When Things head South

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 88

I truly believe that everything that happens has a deep and phenomenal reason behind it.

Life can be really hard. Confusing. Difficult too. Things do head south, every now and then. At times Allah Ta’ala is appeasing us. At times, Allah Ta’ala is testing us.

At other times, what our loving and caring Rabb is doing is paving a path for us to find our way back to him, even if it means having to stumble hopelessly along the way.

You see… the harder we chase this world, the more it will escape you.

People will hurt you, more so the ones you love the most.
You will search for peace and contentment.  You attach yourself to friends thinking your happiness is there… until you lose them.
You’ll get married hoping you’ll find it in companionship… till the point when you find out you’re wrong.

You’ll look for happiness in places where you’ll never find it. You’ll search for it in your children and still… nothing. So you’ll try harder. Search deeper. Seek it more fervently. You’ll try to bury yourself in material things with the hope of satiating yourself but still, it never comes.
And if it does, it’s only just for now… just  temporary. 

Have you noticed how any gratification you feel in this Dunya is so short lived?

The people we love will return to Allah, our children grow up and have their own lives, material happiness will never bring you and peace and the people that are dearest to you will hurt you, leaving you feeling deceived and broken… leaving you wondering when this hoax that’s called Duniyaa will end and reveal its true colours.

I scanned the article that I was skimming my slightly shaky fingers again. Things were heading south. One of the pages on the business news site I had been stalking for a month was looking at me like the most treacherous traitor.
This wasn’t good.

Not a single word about Mohsina, and Zubair was basically awol the entire month to drill about it. I knew that it wasn’t intentional and he was busy with Ramadhaan, but I really wanted to throw my phone against the wall until it smashed to millions of pieces.

“Hey grumpy!” My sister cooed, walking into the lounge as I glared at her without feeling. Sans feeling because I knew that if I felt anything at all, it wouldn’t be good news for anyone in my vicinity. As usual, her phone was attached to her hand as she froze, hand stretched out, and slanted her face to take a selfie.

The whole process just got me. I had seen it before Mohsina and I had gotten proposed. Watched her, my future fiancé at the time, countless times, put on those pouty lips, play with filters, and once, even try and drag me into that crap. Once, she had a fan girl who spotted her at our coffee shop where we used to meet, who was obsessed with having a selfie with her.
It was a sick obsession.

Selfitis.  “The obsessive, compulsive urge to take photos of one’s self and upload them on social media.” For Rabia- ‘attention seekers’. This mental disorder was named ‘selfitis’ as the people who suffer from it are generally prone to having ‘inflamed egos.’

I had read somewhere that plastic surgeons reported an uptick in the number of people asking for facial reconstruction solely because they are not happy with the way they look in selfies. I wondered how Rabia felt about that.

I watched her snap herself a few times, smile to something on her phone, and then look up at me as if I should be proud of her.

Besides being annoyed with her self-obsession, something had shifted in the air between us a few weeks back and I wasn’t entirely sure of what it was. Maybe it was the fact that Mohsina had alluded to… that Rabia was involved with the downfall of my marriage. Maybe it was the mere thought that she had been pretty scarce, despite being previously crazy about Zaid, and now, she was extremely elusive. It was almost as if something (or someone) was keeping her so busy that she couldn’t even just be who she usually was.

“You talking to me?”

My voice was cutting as I said it, really now remotely interested in whether I was being rude or not. I reached for my Qur’ān, knowing that it was the only thing that was going to bring me any peace. When everyone else had left me, when the pains of the world seemed to tire me, and when life just seemed to grate on my nerves…. Qur’ān was the only thing that soothed me. Today, I was just finding it hard to get down to it.

Rabia rolled her eyes as I ignored her, unaffected.

“Duh,” she said, her face an expression of disinterest. “You can’t sit here on your butt the whole morning, just because Zaid isn’t here. Wake your case up. We’re also here you know, and we’re also family.”

I sighed, shaking my head as I realised that she may have been right. I was softening up. Blaming her because of what Mohsina had said.

It wasn’t fair that I was taking this all out on her. There was no way Rabia would have been involved in everything that went down in my marriage. I didn’t lose sight of the fact that Mohsina had lied and pretended and it didn’t mean that Rabia too, was guilty.

I sighed and sat up, propping my hands over my knees as I watched my sister walk away. She seemed carefree. A little too dressed up, for a quiet breakfast with just my parents, but it was Eid day after all.

I sighed as I sat back on the couch, putting my Qur’ān away without reading it, missing my brother than morning. He had gone to his sister-in-law for breakfast because they would be spending the rest of the day with us, and I was looking forward to his company later. I mean, I didn’t have much else to look forward to. Imraan was the closest thing I had to a best friend now, and he always made time for me, despite his work and Jamaat work.

I didn’t even realise that I had drifted off into a half-slumber, having had an early morning, and trying to catch up on some sleep before family would join us in all their glory. When the doorbell rang, I was immediately jolted awake, and without even realising what I was doing, I knew that I wanted to get to the door before anyone else did.

I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was the tiredness. Or maybe it was the yearning, after over a month of not seeing her. The last day we had spent together was still etched in my mind, as I recalled the feelings that accompanied it, wondering how we had morphed into enemies in such a short span of time.

The fact was that even though I hated what she’d done to me, I was aching to see her. She was still my wife, and some feelings were hard to change.

I was well aware that Zaid was scheduled to be back anytime now. My mother had made sure of that, knowing that I would hit the roof if I didn’t have Zaid here for lunch and supper, because as far as custody went, he was supposed to be with me.

Mohsina was obligated to fulfil my request, or she knew that she had another court battle to face. I knew that she didn’t want that, and I knew that she would do anything to avoid clashing with me in.

My legs were already pulling me toward the door, before I heard my mother coming from down the passage, and I yanked it open, barely even thinking properly before I glimpsed her grim face.

It had been a long time. A long time since I’d seen my wife, who simultaneously looked so angelic, yet completely objectionable at the same time. Seeing her felt like my heart was filled again, and then immediately cracked open in a beat.

She stood there, our son on her hip, her one hand holding him, while the other cupped over her mouth while she glanced and me with wide eyes, literally dumped Zaid into my arms, dropped the bag at the door and pushed past me as she rushed down the passage to the first door on the left.

Bathroom.

I was too stunned to speak.

Also, I felt like an obsessed freak as I savoured the brush of her shoulder against mine, wondering at what point I had gotten to this level where I craved her simple touch.

It took me a few seconds to recover. With Mohsina’s health-freak (only regarding Zaid) eating habits, his mouth was stuffed with a piece of dry mango, and I looked around outside, wondering how come she hadn’t brought the nanny/helper with her today. It had been a new development of hers, before I had moved out, because she had expected office visits to take up her time with Zaid, and she didn’t want it to upset her time with her court cases.

My mother was already at the front room, and I could already see her confused expression as she watched me standing there, at the door, probably wondering why on earth I had decided to answer it. I had been in Mujaahid mode from the beginning of Ramadhaan,

I couldn’t stop thinking about her rush to get to the bathroom, and as my ears attuned to the not-so-subtle retching behind closed doors, I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows, wondering what on earth my wife was doing, driving around by herself when she was clearly unwell.

And then, came the anger.

What on earth was wrong with her? She could have phoned for someone to fetch him at least. Why the hell did she always have to prove something, over and over again, as if she was some superwoman?

“Everything okay?”

My mothers voice was softer as she ventured closer, her eyes on the closed door next to us.

Zaid’s arms stretched out toward her as she approached, his monosyllabic expressions cuter than ever. As he grew, learned to speak and wobbble around, he was begiining to become irresistable to every woman who saw him. A simple trip to the grocery store wit him warranted way too many female interactions. I still, for the life of me, could not understand how my dear wife had just abandoned him without a fight.

I grunted in response to my mothers question, my expression showing very obviously how not okay everything was.

I wasn’t supposed to be doing this. I didn’t want to be here, worrying about Mohsina and what could possibly be wrong with her. I didn’t want to have this deep-rooted concern that made me feel as if I’d give up everything and anything to just have a normal conversation with her again.

The sound of the toilet flushing brought me back to reality as I looked at my mother walking toward the window, knowing that she wanted to give Mohsina and I time to talk.

The truth was, as much as I wanted to scratch the itch I had to see her, to engage in actual conversation with her was a little bit of a stretch. The thing with my mother was that she never took sides. She remained annoyingly neutral throughoutb the entire ordeal, and evn though I know that I didn’t tell her the full story, I still expected loyalty from her at least.

“So sorry,” Mohsina almost coughed, her breathing slightly labored as she pulled the door behind her, and I automatically took a step away, toward the lounge entrance. My mother turned from where she was at the window and smiled at her.  “I think it was the something I ate. Can I fetch him tomorrow morning. It’s been a while since he’s been home and Jameela really wanted to spend time with him…”

She was addressing my mother, but her voice was loud enough for me to hear, and I knew it was her intention.

I wanted to respond, but I knew that speaking would only make Mohsina feel like she’d won one of the the silent battles we were fighting. I was being immature and petty but I couldn’t help it.

I was already in the lounge again as they spoke, deliberately drowning out the words that they were saying, before I finally heard the two of them greet and the front door close. I breathed out a huge sigh of relief as I realized that she had finally left, wanting to get Zaid, but realizing as soon as I stepped out that he had fallen asleep on my mother’s shoulder while the two of them were chatting.

“She looked lovely,” my mother said, her expression wistful as she entered the lounge and placed Zaid on the couch there. “Lost even more weight too. I hope she is taking care of herslf.”

Why? I wanted to ask. Why must she hope for good things for Mohsina when she had made me feel like this? 

My mother was one of those rare gems who thrived through every situation. Always looked for the best. Ignored the bad. Accepted the flaws. Never read into anything. She took everything at face value and she never bothered with any of the usual gossip that went around.

Honestly, my mother was one of the few people I knew who actually had the gift of amazing character, and Ramadhaan had done wonders to her, making her the sort of person who saw no wrong in anything, and wanted to hear nothing either.

Also, my bitterness was out of control that day, after a month. It was as if Shaytaan had been injected into my veins, and was running circuits all around my blood stream. My heart was already rusting, and it was only a day after Ramadhaan.

I took a deep breath in, trying to understand that all my mother wanted fro me was the best. She wanted us to patch things up. She wanted to believe that this would all blow over. She hoped and believed that there was a way out here.

“Ma, stop emotionally blackmailing him.”

I didn’t even notice Rabia entering the room, but I immediately turned to glare at her, as my mother frowned, picking up Zaid to take him to another room. Rabia was always loud. I didn’t exactly want him to wake up right then.

Honestly, it was as if no matter what anyone said, nothing was good enough. Even I could admit it to myslef, and my twin sister was one step ahead.

“Oh, get over yourself, Hamzah,” she snapped, her voice sounding exasperated as she plopped herself on the couch next to me. “It’s no use reading all that Qur’ān and acting all pious when you can’t even treat people with dignity. I think you need to stop moping and go somewhere to calm yourself down. What about the ijtima? I’ll look after Zaid. Teach him how to walk properly.”

I wanted to tell her that he had a mother, but I didn’t want to bring Mohsina up right then. Also, I hated when people say that. It’s no use acting pious when blah blah blah.

Also,  you know… even though she may have had a point about attending the ijtima, I was bitter.

And she may have an idea. I needed to do something for myself. I felt like a mother hen who was always worrying about her child.

I scowled.

“You know,” she said, scrunching up her face and looking thoughtful. “I was watching this one documentary about a guy who was going through all these emotional issues and they couldn’t figure what on earth was wrong with him. Eventually, after doing scans, they realised that there was a worm in his brain that was eating all his happy hormones.”

”You need to stop watching junk,” I deadpanned, knowing that Rabia watched Netflix sometimes till late hours at night.

I had caught her a few times when I was trying to make Zaid sleep, because she would laugh so loud that I had to tell her to calm down. Ramadhaan was no exception for her.

I wasn’t judging. I just didn’t know what had happened to the pious, good-girl persona that she had always played the part of.

“Maybe you have a worm eating all your good stuff,” she said with a smirk. “And as for those dumb things I like to watch… your ex-wife had also been pretty obsessed with them at one point.”

My ex-wife.

She was playing dirty and I knew it. I decided to ignore her. For one, Mohsina and I were not actually divorced. We had signed a paper for business reasons, and that was it. For two, if we had to speak about our sins, I knew that I had way more than them both.

Keeping quiet here was the best solution. I knew the deal. If you desire that Allah conceals you on the day of Qiyaamah, then the tongue must be controlled.

The matter of concealing the faults of others is mentioned in numerous hadith of the Prophet, peace and blessings of Allah be upon him. In particular, we find the following:

“O gathering who believe with their tongues but faith has yet to enter into their hearts, do not backbite the Muslims. And do not search into their private matters. Whoever searches for their private matters will have Allah follow up his private matters. And whose private matters Allah follows, He will expose him even [if his act were done] in his house.” (Recorded in Ahmad and Abu Dawood)

After Ramadhaan, it was just that much easier to fall into that trap of saying something bad. Of losing control of the tongue. It was like the filter on our mouths immediately get removed.

”Did she come to leave Zaid,” Rabia pressed, not getting the message, her eyes scanning my face as she tapped on her phone intermittently. “Did you see her? Or did mummy open? Did you talk?”

I found it strange that she knew that Mohsina was here yet she always avoided her. Once again. I wondered if there was any truth in Mohsina’s statement when we had our bust up.

My mother had returned to the room, but she looked extremely deep in thought, opening the curtains and fluffing up cushions for the visitors. I took a cushion as she passed and covered my head with it. Let her answer her.

”Hey.”

She had poked me in the ribs as she said it, and I knew that I would probably snap if she didn’t go away. I needed some sleep so I could deal with the day ahead in the best possible frame of mind, and Rabia was testing my patience.

“Mum!” She almost shouted to my mother. “He’s ignoring me!  Did you open for Mohsina? What was she wearing? I see she bought Zaid his cutie outfit! Are they wearing the same colour?! Is she coming back to take him?”

Way too many questions. And way too loud. And why on earth was she so invested in my wife? 

”She came,” my mother said, sounding faint through the pillow. “She and Zaid were matching. She said she wants to take him tomorrow if Hamzah agrees. She hasn’t been taking him previously. She didn’t seem… well.”

”What do you mean?” Rabia asked, and I knew that my mother had her full attention now.

I wasn’t sure what was Rabia’s obsession with Mohsina but I really didn’t appreciate it, seeing how everything went down.

“Sick,” my mother said briefly, probably realising that mentioning that was unnecessary. “She mentioned that it was something she ate. Anyway, I think that her family really enjoyed Zaid. It’s been over a month that they saw him…”

”What do you mean it was something she ate?” Rabia asked, suddenly fixated on her condition. “Did she have like… morning sickness?!”

Trust Rabia to spot the elephant in the room.

The moment she said it, my mother cleared her throat, and I was already too intrigued not to look at her expression.

Yes. Okay. For one (hopeful) moment, I had thought the same as I heard her retching in the bathroom, but I didn’t dare say it loud.

Morning sickness.

That would mean a baby. But that would also mean that Mohsina was in a space where she wanted to fall pregnant in the first place, which was never true. Those things weren’t in our hands but in our short history of bliss, she had been pretty well prepared and made sure she did everything to prevent it.

She had always been on the pill, even before we had gotten married. Not my choice. Probably something to do with Faadil that I didn’t want to think about. I mean, the thought of littel Faadil scared me too. She was insistent on changing the type and not stopping when she started breastfeeding, but she had made me understand why we didn’t want our own kids right then.

Actually, Mohsina had pretty much forced me to agree. She said that it made sense, with Zaid and all the emotional baggage.

My mother was glancing wearily from me to Rabia, but I shook my head, saying that it wasn’t possible and dismissing the idea.

If she was, she would have known by now, and she would have used her situation to at least evoke some compassion from me, because I gave her none, which she didn’t.

“Well, if she’s trying to play some game by making you think that, then that’s really low,” Rabia scoffed, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I mean, how desperate can she be?”

I blinked. Low?

Mohsina didn’t strike me as the desperate type. Seeing her crying for the first time had made me realise how self-sufficient she had always been. Also, she had no way of knowing that I was going to answer the door before she decided to puke her guys out.

”Rabia,” my mother said in a warning tone. “She herself said it was something she ate. Can you please go and do something more productive like take out the salad things for lunch. We have five trays to make. I need to talk to Hamzah.”

Surprisingly, Rabia sighed and rolled her eyes, stalking to the kitchen while my mother hovered over me.

“You sure there’s no possibility that there’s a baby on the way?”

Her voice was soft and hopeful, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment as I heard her.

Mohsina would probably rather die than have my baby right now.

I shook my head.

No hope. At all. i didn’t want to give my mother a false sense of assurance because I was done with hope for that day.

As much as I tried to be hopeful for us all, I knew that my hope wasn’t going to pull me through. I was in a bad space, now, more than ever. I just needed to pull myself out of this situation. Be more positive. Believe that hope, really, never is a mistake.

And I wasn’t sure how it was going to happen. All I was doing was waiting for that day to be over.

And it was getting there slowly. Seeing my grandparents and aunties soothed my spirit to a certain extent. Being spoilt by them made me forget about the gaping hole in my life. When family surrounded you, it was easy to feeling a little more secure… a little less lonely… and a little more loved. Alhumdulillah.

Lunch had just been served and everyone was already tucking in, grateful for family, love and just being together on this blessed day. Zaid was with Saaliha, who was almost back to her normal self and was even more crazy about him than before, and the day was soon coming to a close.

No-one anticipated the knock on the door at that time. No-one anticipated the chain of events that would follow, because when the bell rang, no one anticipated that things would go all the way down the way they would.

There was a feeling in the air that day, and I wasn’t quite sure whether it meant that things would get better or whether they would go south. What I didn’t even think about was that things could still go south, before getting better.

Sometimes it was hard to see the light that was shining way in the distance.

When the buzzer rang, no one really knew the direction things were headed, but what unfolded was something that lit a path to a truth that was long overdue to be exposed …

---

Mission Sunnah revival: Sunnah of Duaa

Let’s try and keep to the Sunnah of duaa, even after Ramadhan. 🤍

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

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

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

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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Tugs of War

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 87

Saaliha

I’m always amazed at the statement of Hassan Al Basri (rahmatullahi Alaihi) that says that the Hafidh of the Qur’ān is not just preserving the Qur’ān through his Hifdh. Rather, it is the Qur’ān that is preserving him/her.

