplaced mission my entire life, and not him.

In it, I could see a thirst to protect and to fight for what was right. And an amazing quality of people who had a tainted past, was that just as intense as his bad deeds in the past had been, I could that anything good that he aspired to do was approached with the exact same fervour.

As much as he had done wrong and sought blood for the wrong reasons, now he was adamant in making it up, and trying his utmost to avenge it in the more honourable way possible. By atoning for the wrong, by exceeding it with right.

His mission and his life aim was something that literally knocked the wind out of me, as I watched him with a new sense of amazement as he spoke to me.

“You just say what you need to say,” Zubair had said softly, his voice sounding smooth and unassuming, as we got off the car at Imraans place. I had chosen to meet there because I didn’t want Mohsina to know. I just hoped that she wouldn’t find out. “They’re probably going to come at you from all directions, and try to scare you into accepting their conditions… just… Don’t be scared.”

It was easy for him to say. I felt so responsible. Over the fear of Mohsina finding out, all I wanted was to keep my family safe. Protected. I never wanted anyone to touch my wife or my child, and that was my priority. Thinking about my wife was something that brought a tremor to my heart.

I had so much at risk and to not give in to Hashim was something that I couldn’t imagine.

But Zubair wasn’t backing down and his way with words were something that infiltrated my thoughts deeply as I entered, though I was positively reeling from anger, I somehow managed to keep my calm as I entered.

And at first glance, I could already see that Imraan was out of his element.

Hashim had a nerve. He had turned up with two fully armed men, wanting to make some kind of untouchable statement. I could only imagine my sister-in-laws state of mind right then, as I saw Imraan frantically pacing up and down as she called him to the kitchen.

I could tell she was worried, from the hushed hysterics that I heard as I passed the kitchen. Even Uthman was out of sight, and I could imagine her straddling him to the chair he was sitting in, just to keep in out of harms way.

I only hoped that she wouldn’t tell Mohsina anything. I knew Imraan would take care of that, but the worry still consumed me.

And despite it all, I was calm. Although I was fully focused on psyching myself up as I took a seat, I couldn’t miss the fact that the minute Hashim saw Zubair, something shifted in his gaze, and I could see his normally volatile demeanour come down a few notches.

It was a surprise to me, but it was a cue for me to step up too, and I took the opportunity with open arms.

“I’m not giving you custody,” I said bluntly as we sat down, looking Hashim in the eye, after a few moments of awkward conversation. “But I’m prepared to talk.”

As much as Zubair had boosted my confidence, I knew that it wouldn’t be fair to completely disregard the motto he had set about when I first got to know him.

Show kindness.
Maintain relations.
Forgive even those who oppress you.

They weren’t just empty words. They were words that had lifted and inspired me when I least expected it. It would be my new mission, that I needed to try and live by.

And I knew this, because man, this guy had tested me, more than anyone had ever. But to give him back exactly what he had given me did nothing for me. As it turns out, there’s no happiness in vengeance.

And although I was being kinder than I could have… He wasn’t looking happy about it, but he nodded and shifted his gaze from Zubair to me, and then back to Zubair.

“Why is he here?”

The question was aimed at me but I could see Zubair’s entire frame straighten as he said it, his unusual eyes narrowing menacingly, and from the way he looked at Hashim, I could already tell that he was regretting it.

”If I was in your position, I wouldn’t be worried about me,” Zubair said, looking at Hashim.

And though Hashim was a threat to any sane person, the strangest thing about Zubair was that as he looked every one of them straight back in the eye, there was not even a flash of fear on his striking face. This whole thing could go terribly wrong, and yet here he was, a look of utter disinterest, almost as if this just bored him. It was then that I came to realise the true nature of this guy. Death was something that didn’t scare him, but the very notion of that made chills run down my spine.

”Nevermind,” Hashim mumbled with an exasperated sigh, and I could see he felt the same as I as I heard him say something to the two armed guys at his side as they looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for an instruction he wasn’t giving. There was a change in plan and this was something unanticipated.

And just as it was for them, it was something I didn’t expect.

By nature, Zubair was fierce.

Zubair was the most unassuming guy when you met him briefly, but being here with people who knew him, it felt like I was unsheathing his layers of camouflage that he hid so well. When placed in situations that threatened his peace, those very layers that made him seem so vulnerable seem to peel back, one by one… and there he was, right in front of me. This fierce and powerful guy who had a presence that I hadn’t ever anticipated.

And in retrospect, I suppose what he was trying to say back when he lent me his lighter, was that he was an absolute animal, and there was no other way to put it. Zubair was a force of nature, a raging beast in sheep’s skin that I got to know about when I least expected it.