The thing is, I’ve realised that the more we surround ourselves with Qur’ān, the more we absorb, the more we immerse ourselves in its recitation and memorisation, the more Allah protects and preserves us through the Qur’ān.

And it was always true. Whichever time of the year it is. Whichever season of our lives we are in.

It’s just that, it’s only during the beautiful month of Ramadhaan that the full effect is felt, where the reading is so intense that the heart is polished, where the one reciting abundant Qur’ān can actually feel the presence of the angels surrounding, protecting and walking alongside the one who is spending their days in the company of the Book. It is no surprise that- due to this very fact- they find their lives blossoming, their affairs being taken care of, their illnesses being removed, and their hearts contented…

And I had seen the effects. From the erratic and somewhat unsettled frame of mind that Imraan and Hamzah had been in, at the onset of Ramadhaan, the past week had been bliss.

Somehow, during Ramadhaan, everything gets put on hold. Somehow, the heart just has a natural affinity to goodness.

And I was trying to maintain the peace. To keep up with the feeling of ignorant bliss, and put reality on standby. I was at a tug of war, battling with myself, trying to figure out whether keeping the peace despite figuring whether the lurking feeling in my gut was worth the guilt that accompanied me when I went to sleep at night.

I had been existing in a world where I hoped that Rabia’s involvement in Hamzah’s marital life was just a figment of my imagination, but the more I left it, the more I couldn’t help but feel that what I was doing, by being silent thus far, was injustice.

The messages I had sent Mohsina weeks ago, just before she and Hamzah separated, were unanswered. It was the day after her sister’s wedding when I sent the first one, hoping that the timing was better for her to actually process what I was about to let her in on.

I had sent the message thinking that this was just a little bit of a strange coincidence that Rabia was talking to the boss who had the case going on regarding Mohsina.

Assalamualaikum. Hope you guys are having a good day away. ❤️

Didn’t want to trouble you the week of Jameela’s wedding… but now that it’s over, I really do need to speak to you when you have a chance. 

I had been lying on the couch at my mother-in-laws house, basking in the glory of being post first trimester. The dull ache in my tummy hadn’t alarmed me in the slightest. Once I had reached the twelve week mark, I had breathed out a huge proverbial breath and started living normally.

Taqdeer, I supposed. Allah Ta’ala’s will. I was a broken soul, pleading for a change. Duaa could change taqdeer, and I so badly wanted it to change mine. This baby I had waited eight years for, oh how badly I just wanted it to remain on its safe place.

My life was at a standstill as the dull ache transformed into a fully blown pain that accompanied a mass of blood that caused Imraan to rush me to casualty.

Stay with me, I pleaded with myself, with the baby, l willing the blood to stop, as I wondered how on earth this could have happened.

I was broken, inside and out. All I could think of was how this could have happened when I thought I was so safe.

But I wasn’t. I thought that I was okay, but sometimes, things happen on life that make us realise just how little control we have. Sometimes situations wake us up to the reality of how little we are, and how big Allah Ta’ala really is. It was straight after the doctor came in to give us the news that I was okay to go home after the procedure had been done, when the news of the separation came from Imraan. The ache that came with the loss of a baby was suddenly accompanied by a much more painful type of grief, and I could barely believe that all of this was happening at once.

Indeed, a reminder that to Allah we belong and to Him is our return.

Understanding that was easier said than done, because I was shattered at the losses. It had thrown me off course for a while.

Everything felt so much more grim, thinking of the baby and trying to process how things had flown so far off course, so fast.

And then came Ramadhaan, with its beautiful aroma… a feeling so sweet and consuming… and a desire to attain as much as one possibly can through its beauty… and as I sunk myself in its glory, I wasn’t sure how I was going to ever say goodbye.

And it soothed my heart and brought tears to my eyes, as I thought of the magic that had inspired so much of goodness, but as it happens, often, we need that reminder to get back on track. A reminder that Allah is always appreciative, loving, and on the lookout for us, even when we aren’t even giving that much.

With the onset of Ramdadhaan, along came the relived devastation of the first year that passed since Liyaket’s and Layyanah’s death, and the destruction of everything else that lingered as well. For me, Ramadhaan started off on a note where I couldn’t perform all my ibaadat, and it was dispiriting. I didn’t know how to approach the separation that ensued , because there were so many emotions and opinions.

But still. My conscience couldn’t let it be, and so, I messaged again, because I really didn’t want to be the one person who could have saved a situation when I didn’t.

Mohsina. I’m so sorry to hear about what happened. I don’t know what the right thing to say is, but please know that I’m here for you, whatever you need. I still do need to talk to you, and it’s really urgent. Please contact me whenever you can.

That message also remained unanswered and so did the two calls I placed to her after.

I sighed in defeat, and decided to let it go.

I got that she didn’t want to talk. I wasn’t offended. I understood that she was going through a lot, and probably trifling with a court case as well.

Time had gone so fast. The month was in the latter part already, and I could barely believe that Eid was less than ten days away.

Imraan had yet to finish his Qur’ān where he was reading taraweeh, but I had heard him say that Hamzah was done the day before and I hoped that it meant that I would see my little pumpkin pie before the month was over. He had already turned a year and I knew that besides talking in his very own overloaded cuteness of a language, everyone was waiting for him to take his first steps.

I wondered how Mohsina felt about it, knowing that she would probably miss out on that amazing milestone.

“Is Hamzah coming for the weekend?”

I had to ask.

Ever since Imraan stopped telling me what was going on two weeks ago, because he insisted that I should be resting, and not stressing, I had felt an innate desire to know more. I needed to.

“I’m not sure,” Imraan said, glancing at me for a minute as he was looked pensive.

”Anything else in the news?” I asked, feeling my heart sink to my toes as I remembered the first article that had literally rocked our household.

It had broken so much more than our hearts. Mohsina’s silence after was very much evidence of the fact that she wanted nothing to do with Hamzah’s family either. I hated to think that she felt that way about me, but the sore fact was that right now, there were sides.

Sides that people were choosing, and for me even suggest that I was on anyone’s side besides Hamzah’s, would be ludicrous.

The thing is, I wasn’t on anyone’s side.

I didn’t judge her. I knew that she had hurt Hamzah for him to react the way he did… but I knew Hamzah too. He had probably hurt her back, in a different way, and she was recovering from the pain, probably trying to shield herself from everything that had gone down and was still going down.

Most of all, I knew something that no one else knew. Things about Rabia and everything that she was supposedly capable of. That was the main thing that kept me from jumping to any conclusions.

Three more articles had been released during the course of the month that followed the first, and while Hamzah and Mohsina had further retreated into their own separate worlds, we had very obviously noticed the absence of her name in the third and fourth article.

There was no follow up on her story. No conclusion to what charges she faced. It was as if she hadn’t even been mentioned in the first place. The only information we got was through Mohsina’s sister who sometimes messaged to check on Zaid, and that too, was dwindling.

“You think she’s winning?” I asked Imraan, hopeful as I put my phone down. “They look like they dropped charges.”

Imraan shook his head, sighing, looking a little bit upset about the prospect.

“But this- the latest article- it’s good, isn’t it?”

I was talking about the lack of information regarding her. Keeping a low profile was better than her name being plastered all over the headlines.

“I‘m not sure,” Imraan said, rubbing his forehead vigorously, still reading his phone. “Todays… Whoever is giving information now… or the journalist following this story is purposely not including her name anymore which is also weird. It may mean that she’s probably meeting their demands, and I don’t think that Hamzah wants to know what those are.”

I sighed. Sometimes no news isn’t always good news.

I stayed silent as I watched Imraan take out his Qur’ān, glad that I could also retreat into the same space now.

After the miscarriage, I had been feeling on both a spiritual and emotional low. Not being able to read Qur’ān was the hardest for me, especially when I felt that it was the only thing that could lift me up. Losing the baby was heartbreaking, but finding out that Hamzah and Mohsina had split was just as devastating.

Mohsina wasn’t replying to messages, Hamzah was gone awol and Rabia had conveniently stayed in Jo’burg without much reason for being absent.

I was feeling pretty useless, because there was nothing much that I could do from where I was. Hearing that everything had just spiralled out of control still made my heart ache. Knowing that there was a sure motivation behind everything that had gone down, made me feel even worse, because from where I stood, it was only I who had power to do something yet I couldn’t do it.

“He won’t come because he doesn’t want Zaid to fall out of his new routine,” Imraan said with a shrug, after a few seconds, looking at me, before he opened his Qur’ān.

“Correction,” I said blandly, getting up to start in the kitchen, my mind already on what iftaar would entail that night. Uthman was already listing his ten different preferences and since he started fasting, I felt really bad not to accede to his wishes. “He won’t come because he doesn’t want to feel himself unwinding and slipping out of his own defence.”

Imraan gave me a wry grin but said nothing else as he returned to his reading, and Uthman went off to get ready for the masjid. The way our lives revolved around Qur’ān and Masjid (and food) in Ramadhaan made me feel so contented.

Still, for a second, I couldn’t help but feel a hint of sadness at the current situation where Ramadhaan was definitely not as peaceful for others. Where Hamzah  was quick to trust and give his heart away, he was just as quick in hardening up and shutting people off.

Problem was, he had done it with everyone and they allowed him to bask in his own solitude. My in laws (save Rabia) were a family who didn’t like confrontation, and they purposely avoided all forms of it.

Honestly, I wanted to strangle Rabia, but being in recovery after losing the baby had been good for me in that way. It kept me at bay for now.

I had spent a good few days trying to prove whether Rabia really was involved in what I thought she was and though my gut told me that she was, there was no way that I could really prove it without actually having her devices.

And then, a mere two days before Eid, when the hearts were very much rested and contented, and it felt as if I never wanted to return to the normal world, as I knew it, once again, came the message from Mohsina.

Wslm. Saaliha. I hope that you are well. Sorry… I just couldn’t find the words to respond to you when you messaged. I didn’t even know that you lost the baby. No-one told me at the time. Too much has been going on, and I feel so selfish for not checking in. I miss you guys. Zaid has finally settled with his new routine. Eid is going to be really hard this year. Please, just keep me in your Duaas.

Eid. I had barely been thinking about what it all meant. We would be heading back to Johannesburg for the first time in weeks and it was the first time I would be facing the reality head on.

It was also the first time that Hamzah and Mohsina‘s separation would be most palpable, and a sinking feeling in my tummy accompanied that realisation. I wondered if they’d planned meals and who would be taking him for which part of the day. The entire thing was unsettling me. All I wanted to do was fix it all up once I got there. Somehow, my heart was at a war with itself. I wasn’t sure what I needed to do … but I knew that I wanted everything to go back to the way it was. I knew that I had to give her something to hold onto.

I was quick to reply.

Always. I still need to speak to you. I hope that you will understand why I’ve waited so long to do this. It’s about Rabia. I didn’t want to bring it up but I think she may be up to something suspicions. 

I didn’t want to make accusations but from what I had seen, I knew that there was some interference in Mohsina’s life. I wasn’t sure whether to call and tell her the full truth. I was afraid that she wouldn’t reply and shut me out.

Her response, to my delight, came a few minutes later.

I know Rabia has been conversing with my old boss, but it doesn’t matter. Hamzah won’t believe a thing I say anyway, especially where it concerns her. I appreciate your concern, but it’s never going to make a difference to him. He doesn’t trust me. We are too far gone right now.

My heart clenched painfully at her words.

She was so hopeless. Grieving at her loss. Devastated by the outcome.

But I was extremely hopeful.

I couldn’t let their marriage take the toll here, not if what I knew about Rabia really had something to do with this. I couldn’t let this deteriorate if there was a thread we could hang onto here. I wanted to fix this by any means possible, but I didn’t want this to erupt into a big issue either. Not when Ramadhaan had been so beautiful and peaceful.

I wasn’t sure how I would feel, having to deal with Rabia the next day. Seeing Zaid and Hamzah again would also be a new feeling for me. I felt disgusted at Rabia and upset at Hamzah for being so blind, and the worst part was that I couldn’t tell Imraan, because I knew that he would try and make an excuse for his sister too.

All I knew was that if I didn’t do anything, my own heart would explode with the conflicting emotions it held.

I just wanted everything to be okay, but it felt like my heart was being crushed by the way everything was falling apart.

It seemed like the peace that Ramadhaans came with passed us in a flash. Like a breeze of hope and forgiveness, a fortifying presence that was meant to shield and protect us from ourselves, it had just slipped out of our grasp.

I was grappling to hang onto those threads, but from being secluded the whole month; and suddenly, overwhelmed with so much of company, food and abundance on Eid day, the peace was somewhat lost.

Since lunch and supper with my in laws was a thing, seeing Fareeha at breakfast was meant to be a diversion.

Now with Fareeha, I knew that I didn’t stand a chance at peace. The least I hoped for was some subtle entertainment. What I didn’t I would get, was her relentless hounding.

The minute we were alone, Fareeha would immediately start probing me about Rabia, and knowing that I had tried so hard to avoid these kind of talks that Ramadhaan, I found myself avoiding the conversation completely.

“So how’s your sister-in-law?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows as she packed away some breakfast kebabs.

It had been ages since we spent Eid breakfast together. From the time I’d been married, we usually spent supper together, but that year had been a small change up.

It was a peaceful and bubbly affair, with both Fareeha and Aadil talking nineteen-to-the-dozen throughout the meal. They really were one of a kind.

“She’s good,” I said blandly, not wanting to get into a talk that would get me saying bad things and cause me to gossip.

I was at a tug of war with myself, deciding between whether to say something or nothing at all.

It was amazing how we went the whole month without talking about the things we weren’t supposed to, and one conversation on Eid day could spoil all the effort we made throughout the month.

Fareeha had this annoying look on her face, and it was only then when her motives for asking clicked.

And honestly, I wished that Aadil would just hurry up and take his second wife, so Fareeha would stop coming back to this.

Maulana Aadil was one of those guys who were cool and pretty easy going with most things, and although he easily entertained Fareeha’s very creative imagination sometimes just to humour her, it didn’t always work out best for me, because Fareeha had a way of working on my very neurotic nerves.

After the miscarriage, the thoughts that haunted me were back, and I really just wanted to avoid her conversation.

If it wasn’t for her second wife theories, it was her constant blabbering on about what she needed to do to make sure her online presence was more felt this year, because she had started some sort of special page for women with a code name for herself, who were second wives and she really wanted to get a feel of the whole thing.

I sighed and looked at her, raising my eyebrows.

“Don’t count on my sister-in-law if you want an addition to your family,” I shot back firmly. “She’s not exactly an option at the moment.”

Fareeha giggled, but I just raised my eyebrows at her, because I knew that any encouragement whatsoever would get Fareeha bursting with excitement and ridiculous ideas.

Her face suddenly turned serious, as she watched me, but I remained rigid in my stance.

“Okay, shoot,” she said, cocking her head to one side. “Tell me what’s going on. I can’t bear this sombreness from you.”

And that was all it took to spill it all out, without even thinking about what the consequences thereof could be.

On Eid day, it was as if I could feel the Shayateen running through the veins, and even trying to be quiet was that much harder.

I wanted to kick myself.

”Oh. Emm. Gee,” Fareeha said when I was done, her eyes widened as I related the story of how I saw the messages, then did some of my own snooping to figure out who they were from- and I did. “And you haven’t told anyone about this the entire month?”

I shook my head, feeling slightly ashamed- about a few things.

”You cannot tell anyone,” I said firmly, my voice dropping as voices approached the kitchen. “This is an absolute secret. Please Far.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, and then shook her head.

“I can’t believe you,” she said, her eyes getting wide again, as she digested what I had told her. “Do you know what this can do? Do you know how much you could have avoided if you had told someone?! You telling me that you didn’t even tell Imraan?!?”

Her voice was getting louder with every question and I wanted to take one of the milk rolls that were lying on the table and gag her with it.

After telling her to zip her mouth, she was being absolutely crazy and ridiculous!

“Fareeha!” I said through gritted teeth, appalled at her. “Will you shut up?!”

“No!” She said, throwing her hands up on the air. “Sawls, you think you did a good thing by keeping this all hush hush but what if I told you that you didn’t?! What if you ruined someone’s marriage?!”

She was exaggerating. As always.

Fareeha, the Drama Queen of our household, making this bigger than it is.

“Fareeha, it’s not like that,” I insisted, rolling my eyes at her. “I didn’t even know that they separated.”

“But the information you have could have prevented it!” She said, her hands doing all sorts of insane gestures as she breathed heavily, and then started rubbing her temples in utter despair.

“Oh my goodness, Sawls… we have to do something. I can’t live like this… I just can’t!”

She was devastated. I kid you not. She was huffing and puffing, and pacing the kitchen like a mad woman.

You see, while Fareeha was a woman of action and reaction, my solutions were always a little more passive. I prayed for a solution, some relief for Imraan, who seemed to be feeling just as torn as Hamzah himself.

I could see it in his gestures, in his day-to-day dealings. He was worn and feeling hurt for his brother too. The two of them had a bond that made me feel inadequate at times.

And I wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew something had to be done.

I knew Duaa could do miracles. Sometimes it just took time. Fareeha didn’t quite believe that waiting that long would be the best thing.

”What exactly should I have done?”

“Nothing. I’m going to do what you should have done long time ago,” she said, a certain vindictive tone to her voice.

“No, Far,” I said breathlessly, shaking my head at her as she took out her phone. I was already reaching for if while she stretched out, away from me, typing something erratically. “Please no.”

I was sneaking around, trying to see what she was up to, but she was way too fast for me.

“Just tell me what you’re up to,” I pleaded, finally facing her, watching a sly grin form on her face. “Please don’t cause a scene on Eid day, Far, my in laws will kill me!”

She smirked as she tapped more buttons, an unsettling grin on her face. I couldn’t believe she was actually doing this.

“Relax,” she said after a few seconds of concealing her phone screen. “They won’t know it’s you. I’m very tactful in my art of exposing my investigative findings. This is much more strategic than you could ever think of.”

She was looking a little too  happy with herself for my liking, and I was just about the ask her exactly what to expect, because she was kind of scaring me right then.

“What did you do?” I said, my voice a little squeakier than normal right then. “What exactly is this going to prove?!”

I felt like I was at a tug of war with my sister, battling over the outcome… without even knowing how much of rope she had.

”Nothing,” she said with raised eyebrows. “Just watch and learn. This is going to unravel all by itself, and you won’t even have to do a thing!”

---

Assalamualaikum

Dearest readers.

My apologies for the slightly delayed post. I just wanted to hang onto the Ramadhan feeling a little longer. InshaAllah I will try and post more soon. Just wanted to bring to light the idea of trying to hold onto the control of our tongues a little longer… it really is the path to all peace.

I hope that everyone had a beautiful Ramadhan. I definitely enjoyed it immensely. May Allah make it easy for us to stay out of the sin we managed to avoid all these weeks. May He bless us with strength and resolve beyond our comprehension.

Duaas

Much Love

A x

Sunnah of Duaa

Let’s try and keep to the Sunnah of duaa, even after Ramadhan. 🤍

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

When we Buy some Time

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 76

Time.

“Your life comprises a few breaths that can be counted; when one of them is sent out, a part of your life has diminished.”

Once lost, it’s never found.

You never quite realise the value with it until you’re at war with it. Until it feels like you’ve lost your mind, and you’re running out of it.

Deadlines, cut-off times and final dates. It was all a matter of time, before the chances would be up. And it’s no wonder that Allah Ta’ala takes an oath by it, to declare its importance.

In Surah Asr, it’s started that the only way to escape loss is to take every moment of his life as valuable, and use it for the four acts mentioned in the Surah.

Imam Shafi’I (RA) says that if people thought about Surah Al-’Asr carefully, it would be enough for their guidance. It’s a concise but comprehensive Surah, which outlines a complete way of human life based on the Islamic perspective.

Not only that, it drives the fact that each moment goes by, every second, minute, hour or day of the passage of time is nothing but a sword that is slashing away at your life of this world, reminding me that my time was running out.

Reminding you that every thing you do in that time is going to determine what’s going to occur after time is up.

Fresh starts, thanks to the calendar- they happen every year. A reminder that theres a new beginning. A new chance to start.

Sometimes it’s just a simple nudge to put your past behind you and start over.

At that time of my life, when the year had begun, my heart was at war with itself. It felt too deeply. Hurt too much. And I couldn’t understand why I was going through this.

While my brother secretly celebrated the news of Saaliha’s pregnancy, which made me so happy for him, with the beginning of the new year for Mos and I, was a new feeling that felt like a cloud waiting to open its doors and let loose on us.

I sat gravely on the kitchen nook, glancing at the block whilst waiting for my wife to enter the kitchen again, my Qur’ān recital the only thing that could calm the storm that was brewing within me.

It was just what I needed to heal my own heart, and to right everything that had gone wrong.

It was just what I needed to remind of the war I was fighting for the greater good… to keep everything afloat.

“How was it?”

I closed my Qur’ān softly just after concluding the recital, glancing up at my wife as she walked from the room, wearing a light coloured modest dress as she repositioned Zaid’s feeding chair.

She had rushed to the room when she had gotten home from her day, and it was only after a few minutes when hearing  the droning of the breast pump, did I realise that it was the first time she had been away from Zaid for so long.

I couldn’t help but marvel at what an amazing mother she had become. It was the first time that she had left him since her resignation and though I really felt that I should have gone with her, Mohsina’s reason for keeping me out of it of made some sense.

Though I tried to fight her on it, I knew if I persisted it would just make her fight me more, and I didn’t need more of that. Already, her fingers were bare as she busied herself with Zaid, and I couldn’t help but feel gutted about it.

”You’re still here,” she said to me unhappily with Zaid perched contentedly  on her hip.

It wasn’t a question. It was a warning and a reprimand for me, but I ignored it.

And I wanted to kick myself because I hated that I agreed to her request of me leaving today. I hated the entire idea but with every passing day, Mohsina was pushing me further away, trying to keep me as far away from her as possible.

”I was waiting for you.”

I wasn’t afraid to say it. Maybe I was making this harder than it should have been. But maybe I was a little upset because of everything that had happened.

It wasn’t that I blamed Mohsina for the situation. I was just upset at how she was dealing with it.

Taking off work with the excuse of seeing to my wife’s law suit would raise bigger questions and we had bigger fish to fry right then. Instead we got Zaid a nanny and left them with Liyaket’s mother for a few hours, and since her day had taken longer than anticipated, I had fetched him on my way back from work.

Now it was time for me to leave, but I was only hoping that Mohsina would somehow have some good news or a change of heart, and things would go back to normal.

Somehow we could just pretend that the past two weeks never happened and things could go back to how we always knew it.

Every minute, every moment spent without my family as a single unit felt like some sort of torture.

I watched Mohsina shoot me a frown before tugging at her scarf before she walked across the room, barely looking at me.

I watched her as I wondered what had happened. Did she manage to get them to settle? Did she manage to get her name off the nasty payments? Did any other evidence come up about the documents she signed?

I wanted to know everything but she was determined to tell me nothing. The unsaid war was mounting between us, and while I was hoping to hold onto our marriage as long as I could, Mohsina was already giving up, saying she didn’t want to make it harder for us by being around each other much longer.

I got her point, but damn… why was it still so hard?

“I missed you so much, baby boy,” Mohsina cooed softly, ignoring me while she settled Zaid into his chair with affection as he grabbed fistfuls of her tied up hair, and blabbered away.

He was so cute when he was like this, and I wanted to so badly pretend that everything was normal.

He lived for her. Sometimes I felt like Zaid was betraying me by being so attached to her, but I knew that this was how babies were. I sought refuge in the fact that once he got older, we would be best buds like his father and I.

My stagnant expression gave nothing away as I watched them both. There was a silent battle going on between the two of us, and one of us was going to back down.

I was refusing to let it be me.

Time was slipping away and I was aware that I had none left, but I was still holding on. Buying as much as I could while I scrounged around for some hope.

“Did you manage to make a settlement?”

It was my second question directed at her as I stood up, and I could see her flinching as I asked it. After all, it would solve everything. If the case would go away, none of this would have to change. We wouldn’t have to change.

“Can we not talk about this?” She mumbled, not looking at me. “I want to finish feeding Zaid. I haven’t see him the whole day. Can you just…”

She stopped awkwardly in mid sentence but I knew what she wanted to say, and my heart contracted painfully.

Leave.

She wanted me to leave.

What about me? I wanted to ask. You haven’t seen me the whole day either.

And I knew that she was doing this to make it easier, but it felt a thousand times harder. She wanted me to cut off all ties with her, so it wouldn’t affect me. What she didn’t know was that what she was doing was hurting me more than anything else.

And it was just as well that I didn’t go with Mohsina that day because besides wanting to punch Faadil in the face, I had a feeling that the entire thing wouldn’t have gone very well if I did.

And I wasn’t the type to hold a grudge but the guy had been a bad boss. A bad employee. A bad whatever-he-was-to-Mohsina.

I wasn’t an insecure guy, but the odds were against him. There was no chance I could ever warm up to him now.

Still, all that didn’t matter that much. What mattered was that he proved to be a Muslim who led his life as if he wasn’t even Muslim. He did horrible things. He stole money and got up to shady side deals in clubs, took random women as toys, and all this was playing on my mind the entire day while I thought of Mohsina going back and facing this guy once again.

I had plunged myself into audits that day, while Mohsina left to meet lawyers, keeping my mind off what the worst case scenario here could be, making much Duaa and trying to surrender to the concept of Taqdeer.

Trying to have full faith that Allah will still see this all through, and come out with the best solution for us all.

And in doing so, I had hope. Hope that she would tell me it’s all sorted, and I didn’t have to worry. Hope that this would all blow over, without any consequences. Hope that it would all just disappear.

And here she was, despite my own hopes, offering me no assurance that this was going to be okay.

That’s all I wanted for now, and she was giving me nothing to work with with.

“Mos,” I  said, grabbing my keys and moving now to stand right in front her, making her look at me while she tried to feed Zaid some mashed up looking carrots.

I wanted to reach out to her. To yank her pony. To pull her close. To make her laugh. To take her hand and assure her that it would be okay.

But I didn’t dare. This was far too gone.

“Did you sign the papers yet?”

Her tone was rigid as she said it and I sighed, turning away, already feeling deflated.

She didn’t say the word but I knew that it meant that we will still there.

The annulment of marriage contract.

It sounded so formal and morbid. She was now at this ugly point when she had decided to do the most disliked thing in the sight of Allah.

“I won’t.”

It was my standard reply and I treated it like a challenge. A challenge that entailed me doing everything I could to never sign those papers.

“It’s the only way,” she said softly, trying to appeal to me with the softness that sometimes cut through her steely personality.

“It’s not,” I insisted, my stance unyielding as I held her gaze.

“It is because their lawyers won’t budge,” she said, breaking eye contact and looking at Zaid as she spoke. “Faadil has no way of taking my name off the records completely. My name is already there and I’m guilty until proven innocent and I won’t let you take the fall for it too, Hamzah.”

She turned to me then and her eyes flared as she said it. I scowled at her.

“So you can take the fall for him but I can’t take the fall for you?”

She sighed.

”Hamzah.”

She said it as if she was talking to a kid.

I narrowed my eyes at her. That’s exactly how it was.

“Mohsina,” I said to her, in the exact same tone she had used with me.

Now was her turn to narrow her eyes.

We never fought.

We bickered and bantered with ease, on most occasions, but a full blown out fight wasn’t our thing. It felt precariously close to that situation.

“You know it’s not like that,” she said, her voice pleading and her eyes glistening. “I signed documents to say I took the money from him. He can’t just undo it.”

“You mean he doesn’t want to,” I said stiffly, knowing exactly how Bossman worked, and not prepared to fight her on this anymore.

She was so gullible, and the way she bought his stupid excuses, was exactly like Mohsina. While she appeared tough and impenetrable on the surface, I knew that my wife would never let anyone take a fall if she could help it. Even if they deserved it.

Mohsina was selfless to the point of exhaustion and whilst I loved what she had done for her family, I hated that it was what was making her want to resort to something that would break us both. It just didn’t make sense to me to let this ruin us.

All the fight had been fought already. I had no more left in me at this point.

Mohsina was silent as I watched her back, not even know whether I should wait for her response. I just knew that I couldn’t leave at that point. She said nothing and the more the silence persisted, the more restless I felt, and the more I couldn’t step out the door.

Zaid was painfully oblivious to the tension between us, all I could think about was how much this would affect him. How much I would miss him tonight, while I wasn’t with him. How our little family would be torn apart.

He had settled so well during the past month, and to have to upset his routine again was going to be the worst mistake. I wasn’t even sure how Mohsina was going to do it, but she was insistent that we could work out a proper agreement between us, so we could both alternate in keeping him, and he would barely feel it.

I begged to differ.

My entire family was going to be broken and Mohsina was taking it standing up.

“Why are you fighting this?” She finally asked, pulling Zaid out of the feeding chair and meeting me eye.  “I gave you the time you asked for and you said you would leave after. I’m not worth the hassle this would bring.”

Her last words struck my heart. She was worth it. She was worth every moment. But she hadn’t even given me enough time to show her that.

Three days. She had given me three days to pull something out to save us before she gave up completely. Was it worth that little to her? Was all this just an experiment?

Anger rose within me but I bit it back, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. If she wasn’t going to fight for us, someone had to, but we couldn’t be going crazy whilst doing it.

“I want more time,” I said flatly, knowing that I was going against what I had said but planning on pushing Zubair even more to come up with something that can turn the situation around. I was going to call him as soon as I left for Masjid. I was going to have to get something to salvage this. “Please.”

She looked slightly taken aback by my request. By the fact that I was literally begging her.

And why wouldn’t she? None of us ever thought that we would come to this point.

“Give me a reason,” she answered softly, looking up at me from the corner of her eye and taking me by surprise. “One good reason.”

I had gotten her to this point, and it was just enough for me to give this my all. My wife’s eyes were hopeful as she waited, and I couldn’t help but notice how painfully gorgeous she looked as her eyes lit up with something that resembled hope.

Hope. It was the only thing keeping me going. If it even existed here.

“Because you are worth it,” I said stubbornly, the words slipping out it my mouth before I could even think. “Because I don’t care about the money. About status. About my accreditation. Because despite everything I may lose, I’m still hoping for a happy ending here. Because I don’t care about everything that I may lose and even if I do, if I lose you, I will have nothing. Because you are everything, Mohsina. You and Zaid are everything to me. That’s why.”

She was stunned into silence as I spoke, her eyes wide as my voice rose a tad bit louder than intended.

Maybe I was getting a little carried away, but emotions were powerful stuff. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to feel that way, but I knew that Allah had brought us together for a reason and that before this curve ball, everything that this had brought, from leaving our old lifestyles to Zaid and our amazing family, was an immense blessing.

And I didn’t need another reason. That’s was the only reason why I was stalling and buying more time, hanging into threads of hope that could unite us once again, hoping that some miracle would happen that would that would bring her back to me, even if it was just for a teeny weeny snippet in time.

It was an intense moment as we stared at each other, almost in some sort of weird challenge, whilst Zaid mumbled something incoherent, oblivious to our emotions as our eyes spoke words none of us dared to say.

I love you, mine’s said with no reservation.

What if that’s not enough? Her’s question back.

The ringing of my phone in my pocket startled us but I ignored it, because I didn’t want Mohsina to push me out while I wasn’t ready to leave. At this point, it felt like everything was on the line and there was no way I was leaving today. I needed that time to prove that this wasn’t just a silly mistake that we had made. I needed to show that real love may just be what we actually had here.

And yes, I had let my guard down. There was a reason why I told Liyaket that I didn’t believe in love. Why I always wanted to be happy alone.

I thought that if I gave something my all, and it fell apart, I would never make it off the ground after. I didn’t want to shape my life around something, and then lose it. How do you survive the pain that feels like losing an organ? What if I actually learnt that I needed love, and I couldn’t have it?

But that’s why Allah gives us a solution, in everything we do. That’s why when we hand our hearts over, we still keep our focus solely on Him. Despite loving someone so deeply, you still love Allah above them, because He is your only anchor. Allah teaches us, over and over again, that beyond everything else, the only thing that still remains is His Loyalty.

Whoever loves for the sake of Allah and hates for the sake of Allah and gives for the sake of Allah and denies for the sake of Allah has completed his faith (Abu Dawud, Tirmidhi).

Everything was only for Him, through Him and because of Him. There is no loyalty but with Him.

And it was because of that that here I was, hanging on by a thread in choppy waters, knowing that at any second, even that thread could snap.

And it was at the most inappropriate moments that technology intervened, and Mohsina’s phone ringing interrupted my thoughts while I couldn’t help but glare at it like it was the bane of my life.

She too was snapped out of her own thoughts, and she looked at me apologetically and sighed, glancing at the phone as on the countertop.

”It’s Nani,” she said apprehensively, glancing at me and wiping her hands again as if to ask my permission to take it.

I immediately softened, glad it wasn’t anything to do with work. That might have been the final straw for me.

“Take it.”

My words still hung in the air as she picked up the phone, and I shifted my own attention to Zaid as I watched him attempt to toss some shell-shaped pasta off the feeding table. Throwing food discreetly off the feeding chair was one of his favourite hobbies.

Even though he was so mischievous, he was so cute at moments like those that it made me wonder what he was going to be like as he got older. I could only imagine how much naughtier he would get as the years went by, and the thought actually made me smile.

I grabbed what I could from his tightly fisted hands while Mohsina spoke, wiping his face and taking him to wash up while I listened to my wife try and speak normally.

Her cheeks were flushed, like they usually were when she was a little flustered, and it was obvious that she was still a bit overwhelmed from our conversation, and it made me hopeful that I had actually penetrated something. She had been  so rigid and unyielding these past few days. Nothing I could say would make her budge.

All I needed was time, to set this right. It would give me an opportunity to get something solid on Faadil. As much as I knew about his dodgy activities, I knew that I would only get what I needed if I gave Zubair more time and resources to find evidence to turn this whole thing around.

“No, I didn’t hear, Nani,” I could hear Mohsina saying, her voice steadying as she spoke again. “What happened?”

There was silence from my wife but I could hear Nani’s voice from where I was on the other side of the room. I couldn’t help but smirk as I did.

“Oh no,” Mohsina said softly. “I don’t think she thought about that.”

There was more animated talking again from the other end of the line, while I checked my own phone to see who had called, swallowing slightly nervously as I saw the name.

Zubair’s number was listed and I made a mental note to call him as soon as I got a moment. Perhaps it was something important. In fact, I was really hoping that it was.

Mohsina’s voice cut through my thoughts as she spoke again.

“Yes, it’s very soon but Nani-“

She was cut off by another audible burst of emotion and I actually stifled a smile as I turned to watch her while Zaid pulled at my beard with his clammy hands.

”Nani, I’m not sure if we can-“ she tried again, but I knew from past experience that there was probably no use even trying to talk her way out of whatever Nani wanted.

“Okay, I’ll ask Hamzah,” she said finally, and I could see her roll her eyes in frustration.

She was tired. And I was so glad for the diversion.

Something had shifted within her. With Nani, sometimes Mohsina seemed like an entirely different person.

Whatever Nani had said obviously wasn’t in her plan but it had somehow got me hopeful.

She said a few more words before finally greeting Nani, cutting the call and then looking at me worriedly.

I looked back at her, frowning slightly as I watched her fiddle with Zaid’s messed bib, and then wipe the table a third time, despite it being clean enough.

And it was weird that I was still sticking around, watching her like a creep when I was supposed to be gone, but her actions were making me wonder what was going on.

She was doing the same thing as I was. Stalling. Buying time, to make this less painful. Procrastinating reality, despite knowing where we were heading. Why though, the sudden change in approach… I had no idea.

It took a few minutes before she finally looked up at me, and gave me the reason for her temporary silence.

”I think you may have to just stick around a while longer,” she said stiffly, and I could feel my heart rate already increase as she said it.

Now that was good news.

I raised an eyebrow at her, not trusting myself to speak as yet. I was still partly in shock.

“I think you may know something about it,” she said, now looking at me questioningly. “Zubair wanting to meet Jameela?”