And that’s when I came to realise, that no matter what, my Lord was always watching out for me. Even when I thought I had no one, what had actually happened was divinely inspired, and the fact that Allah Ta’ala had sent this warrior into my midst exactly when I needed was something that I could never undermine.

He was the epitome of tact, the perfect blend of domineering power and grace, even in the most extreme situations. His words cut through the air like a sword, short but to the point, and I could only imagine that he had probably sat in many meetings of this type before, probably in his previous life.

And to tell the truth, I had been really worried about this meeting. It had kept me awake and gave me nightmares in whichever way was simultaneously possible, but somehow, Hashim agreed to my demands with little resistance, and although I was open to letting their family see Zaid and visit him, for them to take him, even for short periods, was another story.

I knew that I couldn’t allow that without talking to Mohsina. I also knew that the chat with her about all this was overdue, but after a long and heated conversation that eventually ended in Hashim and I parting ways for that day just before Jumuah salaah because Imraan wouldn’t allow it to go further, I could finally breathe easily.

I looked at my phone for a minute, seeing Mohsina’s messages, but not knowing how to explain it to her… I knew that we would have to figure this out properly, and I was going to take my time in doing so.

What I didn’t expect, as I left, was for Rabia to be waiting next to the car, bags already packed and ready to leave with me. By any standards, it was inappropriate, but explaining to Rabia would be catastrophic.

Imraan had given me a pitiful look as he saw it, because he knew that there was no way that I could say no to my sister.

It was a complete crusher of my plans. I had hopes of getting to know more about Zubair on the way home, after what had happened today. I wanted to know how his reputation preceded him, even when he wasn’t in that kind of circle anymore. I had so much that I wanted to ask him, but with Rabia making herself a new passenger, it would be impossible.

And I knew that I could have said no, but having  my sister upset wasn’t something that I was prepared to deal with.

Keeping the peace was something that was somewhat of a weakness, at the most inappropriate times. To speak to Rabia and get her to understand that it was hardly appropriate was something I wasn’t prepared to do. She was a grown woman with a mind that I barely understood, and frankly, I didn’t want to start an argument right then.

I knew that I had agreed to keep her and Mohsina apart but I couldn’t shut her out completely. She was also entitled to see Zaid, even if it was for a little while. That would be the plan.

It was a semi-silent ride back home with Rabia in the back, and Zubair sleeping with one eye open, as I supposed ex-assassins would do. And as I dropped him at the front of the house, getting off to thank him profusely, I could see that he was rushing to get back on the job again.

The guy was really something else. An assassin with the most powerful abilities and presence, and yet there he was, working in a humble coffee shop and serving people as if there was nothing else in the world he would rather do.

It opened my eyes to so much.
Made me believe that even when there’s no hope, even those who are stuck in the dingiest corners of darkness, still find the truth of light, and find beauty in simplicity. That even with misplaced visions, and mistaken missions, a way out is never far off.

Sometimes all it takes was a little bit of submission, to see the bigger and brighter picture…

And while I drove, all caught up my thoughts about Zubair and the mysteries surrounding him, I barely even realised that i had entered our apartment parking lot. I felt myself mentally switch off as I reached my parking spot, anxious to see Mos and Zaid again, somehow feeling like it had been eternity since that morning.

All I wanted to do right then was forget about the issues, the drawn-out day and be with my family, and as Rabia piped up from the back, I almost jumped in my seat. She had been sitting on her phone from the time we left and with the silence from the backseat, I had even forgotten that she was there.

“Don’t forget to take my bag out,” she demanded, tucking her phone away as she stepped onto the staircase as if on some mission, and I gave her a confused look as I wondered why she would need her bag. She had mentioned that she wanted to see Zaid and I was planning on dropping her back at the house after Esha.

“Your bag?” I asked, a little bit hesitantly, because I didn’t want to cause a huge argument here in the parking lot.

“Duh,” she said, turning back to look at me with an irate look. “My PJs and clothes for tomorrow are in there. I doubt Mohsina will lend me any of hers.”

She grinned slyly and I swallowed nervously. I was in a bit of a fix. On the one hand, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and on the other hand, I knew that her and Mohsina in one flat would probably not be a good idea.

I had left Mohsina that morning with so much hanging. I hadn’t explained a thing to her, and coming back here with Rabia… well, I wasn’t sure how it would all go down…

“I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour,” she said, her lip pouted sympathetically as she looked back at me with wide eyes.

I couldn’t say no. With my sister, she always brought me to a point of painful submission,

And the worst mistake I made that day , as I pulled out her suitcase and trudged up the staircase, was believing her.

---

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

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