Ah. Puzzle pieces clicked into place as I recalled the conversation I had had with him after Mohsina told me about how upset Jameela was. It was a simple conversation, guy to guy, where I basically told him that there was no need for him to punish himself his entire life, because of his past. that Allah doesn’t hold our deeds against us, so why should he?

I had convinced him about the beauty of Nikah. Of how a woman may bring out a better part of him (he had actually laughed, when I wasn’t sure if the guy could even smile properly). I had convinced him that he didn’t need to be alone for the rest of his life, just because he felt like he deserved some sort of punishment.

This was before everything between Mohsina and I had spiralled downward.

I didn’t know that he had actually taken the conversation to heart. It meant that Zubair had actually changed his mind about what he wanted in life, and I may have been the reason for it.

How ironic. On the brink of my marriage collapsing, he was making one for himself.

”Nani wants to talk to us altogether,” she said stiffly, wiping her wet hands on a dish cloth. “And we will have to be there together on Sunday too so I guess…”

I breathed out as she trailed off, feeling an immense surge of relief and gratitude as she said it.

Allah Ta’ala had somehow managed swayed the plan for me, and I knew that this was no coincidence.

It wasn’t what I expected but it was more than I deserved.

It was just what I needed to buy more time, and turn this entire thing around.

Whether it would actually work, was another question entirely…

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Thinking Good about others  

We’re so quick to assume bad things about people, even when we have no idea what’s the real story. Thinking the best about others is part of the Sunnah of Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) and is a great way to give us a positive outlook and always be good to others.

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Secret Weapons

Bismihi Ta’ala

Saaliha

Part 65

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

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

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

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

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

”Have you told your sisters yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was being way too ambitious and he knew it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rabia’s smile was disconcerting.

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

Oh shame. My poor brother-in-law.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SubhaanAllah. It was certainly a wake up call.

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

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

Well, I couldn’t say the same.

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

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

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

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

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

“But he changed,” I said pointedly.

He did. I know he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After all, there was always a bigger picture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shooh. That was a close one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Imraan looked at me, and shook his head.

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

Mohsina still had no idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mummy I think-“

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

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

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

“Mummy-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because all of them had guns.”

---

 

Mission Sunnah Revival: 

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

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

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

Keep in mind:

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

Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 6446, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 1051

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When Spring Comes

Bismihi Ta’ala

Saaliha

Part 54

I once heard a beautiful saying that went something like:

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.

And I suppose it really hit home for me because as humans, we are always ready to fall into the trap of complacency.

Ghaflat. We forget our bounties. We take our gifts for granted. When we don’t taste the bitterness of trials, even the good times become unexceptional. We forget that even though winter can be so bitterly cold, the beauty of spring can never be hindered….

And indeed, Allah Ta’ala sends the trials, whereby we may be purified, strengthened and returned to Him. Allah sends the trials because we have to know for sure that with that hunger, thirst and cold, Allah can also relieve us with abundant food, the water and the shelter. Allah placed the test in our midst, but with it, He beautifully placed within our breast the ṣabr (patience), and even the riḍā (contentment) to withstand it.

Yes, Allah (SWT) sent Adam (AS) down to this world where he would have to struggle and face trials… But with that forgiveness of the first prophet, he also gave us a hope of His Divine help.

…if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome…

And as I looked out that morning, smiling at the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine… I couldn’t help but feel my heart lift slightly at the sight.

And the thing is … the amazing thing is that when we begin to appreciate even the little things, it opens up much more than we thought we would ever see. There are always flowers for those who want to see them, even when it’s not the season. There is always beauty, in even the most trying situations.

A new season would be coming, and as winter made its way out that year, after we had enjoyed the long nights and fireplace evenings, I couldn’t help but but wonder what the next season would bring.

And little did I know what a host of emotions were in store that very weekend. Some may call them interventions. Some call them coincidental. Whatever the term, it’s true that there are some things in life that happen the way we don’t quite expect it to…

“Mummy,” Uthman called, running into the kitchen with a look on his face that signified that he was pretty amazed. “Guess who’s here?!”

When I pulled out a spatula from the kitchen drawer, I couldn’t help feel the gust of hot air from the oven throw me off-balance, as I flashed a grin at my child. The feeling of being slightly out of sorts was a little unfamiliar. The weather had been warming up too, and it was a complete blessing, especially in this part of the world, where temperatures went under zero degrees Celsius in the midst of winter. The way the sunshine filtered through the window was one of the most comforting feelings.

“Hmmmm,” I said, smiling at Uthman, and rubbing my temple. “Is it the president?”

”No!” Uthman said, smiling at me like I was crazy.

Uthman was always excited to have visitors. The following week was going to be one of the best ones for him because Fareeha’s kids would be coming, when she left for Hajj. To tell the truth, I was a bit nervous for my crazy sisters kids to be in my zone, but I knew that if I prepared myself in advance and overdosed on rescue remedy, I’d be just fine.

There was really no need to stress.

“Oh wait,” I said, scratching my head thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s someone else famous?”

”Not exactly,” he replied, still finding it hilarious that I couldn’t figure out who was there. The truth was, I did know, but of course, my son keeping me in suspense was the most entertaining thing for him.

“Well, whoever the superstar is,” I said triumphantly with a grin, as I watched Imraan come in. “Please tell me them to join us for lunch. I’m already well-prepared..”

”Mummy!” Uthman said, jumping on the spot and shaking his head at the same time. Where did he get so much of energy from?! “Come and see!”

I laughed as Uthman ran outside again, his excitement mounting as I watched Hamzah get off the car, greet Imraan and pop open the boot. In the past, Hamzah had always brought something small, even if it was a box of smarties for Uthman when he would come, and Uthman always looked forward to it. The fact that he actually hadn’t come here in months made it all the more exciting and I was quite aware that after Liyaket passed away, my brother-in-law had way too much on his plate to even think of it .

Imraan had already helped Hamzah take some of his bags through to the house next door, and catching him on his way back, I couldn’t help but ask.

”Is everything okay?” I asked softly, wiping my hands on a dish cloth in my hand so I could venture to the car  and greet them. “They came so suddenly…”

”Hamzah thought it was best to be out of town for a while,” he said quietly. “Don’t mention it though. He hasn’t told her.”

”Why not?” I asked, not thinking that this was a good idea. “If Zaid is at risk then he should..”

It was true. Anything that could potentially be a risk should be assessed and eliminated. The truth was, from the time that I heard that Layyanah’s brother had called Hamzah, I had been on edge and it definitely seemed like a risky thing.

”Don’t stress about it, love,” he said, with a small smile. “Allah will take care of it.”

”Insha Allah,” I said quietly as I followed him to the door, still not convinced.

And as the morning sun streamed in, I could not quite believe how beautiful the hilly farmlands appeared this morning. As spring approached, and with the onset of rain that had also brought much hope and potential… I felt as if I was looking at a completely new place.

I gazed out, the morning sun doing its thing over the grassy landscape, while I watched it slowly illuminate the stretches before me. I couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic. Like nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another hope and experience grew especially strong as winter started to wilt…

My eyes moved as I watched Hamzah already heading to the house that he usually used when he came, looking for Mohsina. It was about 200m away and Uthman was already excitedly chatting to him about the plans to do some exploring later in the day.

It was going to be a full house. My in-laws had also arrived the day before and having Zaid here was going to be the highlight of the weekend. I couldn’t wait to lay on the grass with him and blow raspberries on his chubby tummy. He was definitely going to bring the silly out of us that weekend, and I couldn’t wait to indulge myself to my hearts content.

“Assalamualaikum,” I called out, moving forward and helping Mohsina with her nappy bag and then reaching out to give her a hug as she jumped off the car with little Zaid. It had just been a few weeks and Zaid was looking like a little man already. I could not stop swooning over how cute he looked and I literally wanted to bite his cheeks off.

And I was literally about to take him into my arms when out of the blue, Rabia had already wedged herself in between Mohsina and I, swiftly snatching Zaid away before I even realised what was going on. I blinked, for a few minutes, looking at Mohsina in confusion, wondering what exactly had happened and where Zaid had gone to.

Rabia was already two meters away, grinning like the cat that caught the mouse.

”Sorry Sawls,” Rabia said, not looking sorry at all as she snuggled Zaid to her. “It’s my turn first. But don’t worry, you’re next. Mohsina, you and Hamzah can have some couple time. Take some snaps. I already told him that this weekend you aren’t going to have Zaid at all!”

She gave an evil laugh, walking away triumphantly as she gave him more cuddles. My sister-in-law was really something else. I looked at Mohsina, who was a little expressionless as she watched her, but skilfully recovering as she she smiled at me apologetically.

She looked like she was already well-equipped to handle Rabia.

”Sorry,” she said apologetically. “You know Rabia…

”Dont worry,” I said, waving my hand nonchalantly. “That’s Rabia, and we’re used to her. We’ll see you guys in a bit?”

Mohsina nodded, looking grateful that lunch was sorted. Each house was separate and had their own provisions, but there was no need for them to prepare if we already had more than enough.

I had already sorted my favourite salads because for me, a braai was all about the salads, and Imraan had already set up the stand for an old-fashioned charcoal barbecue. We kept it simple most times, but with everyone here, as always, my mother-in-law had really gone out of her way to prepare a bit more than necessary.

And as I got busy with taking out the lunch items, and setting the tables, I barely even have thought to what happened to Zaid thereafter. My mind was already working on overdrive, hoping that I wouldn’t forget to take out everything that we had made.

And after Rabia had forcefully removed him out of my arms, I had assumed that she had probably forgotten that I wanted to spend some time with Zaid too. I shrugged off the feeling of irritation as I heard the door opening, seeing Hamzah making his way in, with a disgruntled expression on his face as he looked around, greeting my mother-in-law who was seated in the lounge affectionately, and after a few seconds, looking even more frustrated than him, came Mohsina.

And it didn’t even click with me that Zaid wasn’t with either of them, until Mohsina came up to me, and said in a low voice:

”Have you seen Rabia?”

Mohsina was wearing a pretty but modest black dress with a sage coloured scarf. She looked particularly lovely and the colour really suited her, but as I looked at her troubled expression, it was only at that moment that I’d figured that the couple must have had a small tiff and it was very obvious that it was because of Rabia.

I shook my head, a little worried but not sure if I should do something. After all, Rabia was a law unto herself and she couldn’t have gone that far anyway.

”I’m sure she will bring back him soon,” I said, trying to assure her. “Must I call her? She probably took him for a walk.”

”Sorry,” Mohsina mumbled, looking at me gratefully now, slightly embarrassed. “Hamzah’s calling her for a while now. No answer. Anyways, I was so worried about him that I didn’t even ask if I can help with anything. Can I butter the rolls?”

I got it. She was worried about Zaid. How could she not be?

“Relax,” I insisted, smiling at her. “Everything is done. I’m sure Zaid is just fine and used to her. They must have had plenty of bonding time last week.”

I didn’t want to tell her how Rabia literally forced my in-laws to let her go to the house while Hamzah and Mohsina were supposed to be there alone. Their couple time must have been completely sabotaged.

Before she could say anything in reply though, I could see Hamzah making his way toward us, positioning himself just behind her while he leant on the counter.

”She’s on her way back with him,” he said, and I couldn’t help but hear that he sounded a little annoyed, but I wasn’t sure with who. “He fell asleep. Can you stop stressing yourself out now?”

Whether Rabia had meant to or not, I could see that she had succeeded in causing a row between the two of them. Hamzah was probably torn between his wife and his sister, probably wondering why Mohsina was so upset and thinking what the big deal was… but honestly, the brothers just didn’t quite see how manipulative Rabia could really be.

Mohsina just nodded briefly while Hamzah went back inside, and then turned to me, looking a little more settled, while she shrugged.

“Rabia is a little possessive over Zaid,” she said, her voice dropping. “Also, TMI… I know, but she saw the pill bottles the doctor gave me for induced lactation. I think she is worried she won’t get to spend enough time with him, but now she is really taking it a bit far.”

I didn’t want to tell her that Rabia just had a habit of going to extremes. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if she did it on purpose…

I didn’t comment on Rabia because I knew that nothing good could come out of it. I had learnt to keep silent at times like that, but the first part… well, that really interested, me.

“Wow… you’re really going to feed him?” I said, really feeling so excited for her, but not quite believing that she would actually do it.

She nodded, and her eyes were really shining with enthusiasm. I was just really quite surprised by the fact that she would be so willing.

”I’ve heard so many amazing experiences of bonding and how amazing it is to feed your baby,” she said quietly. “And you know… I was so fascinated to discover breastfeeding is mentioned in the Qur’an. I also read that the mother receives the reward of a good deed for every single drop she gives her child… did you know that?”

I was honestly amazed. How merciful is Allah Ta’ala that something which is so natural is rewarded in such great proximity. If only I knew that all those years ago, when I had fed Uthman for two full years, even though it was one of the most challenging things to do. Breastfeeding hadn’t been easy for me. I had suffered with the worst of issues during it, but I persisted because I wanted to do it.

“The baby doesn’t need anything besides the mothers milk for the first six months of their life,” I said ruefully while Mohsina smiled and nodded. That fact still amazed me, and she seemed amazed too.

“A huge saving, if only I’d known earlier,” she said light-heartedly. And of course she wasn’t serious, because how could anyone have ever known that she would be plunged into this kind of situation…

I smiled, although the entire situation still made me feel slightly heartbroken as I remembered how Layyanah had been so committed to exclusively breastfeeding.

“The price of formula has become crazy….”

I breathed in, trying to settle my emotions. I didn’t even realise that I was tearing. Gosh, it was her best friend, and I was going all emo on her…

Back to what she was saying…

“You’re right,” I said softly, swallowing and blinking hard to stop the tears. “It’s not only formula though. I actually got a shock when I went to the supermarket last week with Imraan and we cashed up. Everything is just gone so expensive…”

I mean, there was nothing like the price of commodities to bring you back to reality.. Everything was getting more and more pricey, and the cost of living globally was almost unmanageable for the majority of the world.

But all of that… the way we found ourselves in this predicament is something that is mentioned that on one occasion that Musaa (Alaihi Salam) once asked Allah (SWT), something to the effect of:

What is a sign of your happiness?

Allah Ta’ala, in reply, said to him that’s when He is happy… then the worlds processes take place in great harmony. This will mean that at the time of sowing the seeds into the ground, Allah Ta’ala sends his rain… and then, at the time of harvesting, Allah Ta’ala holds back His rain. Everything happens at the right time, in a methodical process. A sign of Allah’s happiness is that He puts the administrative and financial affairs of the people in the hands of people who are righteous and generous. That the events of happenings of the world occur in harmony…

Musaa (AS) then asked, Ya Allah, what then, will be the sign of Your unhappiness?

So Allah Ta’ala replied to say that the opposite is done. That in this case, when the people are sinful, the rain is not sent when it is needed. When the world is commuting evil, the rulers of the people are corrupt and incompetent. When everything is in havoc…  the price of consumables and life becomes almost unbearable.

And there is no other reason but our own sins. Our bad deeds and disregard for Allah’s laws is what brings the inflation, the corruption and the predicament we find ourselves in today…

I sighed, feeling a bit deflated about the situation, knowing that we could only start with ourselves. My mother-in-law had come to the kitchen already, talking jovially to Mohsina about Zaid now, as Mohsina made his bottle and they ventured into the feeding topic again.

It was baby talk all over again and it was cute, but I was never really ready to engage in it completely. And it wasn’t that I was jealous. I had passed that point a long time ago. I was really happy that Zaid now had a family that loved him so much, and a mother figure like Mohsina, who took him as her real son.

It was just that I wasn’t always sure how to react. I wasn’t even sure if I had a place in Zaid’s life, although I loved him to bits. Now, as Mohsina asked my mother-in-law her own advice about breastfeeding, I could see that she was extremely thrilled about the prospect, and the two of them were already speaking about how the hormones also change your body, moods and emotions.

It seemed to be scaring Mohsina a bit, because my mother-in-law had already told her that she would have to start trying to latch him soon if she really wanted to go through with this. That part had caught her off guard.

And as they spoke, I couldn’t help but feel like pregnancy and breastfeeding was so far off for me. Every month had been a waiting game, and it had come to the point when I didn’t even track my cycle anymore, because it would just leave more room for more grief and disappointment… disappointment which I just could not handle anymore.

Sometimes you just had to learn a little more about gratitude. I had learn to live in the moment. To be happy with what Allah had given me. I had learnt to look at those who couldn’t have kids at all, and be grateful for the fact that Alhumdulillah… Allah had given me one beautiful child at least.

And for starters… well, I wasn’t even dreading the onset of my menstrual cycle that month. It usually left an aching hole in my gut, for the first two days, until the feelings of inadequacy and brokenness had faded. And this month… well, I was due for it…

I paused with drizzling chocolate over the pavlova casings as I caught a snippet of what my mother-in-law and Mohsina were chatting about, while my mind tried to figure out dates. Uthman and the men were well out earshot and they were already having a full on coversation of pregnancy woes and breastfeeding problems.

”With Hamzah and Rabia I was just big all over,” my mother-in-law was saying, smiling fondly as she recalled. After ten years, she had the twins, but it must have been memorable in a way that she couldn’t forget. I just couldn’t imagine.
Carrying twins must have been something else completely.

“I had to be on her rest from 20 weeks,” she continued. “It was the longest 12 weeks ever, but Allah made it all work out perfectly in the end. They both came home after a week and the moment I saw them, I had already forgotten about the pregnancy…”

How beautifully Allah plans it. The minute we lay our eyes on that beautiful bundle, everything discomfort seems like nothing at all. I suppose that’s why Jannah was so beautiful. When we glimpse that beautiful abode, well… everything will make sense…

“Layyanah was all tummy,” Mohsina was saying, smiling notalgically. “All I remember her saying was that she just felt bloated at the beginning, and she did a test and it was positive…”

My mother-in-law smiled and I looked at her with interest, almost as if she had said something majorly significant.

Did she just say bloated? 

The calculations in my mind were still going on as I tried to figure out if I was right. According to that… I was already 4 days late. I mean, it wasn’t groundbreaking, but 4 days was 4 days, right? I mean, I did usually get a bit tired and bloated… but the thing is, now that Mohsina mentioned the bloating, welll… I knew I was definitely feeling it.

But no. It could not be. I was getting my hopes up for nothing.
Pregnancy is just one of many things that can cause bloating. It could be anything else. Anything else at all.

And of course, there was no need to think otherwise. In my head at that point, I was still telling myself that I would just wait for the usual thing to happen, as it had, almost every month for seven years, and deal with it when it does.

And as Rabia came back with Zaid at that very moment, all in high spirits with not even a consideration for Mohsina’s worry, I immediately took the bottle from her and asked her if I could feed him, before placing him on the carpet with little play gym I kept there for him. I wanted to forget my recent discovery, and losing myself in his gurgles and giggles was an amazing feeling.

I was literally obsessed with his double dimpled smile and his tiny fingers and toes. I really wished that they would stay longer than just the two days, and I knew that if I asked Imraan to talk to Hamzah, he may agree. It would be the perfect distraction for me, and I knew I needed it right then.

And despite the slight drama between Mohsina and Rabia that had ensued, the rest of the evening had been beautifully smooth. I was trying very hard not to focus on how many days late I was. Instead, I had turned my attention to the weather, noting that it was one of those amazing days that were mild and cool, but as the sun started to set, I could see Imraan already getting the fireplace ready for the chill that would take over soon.

Zaid was stationed permanently next to Rabia now, who was keeping them both warm while Mohsina and Hamzah had headed off for a little walk while there was still light outside.

And knew that I was being a little obsessive, but as I visited the bathroom to make whudhu (ablution), I couldn’t help but pop my head into the second drawer, wondering if I would be completely bonkers if I actually used a test right then. There were still two brand new ones, and as I glanced at them, something in me was creating an overwhelming desire to just check.

As much as I was trying to avoid it, I was one of those people who just couldn’t switch off my crazy. When something was gnawing at me, any slightly lenient situation would put me in a fix. After all, there was still some time before Maghrib salaah and I was already in my bathroom. The night would be busy and then if he too tired to check later.

Why not? My mind was saying. You’re already late.

And of course, the sensible part of my mind begged to differ.

So what if I was late? Four days wasn’t even a record.

You rather just check. You won’t be disappointed after. Whatever happens is Allah’s will.

That was true as well. But what about the disappointment after? 

I couldn’t stop myself. Despite the doubt and uncertainty, I had to know. I just couldn’t wait any longer.

I literally wanted to block my eyes after, not knowing how to bring myself to look.

I knew it took up to two minutes sometimes, but I also knew that when something was cooking then the result came quicker, and as I washed my hands and summoned every bit of courage I had within me to make its show… well, I finally allowed my eyes to stray to the stick that was lying next to the sink…

And when I say my heart skipped a beat, it was no exaggeration. Right there, were two dark pink lines staring at me… and I had to literally pinch myself to check if I wasn’t dreaming.

I hadn’t even realised that my heart was hammering noisily in my chest, and everything else had just taken a backseat for those few moments…

The winter was bitter… but the results of spring were oh-so-sweet…

I could barely believe that within my heart, as hope blossomed with no reservation, like the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…

My entire heart was bursting, as I realised that even when you cut off all the flowers in the winter…

You can never stop Spring from coming once again…

---

Sunnah of Forgiveness:

With the New Islamic Year already here, and these auspicious days, one of the lessons from the Seerah is how Nabi (SAW) forgave his oppressors, and let go of old whims.

A sublime quality that Nabi (SAW) inculcated into his life on various occasions, and especially on the occasion of Hijrah.

May Allah Almighty give us all the ability to forgive others for the wrong they do to us and make us more productive Muslims through this and may Allah forgive us all for our sins, ameen.

O Allah, purify our hearts from grudges, envy, and cheating. O Allah, amend our relations with our relatives. O Allah, amend our relations with our loved ones. O Allah, make life an increase for us in every good and make death a relief for us from every evil with Your mercy, O Most Merciful of the Merciful.

Aaameen.

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..💕

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When Hearts Open

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 51

I remember once hearing a beautiful narration of the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) that went like this:

The heart is between two fingers of power of Rahman (All-Merciful), and He turns it as He wishes.” (Muslim, Qadar 3)

And for me, during that period of my life when I felt myself constantly grappling with the changes, it was only true that my heart itself, was undergoing a whole host of them, that at times it felt like it was bursting.

And along with everything else, as the feelings of ‘love’ entered the mix, I could only claim to be caught completely off guard because I now saw everything with a new eye.

See, the thing is, some people find spirituality without much effort, whilst others keep searching. And sometimes hearts remain sealed and unyielding, not even awakening at the most earth-shattering of jolts, not ever realising that one significant piece that’s missing from their world.

For me, I had been too consumed with the fear of being ‘holy’, to ever open my heart. But as I learnt to rid my heart of its rigidity, and to soften it, I realised that it is only that heart, which allows its Rabb to enter, that will truly ‘love’.

And not just any love, but a love that truly opens … a love that is a purist kind of love that brings about calm—not inner torment. Real love, as Allah intended it, is not a sickness or an addiction.

Real love, the true type… is affection and mercy. It is complete and unwanting. It is open and free.

And that’s where I had got it wrong in the past. With my past self, love had made me a slave to myself. To my own desires. That false love had unleashed my desires, blinded my heart and broke my faith. The love I knew, had taken me away from Allah.

But in this new love that I was learning about, as I struggled with my mushaf recitation, sitting on the carpet in Hamzah’s bedroom in his parents house… I couldn’t help but process at how much closer to Allah this journey was taking me.

All I knew was that I wanted Allah to be happy with me, but somehow, from time to time it felt as if was this huge barrier that was with me as my Nafs, and I was trying so badly to conquer it…

”What’s wrong?”

And of course, he would ask, as he walked into the room from his slightly shortened day at the office, having taken early leave every day just for this week.

And there I was, sitting cross-legged, hands now tucked under my thighs because I couldn’t help but want to fiddle with anything in the vicinity if they weren’t, rocking furiously and looking as frustrated as hell. His room was cleaned spotless as a result of my restlessness, and his clothes were all neatly organized in his cupboard. I had been doing everything else, trying to find ways to escape idle mind that I could not seem to focus properly.

”I can’t do this,” I complained with utter desolation, as I gently closed it. “I feel like I’m failing. Just failing. I can’t even get this one thing right. I’m too old.”

Hamzah’s eyes immediately softened, as he watched me looking utterly distraught, and then glanced over at a stirring Zaid on the bed, before he came toward me, whilst he took off his shoes.

“You’re not too old,” he said softly with a slight smirk, lifting his kurta and sitting next to me, tucking his legs under him. “Unless you’ve forgotten who I am.”

The joke had lost its effect as I scowled at him.

”I feel like it up here,” I said, tapping on my head. Why didn’t I think of doing Hifdh earlier in my life?

“Listen,” he said comfortingly. “You’ve only just started. That’s how it is. Be patient. It takes some time.”

”Yes, but you know how I am,” I whined, getting annoyed even at my own voice. “Everything’s come easily to me in the past. If I can’t get this the first time then I’m just useless.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Open it. I’ll teach you.”

I looked at him, sceptically, raising my eyebrows.

“How will you do that?” I asked suspiciously, and watching as Zaid sucked his dummy a little more vigorously now, hoping he didn’t wake just yet. I still had a few lines left to achieve, and maybe Hamzah’s motivation was just what I needed.

“Can I show you?” he asked suddenly, not even waiting for my answer and already taking my hand with one of his hands, as he opened the Qurān with the other.

His sudden touch felt a little unnerving, but I loosened my hands as he grasped and guided my finger to the place where I had marked.
Top of the third page. It felt like I was doing that part forever.

“You have to point,” he murmured, eyes focused on the page, still talking quietly as he moved my finger along the top line. “Point, look, read aloud… and of course, listen. We used to say that doing that once is like reading it thrice otherwise. It’s one of the most effective Hifdh hacks, if you could even call it that.”

He concealed a smile as I glanced him from the side, also very aware of how his hand over mine was now making me feel strangely aware of his proximity, even though I knew that he wasn’t doing it to make me nervous. Or maybe he was.

Maybe he wanted me to take my work more seriously too.

He looked at the page briefly, watching me now as he pronounced the first ayah with perfect Tajweed and made me repeat after him.

Once, twice. A third time, then the next ayah.

I did it a few times, repeatedly, before I slid my hand out from under his, not sure if the whole lesson was just making me a bit nervous or if his whole husband slash teacher demeanor was a little more intimidating than he knew.

“I think we done for the day,” I said lightly, feeling my brain shutting down and closing the Qurān as he smiled at me. “I’ll go over it before I sleep. 10 times, nuh?”

He nodded and I grinned comically.

Why is it that I could sit for hours in front of a screen but a half hour of Quran made me tired?

Harami was not even the word for people like me.

”I think you need to help me,” I said, only realising now what a huge difference it made, having someone who loved Quran, to help you love it too. Someone who’s in it with you, guiding you along, helping you to be better.

It was like the ultimate kind of couple goals that I had always read about… the type that made you closer to Allah Ta’ala and lifted you to new levels of contentment, because it was only because of Him that you were aspiring so much for this kind of amazement.

“I just did,” he smirked, smiling briefly as i rolled my eyes at him.

He fixed his gaze on me for a minute silently, before talking again.

“You know… my Ustaadh once told me that  the amazing thing with the Qurān is that the more you do it… the more you read, learn and memorise… the more it opens up for you. Like a fragrant flower. Only more beautiful.”

I couldn’t help but marvel at it. The Qurān is an amazing miracle, that promises so much more than just peace and comfort in its words.

”I’m not sure if I can do it,” I said, feeling a little overwhelmed, looking at all the pages I had left: I was only on page 3 of hundreds. “It’s tough. You must have finished pretty young, right? And why did you never mention it before?”

He was looking at me, a tiny smile on his face as he fiddled with my sticky markers.

”I didn’t know that it would have impressed you,” he said, teasing me slightly as I felt myself blush a little. He didn’t know that it had been a game changer and had solely inspired my decision.  “If I knew, I would have pulled it out sooner. Anyway, I had been slacking on my dhor for some time in between. Went through a bad patch… generally. But now… it’s almost on track.”

A bad patch.

Gosh. I had continuous bad patches. More like a bad era. If only Hamzah knew half of the sketchy things I had done. I wanted to ask him more… even though he had told me once about how he didn’t take anything seriously, messed around and just didn’t care about breaking Allah’s laws.

Now may have been a good time to talk about those bad patches, that I’d been avoiding all along.

But no. Not now.

”That’s amazing,” was all I said, swallowing back my emotions and wondering if he was one of those genius people who could read from anywhere in the Qurān and know exactly where he was reading.

”You know what’s amazing?” He said, edging closer, and I looked at him questioningly.

“Me?!” I said hopefully, trying to not let my mind run away with me regarding bad patches. I had to just let it go.

“That too,” he grinned, touching my cheek lightly as he said it. His dimple faded as he continued, looking down and talking softly. “But also… I heard something amazing to the effect that went something like: There are people among you who have memorised the Quran and yet, are not of the people of Qurān.
And yet… there are people among us, who have not memorised, yet are regarded as the people of the Quran. All it is, is a matter of implementation. And the way I see it is, we need to make a choice which people we will be.

Right?”

That was seriously beautiful. And he had hit it right on the head. Even though I wasn’t a Hafidha, I was trying to be that kind of person who actually implemented but sometimes I fell so short of it that it scared me.

I looked at him, immensely impressed by his words, but also, well, quite impressed with him on the whole because he was just being kind of impressive these days and I could barely believe that this was the kind of man that he had been moulded into, after being through so much during these past months.

I was also just about to go against my own rules to let him know that exact fact, in reticent fashion, but just as I caught his intensely penetrating gaze, it was at that very moment that Zaid’s muffled murmur had just started from the bed and Rabia’s voice simultaneously sounded from outside the door, when all other idyllic thoughts were already slashed.

“Hamzah,” Rabia called loudly from the slightly ajar bedroom door. “Can I take Zaid?”

I widened my eyes, obviously not impressed any longer.

”Sorry,” Hamzah whispered, smiling sheepishly as he disengaged and shook his head.

I was wondering how long she was probably standing outside, or listening to our conversation or just snooping around.

“Where does she keep popping up from?” Hamzah muttered, and he took the words right out my mouth. Only, his version was a bit kinder, as he got up to take Zaid.

It seemed like at any given moment, Rabia was around and ready to kill a moment or get right in between us.

When I had asked Hamzah why she was here when we were supposed to have the house to ourselves for the week, he had just shrugged.

“Rabia’s had a bit of a tough time,” he said, biting his lip, looking like he didn’t want to get into it. “We don’t like to make her feel unwelcome. My parents don’t say anything much to her. She takes it a bit personally.”

Gosh, I wasn’t saying chase her out. I was just wondering why she couldn’t give us a few days alone before she decided to come here.

And I knew what it was, but trying to explain to Hamzah would be futile. Men were just daft like that. The classic old women rivalry thing was something they didn’t quite get, even when it stared them in the face. Rabia was competing for most people’s attention most of the time, and seeing me always capturing her brothers was a little more than she could bear.

And it annoyed me but I had just labelled her as the possessive type and made light of the situation. I definitely was not the type to fight for my husbands attention, even though she had tried every thing in her power to keep it from me since she arrived. With her just being in the house, Hamzah seemed to be more on edge than ever too. I supposed it was her remarks that she sometimes made and although I tried to ignore them, when she purposely asked questions about Hammonds or my Instagram profile in front of Hamzah, I couldn’t help but want to ring her neck.

The the thing was, after my marriage announcement, upon Hamzah’s request, I had made a resolution to be better. I had been trying very hard to keep myself out of peoples feeds and direct messages, and not worry about all the futile things they posted. It meant staying off social media and minding my own business, even when everyone else wanted the low-down on my entire life. Maybe Rabia was snooping for info about people, or trying to find faults, but I wasn’t going to give in, and neither was I going to back down and let her get her way at home either.

I mean, I didn’t understand what was her deal with Hamzah anyway. I was his wife. She was his twin sister. We both had our respective places in his life. The woman seemed a little crazy to me.

And now too, as she walked in the room with no invitation. I mean, what if I was completely indecent?

I breathed out heftily, not exactly concealing my annoyance. My patience, at that point, was almost non-existent.

“Okay, but wait a minute,” Hamzah called to her, making her backtrack as he gave her a look that said that she was crossing boundaries by not even knocking.

He had just got up to fetch Zaid from the bed and plant a kiss on his head, when she then knocked on the door.

”Can I come in?” Rabia asked sweetly, and though I rolled my eyes, I made sure that Hamzah didn’t notice it.

I took him easily from Hamzah, nodding briefly at her as she plopped herself on the single couch, grabbing a spare nappy and his half full bottle that lay next to the bed.

Hamzah didn’t do the nappy thing. He did most other things, but nappies was something that he usually steered clear off. And though it annoyed me sometimes, after all Nani’s and my mothers lectures about husbands and wives knowing their role in the house, I kind of gave him a break.

I was almost an expert at changing anyway and he sat quietly for once as I undid his nappy, watching as Hamzah leant over him to distract him, as Zaid looked unhappily back at him, moaning slightly, on the verge of tears. And I should have noticed straight away.

And it was unusual for him not to jump for Hamzah, because he was his ultimate favourite, but it was only as I opened his nappy and felt his body temperature against my fingertips that I realised that something was very wrong.

He was burning hot. All over. The child definitely had a fever and I was so stupid to not realise that the heat I had felt earlier wasn’t just induced from his 45 minute nap.

”Hamzah,” I said, looking at my husband as he sprawled on the bed now with his phone, me picking Zaid up immediately, panicking slightly. “Feel him. He’s got a fever. Right?”

Hamzah had already hopped over and was already touching him on his forehead, and Rabia, who had been sitting and waiting on the couch had already kneeled over to investigate as Zaid suddenly seemed like he couldn’t bear to keep it in any longer, and just let out a full on howl.

Hamzah’s concerned expression already got me worried, and I wanted to cry as I tried to unsuccessfully pacify him too.

Poor Zaidoo was now suddenly sobbing uncontrollably, and my own heart just felt like it was caving in as I watched him.

Oh my word, I was starting to tear too. How do mothers even deal when their kids are in pain? 

“You want to give him something?” Hamzah asked, looking at me worriedly, a lump forming on my throat. “I think there’s Panado in the bag. And I remember Liyaket once saying something about suppositions or whatever.”

Suppositories. They were for fever. Layyanah also told me about them once.

We were first time parents with a first time sick baby. He never had fever before, and the thought of anything happening to him was scaring us both. They way he was bawling made me feel utterly helpless too.

“Let’s take him to a doctor,” I said decidedly, googling on my phone, trying to stay calm. “His paed is not far from here. “

“Maybe we can give him some medication in the interim,” Hamzah suggested, pulling the nappy bag towards us. “And then see what the doctor says.”

“Good idea,” Rabia said, also looking a looking extremely worried as he opened the bag and dug inside.

Layyanah had always kept everything packed carefully and organised, and I tried to keep it that way. Although I had restocked and bought a few new things, her maternal touch was still very present. Sometimes I felt slightly grieved, when I thought of a day when Zaid may not be able to have any evidence of his mother. It was fading so fast.

I was beyond myself at that moment, holding him closer to me as Rabia offered to take him. I didn’t want to let him go but knowing I had to get ready, I handed him over and speedily pulled on an Abaya. Rabia herself looked helpless, even as she held Zaid and we hastily popped some Panado syrup down his throat with the syringe, expecting a small fuss and a host of erratic tears that seemed to evidently be stemmed by some sort of pain.

All I knew was that I was glad to have an extra hand while Hamzah fetched his keys, and it was a whirlwind of craziness as we drove, hoping to make it before the doctor left his rooms, worried, like parents should be, and extremely anxious about what could be wrong with him.

I had dozens of possibilities, of course. My mind was working in overdrive as I wondered if he had maybe gotten a bad virus or infection wondering if maybe it was something a little more serious.

As the tears ceased and he quitened down in the car, Zaids little body was limp and exhausted, as I held him to me, willing myself not to cry due to his very obvious discomfort.

And it took a good 20 minutes or so, but finally, the fever seemed to be subsiding and I could see him looking a little more at peace.

We were glad that because it was toward the end of the day, the doctors room was a little emptier than it usually was. There were two other mothers with their kids there and they smiled at me as we arrived, probably noticing my anxiety, and as the one was called in, I could see Hamzah too, visibly relaxing. He was the more relaxed one of the two of us, and as I held a sleeping Zaid, he quickly took the forms that secretary handed us to update.

The thing was, besides not being prepared for all of this parenting stuff, we weren’t quite prepared for the emotions either. It was obvious that Hamzah was a little jolted as he stared at the forms, Liyaket’s handwriting still on them, and because we had worked together, I too, recognised it immediately.

It was something like a knife being pulled out slowly, the pain gradual yet still present, and my eyes immediately moved to his face as I watched him study it for a few seconds, and then looked up at me, his expression riddled with emotion; still contemplating whether he could actually strike it all off. It just seemed so wrong. Once upon a time, Liyaket had probably filled in those forms, with so much of paternal hope. It felt like we were erasing them from Zaid’s life, bit by bit.

I held back tears and looked away, not able to imagine what he was feeling at that point. All I knew was that here we were, still figuring this whole thing out, and I still wasn’t sure if I was even doing anything right.

And as we pulled ourselves together, we had asked for a new form and filled in new details, placing it on top of Liyaket’s one, just before getting called in. Yes, we had shoved emotion away but I couldn’t help but feel the heaviness that this whole situation had brought.

We hadn’t even been back to their place to sort out their stuff. I had gone briefly with Jameela and Liyaket’s mother to get some clothes and essentials for Zaid, but I had gone straight into Zaid’s room and out again. It felt almost intrusive, to hover around and dissect Layyanah’s things.
I knew that I had to, at some point it would happen… sooner or later… being faced with tangible evidence of Liyaket and Layyanah but being there, right then, just felt like the weight of the world was coming down on us.

For the first time since this happened, the gravity of the situation was almost unbearable. As much as we both loved Zaid, we could not even dream of ever not letting him know how amazing his parents once were, and it was at that moment that I realised that we had really huge shoes to fill and I was barely able to comprehend the thought.

Right then, I just felt responsible and completely consumed by worry about Zaid. My heart had been filled to the brim with this little guy, and I could not bear to see him in pain.

Getting into the doctors room though, minutes later, was a huge relief. It brought a little bit of lightness to the gloomy atmosphere.

The paediatrician was a tall man, with an easy smile. His forehead was edged with salt and pepper hair and his glasses sat at the bridge of his nose. We knew he was probably going to bring Layyanah and Liyaket up. It took him a minute, as he went over the file, flipped through and then fixed his gaze on us, and I immediately recognised that look in his eyes which portrayed that he had just realised who Zaid was.

“Zaid Khan,” he said, his gaze faltering slightly as he looked at Zaid who was now subdued and almost asleep due to the medication we had dosed him with. “I tried to get hold of his guardians, but no information was available. No next of kin either. Both parents passed away in an accident about two months ago.“

It wasn’t a question, of course. Hamzah just nodded and swallowed, before he spoke. I could sense how heartbreaking this was for him.

“The adoption is being finalised,” Hamzah said briefly, concealing his feelings expertly, and the doctor nodded sympathetically.

“How is the little guy?” He asked, a little more sympathetically, glancing at Zaid and getting up, while he signaled for me to bring him to the bed. “And I’m assuming you guys are his relatives?”

“Good friends of his parents,” I said briefly, not really wanting to go into details right then. “He had a fever. He was crying so much…”

I trailed off before I started tearing again, whilst the doctor nodded and first checked his eyes and mouth and ears, and then opened him up briefly, preparing myself for the drama that would ensue when Zaid awoke. He was already stirring as the doctor checked and prodded him, and once he was done almost in record time, looked up at me and said.

“Looks like it’s just an ear infection for now,” he said almost to himself, writing something in his file as he walked back to his desk. His laptop was next to him, and I could see him frowning slightly as he looked from the file to the laptop, and then looked up at us both.

”I know this may sound a bit awkward to you both,” he said, his steely eyes looking at us over his spectacles as he sat down and wrote out the script, and then looked directly at me. “But are you open to attempting breastfeeding?”

I widened my eyes at him momentarily, not actually aware of the shock on my face, until his mouth lifted slightly at the corners.

I mean, I know he was a doctor. A proper paediatrician too. They spoke openly about things like this and how good it was for babies and of course, I knew that breastfeeding was important but I mean, how did he even expect me to think of that?

“Just a suggestion,” he said apologetically, glancing at Hamzah whose head was down and arms were over the chair back as he stared at a spot on the carpet for the last minute or so, looking very uncomfortable indeed. “You guys can discuss it, of course.”

Of course, I wanted to laugh but I knew it would just make me look immature so I stifled a smile and said, a little stiffly:

“I didn’t know that was possible. We actually haven’t even thought about it.”

Which was true, because we hadn’t. There was just so much that was going on that we didn’t even give it a single thought. Come to think of it, the endless formula battles might have been over if I had. How clueless was I about babies?!

”Well then, I think it may be time that you do,” he said, looking at me. “Of course, there are pills or injections you will have to take, some side effects, it may take about two months or even less to get a supply… but I always tell the mums, it’s the sacrifice you make for your child… but also, the best gift you can ever give them.”

Besides the immense benefits of breastfeeding, I didn’t even think that this was the one step that would transform him into the closest thing to my real son. I was still standing, with Zaid in my arms, as I digested this.

If you had asked me this a year or 6 months ago, I would have never agreed to this. I supposed when the hearts open, even the most impossible things can seem entirely likely.

I nodded, the idea growing on me, wanting to ask more questions. My heart was now even more inclined to it, as I realised how much it could benefit him.

What kind of pills? And how do I start? The whole thing was still kind of freaking me out -maybe just as much as it was Hamzah- but as my mind opened to the idea, the doctor wasn’t yet done with what he was saying.

“Also, I just recalled the reason why I was looking for his guardians,” the doctor said, shaking his head, looking at Hamzah now again, almost as if he couldn’t believe he hadn’t followed up the process. “The infection isn’t bad, thankfully. But before we get into that, I need you both to take a seat. There’s something about Zaid you need to know.”

---

Dearest Readers,

Hope everyone enjoyed the extra long post. ❤️

Quick one: any thoughts or experiences with regard to breastfeeding with adoption… I’ve heard of some siblings even feeding each other’s kids, so their kids are mahrams for each other… good to hear personal experiences 💕

Always appreciate the feedback

Much Love

A xx

Mission Sunnah Revival

Concealing the faults of others:

Whoever conceals [the faults of] a Muslim, Allah will conceal [his faults] in this life and the Hereafter.”

The matter of concealing the faults of others is mentioned in numerous hadith of the Prophet, peace and blessings of Allah be upon him. In particular, we find the following:

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..💕

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

Figuring Things Out

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 49

Sometimes we get so caught up in our lives, our problems and our e-mails… that we miss out on the amazing things in life.

Sometimes we forget that we don’t always have to have it all figured out. That’s sometimes it’s okay to stumble in the dark, still wondering which path to take. Sometimes the reason why we can’t move forward is because we’re using old formulas, on a new level of life.

But even so… we’re never stuck. There’s always hope. If you aren’t willing to keep looking for light in the darkest of places without stopping, even when it seems impossible…

“Mohsina.”

The voice was quietly serene, and as I snuggled further into my blanket, unwilling to escape it’s comforting warmth.

“Mhmmmhhm,” I mumbled, still drunk with tiredness as I failed to form any other words, blissfully unaware of the amusement in his eyes.

“Its time for Fajr, pookie,” he murmured, and I almost jolted in shock as I pried my eyes open to ascertain if Hamzah’s face was already very close to my drooling one as it sounded, and if he had really just called that most bizarre name.

“Sorry,” he grinned easily, amusement still apparent on his face. “I knew that ‘pookie’ would do the trick. Just thought that you cannot miss the sunrise here. It’s the perfect pic for your Instagram Nikah announcement.”

If I was in a better state of slumber, I might have had a witty comeback, but I was still quite concerned about morning breath and it was beyond me at that point so I just rolled my eyes and kept my mouth wisely shut.

Also, despite his alleged sarcasm. I knew what Hamzah was getting at. I had kept my private life very low-profile recently but maybe it was time for an Instagram post that may just indicate how much my life had changed in the past few weeks. It may be the something noteworthy to announce.

And of course, as he said it, for a few seconds, the feelings of disbelief had overwhelmed me and I couldn’t quite believe that I was married to Hamzah and I was very close to what may be an adoration for him. The talks of the previous evening came flooding back as I pried my eyes open, realising that Zaid had actually not even woken up once during the night, on account of him sleeping on the bed, between us both, and that itself was a wonder on its own.

Of course, Hamzah was bound to see the catastrophic Mostly Mohsina at some point. I wasn’t always perfect and insta-worthy, even if I did wake up in one of the most gorgeous places in this country.

And sensing my awkwardness, Hamzah had already respectfully turned away as I got out of bed, and though it wasn’t necessary, I appreciated his kind consideration.

And I couldn’t help thinking what a coincidence it was, him mentioning the Instagram post. My thoughts immediately went back to the previous evening, when our entire conversation had been provoked with Maahira’s messages, although it had nothing to do with what had ensued thereafter.

The previous evening seemed like ages ago, as I recalled my iPhone beeping next to me, with a message from her, while I had retired to the couch to read my Qurān straight after Maghrib.

How’s it going? Been cyber stalkin u the entire day. No updates on the gram either?

I dutifully completely the page I was reading and closed the Qurān. I knew I was due for a post on Instagram, but I was also aware that announcing my marriage would bring a host of comments and congratulations and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be that much involved again…

I typed back quickly.

I know. Signals bad and we were out the room the whole day. 

The sun had already found its way out, and after reading our Maghrib Salaah, I felt a slight sense at loss that the day had passed by so quickly. It was a comfort that we had made the most of it and taken Zaid out into the sun while we had a little picnic that afternoon.

The sunshine had clearly had the desired affect on Zaid, and I could feel my own body relaxing after the day out, and the filling meal that had been sent to the room, and I couldn’t help but think of how amazing the gifts of Allah Ta’ala were, that we spent every day enjoying.

It comes at the end of a popular narration, after Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) had shared a variety of dates with some companions of his, it happened that Abu Ayyub Ansari (RadiAllahu anho) slaughtered a small goat, roasted some meat and cooked the rest.
Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) took some bread, and a piece of roast and gave it to Abu Ayyub (RadiAllahu Anhu) and said to him:

“Take this to Fathima (RadiAllahu Anha), she has not eaten anything like this for several days.”

Being the companions and the family of Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) , having to endure such conditions… I could only lament in the fact that we were so ungrateful for our good fortune…

And of course, today, I had made extra effort. I was grateful. So grateful. It had been a good day. Except…

Beep.

Did u guys talk the talk??

Well… that. I knew what she was referring to. The talk was something I was avoiding, as much as I needed to.

Nope. just ate. I just cleared up and did some work. Hamzah’s with Zaid… Making him sleep. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk.

Beep, again.

I quickly switched to silent before Zaid heard the phone and aborted sleeping mission. He seemed overwhelmed by the new environment and refused to go down before this.

Maahi: Hamzah making him sleep? Wow. You go, gal. Better not let Nani hear though. 

I grinned. She was right. Nani had given me enough lectures on acting like the wife and not the husband. To her, a good wife meant carrying out all home and kid duties without a single word of complaint, so that the man could sit put in all his laziness, with no concern whatsoever.

Me: Hamzah is amazing with Zaid. 

Personally, I saw nothing wrong with men doing the kid duties. I didn’t enable laziness but its not like I forced it on him either. Hamzah wanted to make Zaid sleep and I needed to neaten the place up before the day came to a close, so I could kick my shoes off, read some Qurān and hopefully spend time with him after.

Besides, spouses were supposed to bring out the best in each other, right? And with Hamzah being so focused on his Qurānic recital and attentive to Salaah times, he automatically made me want to be better.

I looked seriously at my phone as the next message came.

Maahira: Only amazing with Zaid?

And as I thought of what to reply, wanting to truthfully relate how Hamzah was an entirely different and more admirable person to the office version I had once known, I had already stopped typing in mid-sentence as the man in question was  literally sneaking out of the bed, through its curtain, where I assumed Zaid had slept, and making his way to me with a triumphant look on his face.

“I did it,” he whispered, his face already a comical picture of accomplishment. “He didn’t even fight it this time. Surrendered immediately. Or was it just me?”

I was still obviously deep in thought as he sat down next to me, when he noticed my own expression and immediately frowned.

“Is everything okay?”

I had barely realised how forlorn I looked, as placed my phone down, nodded and smiled assuredly.

Maahira’s message had just got me thinking.

He wasn’t just amazing with Zaid. He was quite spectacularly amazing, all round. Not that I’d ever mention it to him, because well, the Mohsina he knew didn’t readily give compliments and very silently registered the efforts he made to make the entire atmosphere between us so much easier. Hamzah’s composure was pretty awesome, despite the circumstances.

And as I watched Hamzah with Zaid earlier, playing with him and then reading to him, taking him to the bed to make him sleep, I couldn’t help my heart that swelled with joy.

It was just that, now, without Zaid as a distraction, I was a little nervous as Hamzah, for the first time, sat directly next to me, and I couldn’t help but shift awkwardly at his proximity.

If he knew it made me a little edgy, he definitely didn’t show it.

“Just a little worried,” I answered truthfully, biting my lip nervously as he leaned back easily in his seat.

”Don’t be,” he said breezily, flashing me a lobsided smile. He was super relaxed as he stretched his long legs out, and I could feel him watching me from the corner of his eye.

The news that Hashim wanted to meet Hamzah was completely unexpected. But hearing that the request had actually come from Layyanah’s sister, and was only relayed through him, made a little more sense. I just wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. Should I be more or less worried?

“See…. It is his nephew,” I said, speaking almost to myself, not wanting to think of any sinister intentions but also knowing that Hashim most probably did have some. The adoption was not yet finalised.

”I know,” he said pointedly. “I just don’t like the way he was demanding things. As if we owe him something and it’s his right. Liyaket wouldn’t have kept him away from Layyanah’s family, but the way he is behaving is just… I don’t know. Like he’s entitled.”

Hamzah was clearly upset. From what I knew, that was Hashim’s way. Pushy and always had to be in control.

I nodded, feeling my resolve weakening.

”What can we do?” I asked quietly, and the anxiety was clearly showing on my face.

“You… just relax,” he said softly, turning to meet my eye, touching my hand almost involuntarily. “You do know how to do that?”

It was only because Hamzah forced us out the room to enjoy the outdoors that I actually shoved it to the back of my mind and was able to relax. Now that we were back, the cloud that loomed above us seemed more daunting than ever. Hamzah could push things to the back of his mind if he needed to, and was still able to think rationally in even the most trying situations, even if he had to smoke millions of cigarettes while he was at it. It’s what made him excel at work too.

I just got panicky and stressed for everything.

“You do know that you shouldn’t do this to yourself?” He said quietly, with a hint of a smile, as he fiddled with his beard. “That trusting Allah is key to peace of mind. We tie our camel, and we trust in Allah.”

”I know,” I said softly, as I digested his insight,loving how he put it into perspective. I wanted to trust in Allah. I wanted to leave this all to Him, but with each passing moment I could feel my faith dwindling.

“I’m just so scared of losing him,” I continued. “Layyanah’s worry now makes so much more sense to me.”

I felt a tightening in my chest as I mentioned my deceased friends. I still couldn’t believe they were gone.

”You mean, before they got married if after?” He asked, sitting upright, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked at me. “She was still afraid of their interfering?”

Though he knew about her family’s resistance, he had obviously never really knew about Layyanah’s concerns after marriage.

“She was so afraid that they would track her down,” I said quietly as I nodded. “Find her and hold her hostage. Keep her from the man who loved her, even after they had Zaid.”

Hamzah looked away, obviously not knowing, and thinking fondly about his best friend and how much he loved Layyanah.

And maybe it was that train of thought that got him thinking… because this was so unlike our relationship, but his next words were clearly echoing his thoughts.

“I’m sure this isn’t what you imagined in a marriage,” he said, looking apologetic as he twiddled with his fingers, his long lashes cast down almost ashamedly. “The baby. The baggage. The issues.”

I smiled. Maybe not.

Being a married couple with a little baby was  strange and brought it’s own complications. Also, the history… well…

He was looking at me. His mind clearly on overdrive, as he spoke.

”Do you ever think that it’s maybe because we started it all wrong,” he said, his voice dropping.

I nodded, a small lump in my throat as I attempted to say the words that were at the forefront of my mind.

I couldn’t even compare what happened with Hamzah to what I had reduced myself to afterward. There was an aching in my heart, a palpable piercing that broke me, every time I thought of it.

Why couldn’t we just didn’t follow the rules, even before we even got involved together? Perhaps it just so happened that there was too much of sin before we tried to make it right?

And as for all my own mistakes…. We could have avoided so much of hurt and pain… an entire chapter of my misled life…, if we had just done it all the right way…

“We’re starting off our marriage on quite an unconventional footing, aren’t we?” I said with a smile, trying to make light of it as Hamzah leaned back in his seat, casting his dark eyes on the night sky.

There was still a question that plagued me. Why did Hashim call now? How did he even find out we were married?

He wasn’t exactly in our circles. Our Nikah was mostly family and close friends. Faadil had found out because of an email that I had sent, out of courtesy to Hammonds, to let them know.

I knew that him and Faadil were familar with each other, but he had always been private about his personal life, so I never really got to know much about his company out of work, except the few dodgy things.

The whole thing gave me a icky feeling, because though the pieces weren’t fitting together yet, I had an inkling that it wasn’t just coincidence. Was there possibly some kind of agenda behind this? Something that was meant to hurt us both?

“Hamzah,” I said, carefully, glancing at him as a new thought formed in my mind. “Do you think we can lose him?”

Layyanah’s family had money. Plenty of it, to buy over any judge or break any law. That was just the way they rolled. But wasn’t Allah above it all?

He looked up suddenly, while I addressed him, giving me an almost smile.

”I love him too much to let it ever happen,” he said softly. “I’ll do anything it takes. You do know that?”

“So would I,” I said evenly, in case he ever thought otherwise.

Hamzah grinned widely, his one dimple now visible,  obviously amused by my unnerving readiness to compete with him. He knew me well by now.

“You would probably have fought me for him,” Hamzah said, a slight smile still on his face. “I can’t ever compare myself to him. No chance.”

I looked at him in shock for a moment, a little surprised by his statement.

“Dont look at me like that,” he said unreservedly, his eyebrows raised. “You did everything in your power to make sure Zaid stayed in your life.”

Okay. And ouch. Again. I got it.

What he meant to say was that I did nothing to keep him in my life.

But that wasn’t true. He didn’t know the situation.. even now. He didn’t know everything that had happened that made my decision what it was.

”It’s more complicated than you think,” I said softly, trying to keep myself from getting emotional. “I don’t know if we should get into it…”

I didn’t want to spoil our evening. Although I knew he deserved to know, to bring it up would put a dampener on our spirits. I didn’t have that kind of ease with words…

”Tell me,” he said, not interested in my own reservations, his tone hardening as he shifted away from me on the couch, so he could look me straight in the eye. “I want to know. It’s not fair that you’re still treating me like I’m some stranger… Mos, I’m not.  I’m your husband now. You can’t treat me like that guy in the office who you never took seriously enough to ask for help when you needed it.”

”It wasn’t like that!” I almost cried, brimming with anger. “Don’t say that! You don’t know… I was under severe duress. I was kidnapped and threatened and robbed by two disgusting men and I couldn’t tell you all of that because I was so embarrassed about it because it would put my father in a bad light and how could I ever do that to him…”

Tears were already streaming down my face as I stopped, and could see Hamzah’s expression softening as he looked at me with something that resembled sympathy.

I couldn’t go on. It was way too emotional for me to relive it.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured, looking like his world was crumbling before him, as he processed what I’d said. “Hell. I didn’t even ask. Liyaket tried to advise me to. I was stupid. I’m assuming you didn’t even tell Layyanah? I told him you were going through your own stuff and being selfish. You looked so together at the office afterward so I thought it was just you being the go-getter you always were.”

”I’m pretty good at masking my feelings,” I said simply, with a small smile. “It’s one of my many talents. And you were pretty quick to cut off all acquaintance after. You didn’t even pass by on your smoke breaks anymore, and there was no way to even explain without you spitting venom at me again.”

”I found another route,” he said blandly, giving me a sly look, as he avoided the last part. “Took me ten minutes longer but I knew passing you would give you a chance to justify yourself and I didn’t want to think that you had a real motive.”

”You’re an idiot,” I muttered with a smile, shaking my head at him. “But so was I.”

”I know,” he said, shaking his head too, as he fixed his eyes on mine. “But if I knew.. if I knew… Mos, if you had confided in me somehow… I would have done everything in my power to protect your family. Did you think I wouldn’t have?”

I blinked back tears, and as his eyes filled with something I didn’t quite recognise. It took him a few seconds he instinctively came closer, taking my hand in his, and in one simple motion, slowly raised it to his lips.

”I’m so sorry,” he almost whispered, and for lack of a better reply, I just grinned like a kuku case, because there were no other words that could be formulated when Hamzah actually presented something close to sweetness.

It was such a elementary gesture…  so simple yet personal, and yet the most compassionate thing that I had ever witnessed of the guy known as insufferable, old Hamzah, with sincerity so obvious, that it’s meaning was something that conveyed so much more than anything he had ever verbally expressed.

And of course, I felt treacherous. There was so much I had yet to say… about work, about my horrible spiral downwards afterward, about Faadil…so many things that still hung in the air, but I knew that I couldn’t disclose it all at once. I knew that I would tell him, but right then… I just knew that I couldn’t.

The journey we were embarking was far from being an easy one, but his acceptance that night had reminded me that there was always some hope.

We spoke till Esha couldn’t be delayed any longer, and as he stood up for Salaah and called me to pray behind him for the first time that day, I never quite knew the intimacy that praying together could bring for any couple.

And no one could deny that there was many a reason for heartfelt Duaa, and as we both whispered our heartfelt wishes, and I prayed that this would ease the barriers between us. I prayed fervently that somehow, we would figure this all out.

And as Zaid awoke after, for a bottle, and we both crawled into bed with him between us, conversation between us had flowed almost effortlessly, as we spoke about memories and life and all the good times that we still wished to have.

I didn’t even know at what stage I drifted to sleep that night but the next morning, as he called my name quietly, and I could smell the fading scent of the now familiar body oud, it took me a few seconds to recalibrate and process who the voice belonged and where exactly I was.

He too, had a late night, but I could see that he had been up from a ridiculous hour and I couldn’t help but admire him for being so focused even on our short break…

Somehow, there was an ease that was placed between us, as we started the new day, and I was optimistic that things could only get better from here. Nothing had been clearer to me that moment as I watched him, his puffy jacket and beanie on, smoking his cigarette while the night transformed into day, knowing that even through it all, Allah hadn’t punished me due to my evils. In my desperate states, when the sickness of sin had overcome, when no medicine except Allah’s could cure me…. He sent this gift.

And that’s when I got it. It’s when I figured that Hamzah wasn’t Mr Perfect and that he would never be. I recalled that there was a time I hated him because of his big mouth, his lack of propriety and because he was never considerate of people’s feelings. I could have written an essay on why you should never come close to him… but life works in really funny ways, when you really don’t expect it.

After it all, I realised how wrong I really was. I realised that he was the only one who showed up, who was willing to sit down and talk through stuff, even when it was uncomfortable. And although he wasn’t the smoothest talker or the most romantic husband, there was something so true and honest and real about him, that just got me.

A deep compassion and integrity, was something that made me weak in my knees. What he had was just what I needed  in the right doses, and what I needed was someone who would grow with me, not afraid to try new things and to mess up and to put it right all over again.

The thing is, in a world of perfectly posed love stories and illusive filters, sometimes we find it difficult to believe that there’s something greater than that kind of obvious romance .. and that love for Allah really does exist…

And maybe that wasn’t the blowing hair in the wind, riding into the sunset kind of feeling that we all desperately wanted. Not everyone has that perfect kind of love, that was seemingly easy and filled with romance and the envy of every other girl, but what I did know was that truly happy, beautiful Muslim couples engage in winning Allah’s pleasure together whenever and in any way they can.

They glorify Allah together in the quiet hours of Fajr, they thank Allah in Tahajjud together, they make it a point to read a minimum amount of Qur’an everyday, they do regular or even random acts of kindness and charity and they maintain loving and happy ties with each other’s families.

Everything I saw and everything I had concluded so far pointed to the fact that he was the best kind of spouse for me, and the one who would raise me to new heights in Aakhirah, because that’s precisely what he wanted out of this too.

As as we left our room early the next day for our Waleemah, I was still in amazing spirits. Things could not have gone better. Hamzah and I had a plan to avoid staying at the hall too long, and to risk Zaid’s safety. A security guard had been organised, and even upon reaching the hall, seeing the beautiful set up and admiring it, knowing that Rabia was responsible for most of the event planning, I made it a point to thank her personally, despite not exactly hitting it off with her.

And I was excitedly nervous, as I greeted guests, looking around in wonder, feeling gorgeous in a size 6 dress that actually fitted me perfectly.

And just as I felt myself easing off, chatting to Jameela  and to my two notorious cousins who obviously loved to make a show of themselves and come on stage, it was precisely as I watched one of them walk back down, when I saw her.

For a second, my entire body went cold, as I fixed my eyes on her slender figure, which I remembered her having almost a year back, taking in her entire demeanour as I wondered if I was maybe going absolutely insane.

And of course, everything was exactly like her. From her walk to her smile, and the way she pushed back her fringe when it got in her eyes…I couldn’t quite understand what was going on, but all I knew was that there was no way she could possibly be here.

Was it a figment of my warped imagination or was I seeing things things that weren’t there?

Was it the depth of desperation that I’d felt and wanted her to be there with me, that had actually conjured her up in my mind? I just couldn’t figure it out…

All I knew was that there was no way she could be there, and as she came up the stairs, our eyes met.

Was Layyanah really dead?!

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of being thankful

From the very beginning of Man’s creation, the issue of gratefulness and thankfulness to Allah has been debated. After refusing to bow to ‘Adam, Iblis (Satan) said:

“Then I will certainly come to them from before them and from behind them, and from the right-hand side and from the left-hand side, and Thou (Allah) shall not find most of them thankful.” [Al-Qur’an7:17]

Allah also says that only few of His servants thank Him. Let us then strive to be among these few by keeping our tongues wet with His remembrance and our hearts soft with His praise.

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..💕

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Old Wounds

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 47

We all have things we don’t say. No matter how hard you try to avoid it, somehow, the truth always surfaces, and somehow, old wounds sometimes open up…

“Mos,” Hamzah called, as I speedily made my way down the cobbled pathway ahead of him, hearing his footsteps right behind me.

I didn’t turn back, even as his black trainers came into view, as I kept my head down. I wasn’t exactly angry, but sometimes, I could swear that Hamzah did need a filter on his mouth. And also…. well, it was good to make a guy sweat.

I was still in good spirits, despite it all.

And one of the reasons was that last night’s function had gone off smoothly. Being the first family function after years, it was actually great seeing everyone… even the annoying cousins that I usually didn’t enjoy seeing. On top of that was an influx of family, work friends… even Mickey and Lesley with Muslim guy from HR had pitched up and it was simply so amazing  to have them there on our special day.

Afterward, knowing  that Hamzah was planning to leave the next morning, we had retired to our own homes for a few hours, already exhausted, due to Zaid’s fussiness as he slept for all of four hours, before Hamzah came to fetch us both.

And it was expected that the goodbyes were a little more emotional than usual. My parents had both grown immensely attached to Zaid, and so had Nani and Jameela.

“Mohsina.”

His tone was pleading and he was slightly out of breath, having had to jog to catch up with me, but there was very evidently a speed limit on my performance, due to the baby in my arms.

”At least let me take Zaid so you can sulk in peace?”

I shot him a stony glare, not surprised to see the grin on his annoyingly handsome face.

“Open the door,” I said feistily, holding tighter onto Zaid as he fumbled in his pocket for the keys,

”Only if you forgive me,” he said earnestly, stepping forward to take Zaid from my arms. “Really. I did say I’m sorry. I was trying to avoid your question so I gave you a dumb response…”

Hmmm. Was that even an excuse? Comments like that weren’t completely baseless. That was the part that got me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes and looking up at his face, noticing his suddenly grim expression, as he glanced at me back.

The conversation in the car had happened just a few minutes ago, but the words he had said hit a little deeper than intended.

The drive was pleasant enough, and surprisingly, Hamzah was a quiet driver.  While I chatted, snacked and munched  (mostly on chocolate) Hamzah kept his eye on the road in true dedication, determined to get there to our destination by late morning.

And even as I glanced at him from time to time, it took me a while to figure out that while I wondered if he was being quietly grumpy or if perhaps he wasn’t a morning person, that he was, in fact, actually reciting Qur’ān. As he drove the four hour drive to the local destination, sliding his phone open from time to time, probably checking some error or word he may have missed on his 13 line Quran application, Hamzah’s only purpose was to make sure he did his two para dhor for the day.

It was  after pulling into the most breathtakingly scenic road, seeing the mountains ahead of us, I had already figured that we weren’t exactly heading along  farm route like I assumed, and my first instinct was to ask him exactly what he had planned.

“So can I ask where we’re going?” I said, giving him a sideways glance as we sped along the smaller road, Hamzah’s eyes planted firmly on the road.

“Of course you can,” he said blandly, now glancing at me momentarily. “Doesn’t mean I have to tell you.”

I rolled my eyes at him as he smirked, and then turned serious again as he opened his phone again, and then moved his eyes to the road. Typical Hamzah.

And of course, as he did it, my whole intention was renewed, because even though he could obviously be a reclusive, irritable old grouch at times, I remembered my own attachment to Quran that had inspired me to change my life, and my pursuits and my spirits immediately lifted.

The fact that he was so dedicated and used this time for something worthy was quite admirable. I mean… This was, ideally, how our lives should be.

In the airport or the park, in between rounds or even in the shopping mall … our entire purpose and aim should be Qur’ān.  Qur’ān. Qur’ān. And how beautiful was it that the reading of it never makes one tired or weary… but it’s recital only increases ones love for the beautiful book of Allah. In fact, the heart only grows fonder, as recitation increases, and one finds himself or herself even more immersed in its love.

And if our hearts were pure as they should be we would never tire of reciting it.

And while I sat there watching him with severe FOMO, because I didn’t know enough of Qur’ān to recite without looking (and knowing that the minute I tried opening my phone application , I would immediately feel sick), all I could do was silently wish him to read louder as I put my head back and listened to his barely audible recitation as he continued.

“I had thought we were going to the farm,” I said when he stopped, feeling particularly soothed after three and a half hours in, not being able to take my eyes off the streaky sky that now came into full view, and seemed to stretch to beyond forever and more.

Hamzah didn’t look at me.

“Nah,” he said, as we turned into a dirt road. “Isn’t the farm standard a little… basic… for girls like you?”

Ouch.

Girls like me?

I frowned and I could immediately see the regret on his face as he realised what he had just said, and instantly apologized.

But the damage was done, and it stung. He had just implied that I was only after the big bucks. Again.

Besides, money and finances were a bit of a touchy subject for us … and I really didn’t want to delve into it.

It was just that, even my father didn’t know the full truth about what had happened when Hamzah had called off our Nikah and maybe it was time to see if Hamzah may know a little more than he let on…

But first, well… I had bigger fish to fry. He had just admitted that  there something he was hiding, too, and right then, I was determined to find out what it was.

I clenched my jaws together to stop my teeth from chattering, as we stood outside the door of the chalet where we would be spending that night at. I was literally freezing up.

I looked at his unflinching gaze, trying to read his expression. As always, Hamzah gave nothing away.

”Tell me, then, Mister,” I demanded, still annoyed but wanting to know more about the truth he wasn’t willing to reveal. “What you are avoiding telling me?”

I stepped back and plonked myself down on the cement bench behind me, not anticipating the coldness seep right through to my bone.

Yeech, it was frrreeeziing.

“Okay Missus,” he replied, shivering slightly in the morning cold too, even as he pulled on another puffer jacket over his current lightweight one. “Can we at least go inside first?”

I had one of my warmer coats over my grey modest tracksuit, while Zaid was covered in about four layers. Though the body heat was keeping him pretty comfy for now, I knew that it wasn’t a wise idea to be out in these cooler temperatures. I could also feel the tip of my nose going slightly numb, and I could assume that it would only be a few minutes before it started running unattractively, and I wouldn’t even have a hand to wipe it.

I nodded, a little half-heartedly, as Hamzah fiddled with the bunch of keys. It took a few tries before he got it, but eventually, the old wooden door creaked open and as he pushed it, signalling for me to go in, before he did, and pulled the door behind us.

And as I stepped in, I couldn’t help but feel immediately awakened, somewhere deep within me… a part of me that had been asleep for way too long.

The place was beautiful. Gorgeous, some may say. And if the door was any telltale sign of what lay beyond it, I might have thought that the place was a dump, but in actuality, I was kind of mesmerised by the untainted view before me.

SubhaanAllah. It was simply glorious. It had been a long time since I had appreciated nature like that.

The huge glass windows before me boasted most spectacular scenery, overlooking one of the most amazing canyons. For some reason, I always loved the time of year when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale… for days full of a fine, pale sunshine that sifted through the late, leafless golden red array.. Autumn had always been my favourite season. The air was as crisp as the leaves on the trees, and a sky so blue spread before us, that you could drown in it…

As I stared, for a minute, I forgot that I even had Zaid in my arms.

”Do you like it?”

I withheld my answer until I put Zaid down, glad to see that he didn’t even stir. He had been up early, despite the late night, and it was about time he caught up with all his missing sleep.

”This is stunning,” I said truthfully. “I’m not sure how you even found this place.”

It was tucked away at the end of one of the most bumpy dirt roads, but it was worth getting up at 4am and travelling eternity and beyond for.

It also looked like a woman had a hand in the room preparation.

Rose petals were scattered along the floor, and bottled grape juice was perched on the bed pedestal. I wanted to ask him if Rabia had been involved, but mentioning her would probably immediately dampen my spirits. I didn’t want to stoop down to her level and rat her out, but Rabia had come to take Zaid the night before, it felt like she gave me the complete cold shoulder and I was a little annoyed about it.

Like, what did I ever do to her, except give her tit-for-tat when she really deserved it. She couldn’t really be holding a grudge from so long, could she?

Either way, I had made a firm resolution after Ramadhaan to keep myself out of people’s business and avoid picking out their faults. Even if it meant overlooking my slightly annoying sister-in-law, and acting as if it didn’t affect me, I was at least going to try. At least Saaliha was nice, even though she kept apologising to me for her sister gatecrashing the wedding towards the end.

That was a cute thing though, and when I met her, I found myself instantly taking a liking to Fareeha too.

”I saw it online,” he said easily, pulling off his jacket as he looked around, feeling the air around us ease off, as the under-floor heating warmed it up.  “Imraan knows the people who own it. Strangest thing ever. They have an Instagram page.  It actually looks exactly like the pictures.”

He had that look on his face and I knew he was trying to provoke a reaction and the old squabble we always had about social media, but nowadays, it didn’t bother me much. With all the excitement during the past two weeks, I didn’t quite need the dopamine influx and had kept my Instagram posting to a bare minimum. I had come a long way. I no longer had the urge to show my life to everyone who followed me.

The reality was far more engaging. I just hoped that I didn’t slip into old habits when things calmed down…

”I can see what you’re doing,” I retorted, narrowing my eyes at him as I pulled off my scarf and cap almost unconsciously. “Trying to distract me so I don’t ask about what you were hiding. Just spill it.”

And as Hamzah opened and closed his mouth, almost as if he was going to say something witty back, but got thrown off, and it only struck me then that it was the first time that he had actually seen me without my hijab, and I kind of wished that I had at least been a bit more dignified about removing it.

Why was I like this? Maybe Nani was right when she called Jameela and I jungalees yesterday.

“Okay, gorgeous,” he said breezily, after a few seconds, walking toward the glass doors that led outdoors, feeling my cheeks reddening slightly at the impromptu compliment.

He had pulled opened the door that led outside slightly, promptly lighting a cigarette as he stood there and turned to me.

“I’ll tell you, alright? I didn’t want to go back there because there are too many memories.”

He placed the cigarette in his mouth and pulled in deeply as we looked at each other, me slightly confused, before I finally asked:

”What memories exactly?” I said carefully, knowing that things may have happened there that I probably had no idea about. I had taken a seat on the ottoman at the end of the bed, facing him.

He didn’t say anything straight away. Instead, he turned his face toward the open door, releasing a cloud of cigarette smoke than dawdled in the crisp morning air almost rythmically, before he turned back.

”Memories of our friends,” he said in low tone, after a few seconds of silence. “Liyaket. His wedding. Being there with him almost every holiday before that. Memories of all the good times I want to forget. Those kind of memories. You know?”

I swallowed and nodded, feeling an inevitable wave of grief overcome me as I digested just how lost Hamzah seemed right then.

I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect him to actually have real emotions that affected him and made him into entirely different and softer kind of character, who wasn’t always messing around and chasing the next good thing.

Death. One of the most painful reminders about the inevitability of this life. One of the most resilient kind of forces that pull you right out of your comfort zone.

I wanted to go forward and comfort or hug him, offer him some soothing words, but… well, we weren’t exactly at that kind of comfort level with each other as yet and I couldn’t even think of what to say…

Also, he was puffing away at his menthol cigarettes with such ferocity that I wasn’t sure that he’d even notice me through all that smoke.

As you may have gathered, I wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of Hamzah’s smoking habit and often stayed as far away as possible.

And it was just as well, because Hamzah had already slipped through the opening, onto the balcony, and I didn’t blame him.

It was a most enchanting outlook. Mountains upon mountains, with the sun at its highest point right then, almost unveiling the naturally landscaped glory of nature that mesmerised us so completely.

A wired little bird feeder was situated on the edge of the balcony, and while I watched, tiny, colourful birds made their way in and out through little squares, arguing and teetering in a most adorable fashion as they pecked along at the scattered seeds, almost as if this was their most eventful meeting of the day.  I was sure that Zaid would enjoy watching them when he woke. He was starting to notice things and this would probably have him gurgling in glee.

And as I watched Hamzah, though I wanted to venture out too, I had a feeling that he needed his privacy right then, and I didn’t want to lose myself in the beauty as yet. Actually, I didn’t want to immerse myself in the moments, as much as they were calling out to me…

For some reason, I was still holding back. So much had happened in such a short time, and I felt as if needed to just let myself deal with it in the easiest way possible…

And as I turned away from him, knowing that Zaid would need another bottle shortly, I kind of absorbed myself in my tasks for the time-being.

I quietly folded my scarf with the pin on the counter, pulling my legs up onto the couch, I hastily pulled out laptop to check up on emails, as I tried to think of something to say when he came in next.

I stared at my laptop, a little displaced. I didn’t have anything to officially submit, but it was my new tool to keep me off social media. It wasn’t that I didn’t go on at all. I was just majorly limiting posting and getting carried away with baseless and mindless content.

Also… well, it had become a goal of mine to at least try and be the kind of wife that I wanted to. Maybe it was circumstances. Maybe it was history. Maybe it just needed more time.

I wasn’t there yet, but I knew precisely the kind I wanted to be.

An intelligent woman, a sincere well-wisher, a pious soul, a patient human, a comforting wife, a caring spouse, a loving mother, an expert homemaker… The Ideal Woman and a dream for many…

It was on the famous occasion when Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alaihi wasallam) stood up trembling, heading home to seek rest and solace in the tender care of none other than Sayyidah Khadeejah (radhiyallahu ‘anha).

This great woman, the best friend that she was, calmly comforted Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alaihi wasallam) giving him the strength he needed.
She addressed him thus, “By Allah! Allah Ta‘ala will never disgrace you! Indeed you join and maintain family ties, you bear the burdens of others, you earn for those who cannot acquire a livelihood, you extend hospitality to your guests and you provide assistance when a calamity or disaster strikes.”

Sayyidah Khadeejah (radhiyallahu ‘anha) spared no effort in consoling Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alaihi wasallam) at this greatest moment , which is perhaps the greatest of her deeds.

But this was the best of the best… and I knew that there were no greater examples that the Sahaabiya, and as looked into her life, I could tell that this was who  Sayyidah Khadeejah Al-Kubraa (radhiyallahu ‘anha) was.

And though I was inspired and aspired for something even close to that, I always knew that I would fall short, because of course, my husband wasn’t the greatest human of all time, Nabi Muhammed (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam).

Yes, we all want that perfect kind of love. The beautiful life that you want to live every moment and never share, because you just want to have it all to yourself will it. Everyone wants things cut out for them..

But that was the test, wasn’t it?

Everyone has their battles, and their bridges to cross. This was a unique kind of situation and I knew Hamzah and I still had multiple hurdles to cross. Ill feelings may crop up. Old wounds may open. Encountering speedbumps were inevitable and without delving into the whole bed of roses advice, I already knew that in fully winning my husbands heart, I was going to have to be a little more than just the basics.

And we had gotten this far, and while many people try to please everyone else in gaining their admiration, I knew that there was so much of beauty in the Hadith that stated that when the woman pleases her husband, then immediately, her Jannah is made.

I wondered what I would tell him when he came back. Maybe I would be explain to him that it was how it was all meant to be. Maybe I would tell him that perhaps those who have passed and left have so much better that had been prepared for them.

And as my ears picked up the sound of a cutely disgruntled moan from the bed, my heart immediately lifted because I knew just the thing to be the perfect ice-breaker. Zaid. I knew taking him out, armed with him on my hip would immediately clear the air to say what I wanted to.

Getting to him before the squealing became a full-on howl, I hastily picked Zaid up and checked his nappy, glad to see that it didn’t need a change right then.
I had bundled him all cosily, up in his jacket and beanie as I stepped out the door, all psyched up to conquer the unknown, ready to make the announcement that Zaid the cutest, cutesy was awake.

And as I felt the icy gust of wind hit us as I stepped onto the wooden deck, it was at the very same moment that Hamzah met my eye, as he sat on the wrought iron chair, talking on the phone with his mass amount of stubbed cigarettes next to him.

He turned to me as he saw me, and something about the way he looked at me right then told me that this wasn’t just a regular phone call.

I paused for a minute, wondering if I should maybe go inside, but he raised his hand at me, as if to signal for me to wait.

“Listen, bro,” he was saying, sounding a little hostile as he spoke. “Today is not possible. I don’t know when is. I’m not even in town. I don’t care how urgent she thinks this is-“

There was silence as I assumed the person cut him off, and as Hamzah looked exasperated, he promptly said he’ll call back and cut the call.

Zaid let out a huge, excited gurgle and threw himself forward as he saw Hamzah, noticing that he was there, but Hamzah just smiled half-heartedly and seemed extremely preoccupied.

“Sorry, Mos,” he said, his voice low as he typed something in his phone. “You will never believe who that was.”

And of course, my mind was already in overdrive as it  already concocted all the plausible possibilities… and as I deliberated which one to voice, Hamzah was probably too stressed to even notice the worry in my own eyes.

He had already lit another cigarette, puffing away as he looked outside, almost as if he was trying to draw some serenity from the beautiful view.

“Who was it?” Was all I managed to half-croak, intensely afraid of what the answer may be.

Hamzah’s expression, as always, was unreadable, and my heart thudded incessantly in my chest, as I wondered if our entire day would be spoilt with that one phone call.

And just when I felt I couldn’t take the suspense any more, Hamzah walked up to me, gently lifted Zaid up to his shoulder, whilst pensively meeting my gaze.

“That was Hashim,” he said quietly.

The mention of Hashim’s name already stumped me. I couldn’t imagine what he wanted.

And like picking the scab of an old wound, the pain my friend had once felt had resurfaced now, for completely different reasons.

“He wants to meet Zaid.”

---

Dearest Readers,

I think I am due for my short break and am hoping I didn’t leave the readers with a huge cliffhanger ❤️
Just a quick one that I’d love to know how readers feel about:
I’ve been deliberating over this, and I’m just wondering if Mos should tell Hamzah the entire truth about her recent corporate past. Just curious as to what the readers think… and what would the correct thing to do be.

Love to hear from the readers ..

Much Love

A x

Don’t forgot our Mission Sunnah Revival

❤️

The Sunnah of Giving up arguing and having good manners…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, and approach the month of Dhul Hajjiah, let try and increase our Ibaadat.

Abu Umamah Al-Bahili Ra reported Nabi (ﷺ) said,

“I guarantee a house in Jannah for one who gives up arguing, even if he is in the right;

and I guarantee a home in the middle of Jannah for one who abandons lying even for the sake of fun;

and I guarantee a house in the highest part of Jannah for one who has good manners/Akhlaaq.

In line with love for Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Salaam), a narration goes like this:

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..💕

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah ­

­

When there is still Hope

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 42 

Mohsina

In one of the most significant events in his history, after the death of our Nabi (Sal- lallaho alaihe wasallam), people of weak Imaan, especially among wandering Arabs, began to desert their faith and become renegades.

And it was the perfect opportunity for Musailamah- the false Prophet- to take advantage of the situation and cause a large number of people to fall a prey to his seduction. It was at this point that Abu Bakr (Radhiyal- laho anho) decided to put a stop to this onslaught on Islam.

And so, a fierce battle was fought, and with the help of Allah, Musailamah was killed. Unfortunately, along with him, a good number of Sahabah, including many Huffaz, lost their lives. It was after this battle, Hadhrat Umar (Radhiyallaho anho) went to Hadhrat Abu Bakr(Radhiyal- laho anho), immensely worried, and asked him to start compiling the Qur’ān into a book.

About this task, it was said by Zaid bin Thaabit (Radiallaho Anho):

Zaid (Radhiyallaho anho) says:
“By Allah, if Abu Bakr (Radhiyallaho anbo) had asked me to shift a mountain from one place to another, it would not have been so hard for me as the compilation of the Qur’an. I said, ‘How do you both dare to take up a thing which was not done by the Prophet (Sallallaho Alaihi Wa Sallam)
They explained to me their point till Allah made the truth dawn on me, and I also was convinced of the importance of the task. I then started going to the people and collecting the Qur’an from those who had written it and from those who had learnt it by heart, till the final collection was ready.”

Just recalling that, had made my heart shudder. Not one could imagine what may have occurred, if these esteemed sahabaah had not executed this ardent task, 

And for me, I often wondered, at that point in my life, where I’d hoped to never lose the connection… how the Glorious Quráan suddenly meant so much to me. And while I stumbled across it’s amazement, the reason for my preoccupation with the beautiful words of my Creator was much more clearer. I mean, it’s well known that if those words were to be placed on a mountain, then that very mountain would crumble due to its sublime weight. Why not then, you may ask, can it not penetrate even the most dead and obstinate of hearts? 

You see, because of Quráan that Nabi (SAW) could cope with the trauma in his life. He found answers in their verses. When his patience may have worn thin, he was reminded that Allah loved the patient. When pangs of hunger struck his blessed stomach, he was reminded of the provisions of Jannah. When anxiety struck him, he was reminded of the sunrise and what is going to come after the darkness. It reminded him that there is still hope.

And for me too, it brought for me a whole new world of promise. There’s something about new beginnings, and the promise that every day brings, that speaks right to my soul. 

We can’t undo our mistakes, or take them back. 

But when you humble yourself, sometimes you really do get more than you bargained for.

And as I made my way up the stairs, silently closing my room door, there was never a moment in my life when I saw things clearer than I did.

I felt awakened. As if someone had jolted me out of slumber. As if a new beginning was awaiting me.

As I paced my room, I knew that the next best thing was to start taking steps to correct my life, and I couldn’t do it with a simple message.

And knowing that Faadil was the main reason for my reservations, I knew that I had to sort out the mess with him first. I drew in a deep breath as I dialled, my heart thudding incessantly as I waited for his familiar drawl.

It was time to end it, but I knew that I had to take it one  step at a time. Faadil didn’t take well to sudden changes in his life and schedule.

There was a bit of shuffling and I could hear low murmurs, as he answered.

I could literally picture him, in his Armani shirt and suit pants, pacing in the penthouse balcony, the bustle of city activity in the background, even at that hour. The view there was always spectacular.

Stop thinking, Mos, I commanded myself. Get to the point. 

“Just wanted to tell you that I’ll be in the Monday after Eid to fetch my stuff. I’m handing in my resignation.”

There. I said it. I was prepared for his reaction, whatever it may be, but I cut it short. 

He was upset. Convinced I was letting an innocent baby cloud my judgement. Told me that I knew that I wasn’t just his employee. 

After all, I was the front he needed to marry to appear responsible and worthy of his position, and I knew it.

“See you, Faadil,” I almost whispered, as I ended the conversation, not wanting to get into any of it that day. “Salaam.”

Speaking to him had stirred up old emotions, and I didn’t want to visit that place. 

It would probably come up at some point, but for now, I knew that I needed to close the doors to my past sins. I needed to take a step back, and I needed to break all the ties that were binding me to my old life. There was so much I needed to change, but I was finding it so hard to conjure up the strength to even move myself off my bed. All I could do right then was bury my head in my pillow and sob my heart out, my heart aching over life and losses and all the previous time I wasted, as I wondered how I had gotten it all so wrong. 

And to add insult to injury, Jameela had just made her way up the stairs to reveal that Hamzah’s sister had been in contact to say that Zaid was asleep and they didn’t want to disturb him, so they would bring him in the morning. I knew this sort of thing my happen at some point and that’s what Maulana was talking about… but I clearly wasn’t coping with the situation very well. There had to be some way to work around it. 

And just as I had positively yelled blue murder at my siblings who came to check on me, so I could wallow in my sympathy, it was at that point when Maahira’s message lit up on my phone to say she was on her way.

And in my emotional state, feeling like ten truckloads of bricks were all raining down on me, all I could say was that sometimes  you have to step back and see what Allah has prepared for you, to really appreciate his amazing plan. And yes, I had taken a step to make amends with Nani, to cut off with Faadil; and I intended to with everyone else but it’s possible that things don’t always fall into place straight away. Sometimes you have to wait it out and bear a little discomfort for a short time, to earn a greater reward…

And despite my feeling like there was no more hope, in my bulldozed state of mind, as Maahira arrived and I clapped my eyes on her, like a breeze of serenity, a huge wave of relief overcame me, as I realized just how much I had missed my oldest friend. 

I squeezed her with all my might, taking in a subtle scent of jasmine spritz on her Hijab as she held me back, unable to breathe for a minute as I clung onto her as if my life depended on it.

“My word,”she whispered. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you, dammit.”

“Ditto,” I said back quietly, not trusting myself to say more.I wanted to spill everything out and let her know how painfully heart-wrenching this past month had been for me. I wanted to bear my heart and soul once again, to relieve the weights that were burdening my shoulders.  

I was all emotional and mushy inside and I knew if I said one more thing, I would probably burst into embarrassing torrents of emotions. 

As for Maahira, her eyes were glazed over as she looked at me, and as I smiled back at her, I took in how  great she was looking. Peaceful. Content. She didn’t look like the girl smiling candidly for Insta snaps. She was most definitely altered… and it showed in her appearance.

She had also lost almost 10kgs on some Keto diet she found on the gram and her parents had set up a host of Samoosa runs for her for straight after Ramadhaan, before she went back. 

Unlike me, Maahira was actually wanting someone to keep her grounded, look after her and all the rest. Simply put, she was done with the Hashim’s and Faadils of our lives.

I just wished that I could get there…

”Don’t you feel like just sleeping in on some days?” She had said when I asked her if she was serious. “Like not doing all the macho and insane things we do every day? Getting up early at the crack of dawn even though we have, like, zero kids. Dressing up like fashion dogs and making our way to the office so we look the part the boring accountant? Going to work and doing a job that everyone hates us for?
I don’t know about you Mos, but I’m telling you, my days as an auditor are numbered.”

And I agreed with her. I really did. But man, I’d worked so hard to get where I was.

She stepped back now, giving me a once over as she plopped on my bed and gave me a questioning look. 

“So spill it,” she said, after I gave her a short low down about Ramadhaan and work. “I didn’t come here to hear about boring budgets. You know what I’m after. You gonna tell me why you were bawling your eyes out or must I squeeze it out of you?”

“Jameela told you,” I said, rolling my eyes, and she raised her un-shaped eyebrows slightly.

The bushy eyebrow look actually suited her. I supposed shaping my eyebrows was something I had to grow them out of. I made an intention to at least try.

“Why cant she just shut her mouth?” I mumbled, shaking my head. Jameela must have told Maahira all the unsightly details. Siblings are way too revealing for my liking. 

She grinned as I rolled my eyes.

”Has some bloke broke your heart?” She said with a wink. “And is he handsome? Because honestly, all I’m getting are Shrek-alikes and I’m not sure if there’s hope anymore.”

I grinned. 

“He is,” I said surreptitiously. “But I’m afraid looks count for nothing here. You were right. Faadil is a tiger on the prowl. There’s no other way to put it. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be enough for him…”

“So now you’ve come to your senses and told him to fly a kite?” She said with a hopeful face. 

“Not exactly,” I said guiltily. “I haven’t been able to prove anything. I’ve heard a few things, but nothing incriminating. Maahi, I just need to let it go and leave it behind me but I can’t seem to call it off…”

She glanced at me briefly, before cocking her head. 

“It’s a tough one,” she said, shaking her head pensively. “I’ve been there, love. I know how it is. He’s hot, handsome and he’s powerful but he’s toxic for you. That’s what made me go on so long with Hashim, and I’m so sorry that I ever let it happen…”

She looked genuinely pained as she said it, as if it had broken her, but by bit, as she recalled every poisoned part of her past relationship. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be the trigger to someone else’s marital problems. It was a time when I least admired my friend, and I was so glad that she had repented from that sin.

”I just want him to move on completely, you know?” I said quietly. “I feel like I have. I feel different. Something’s happened. I’m not sure what, but I don’t feel that insane attraction to him anymore…”

I couldn’t believe I had just said that. I was giving away more than I intended but I needed to tell her how I felt, because I didn’t quite understand it. 

Maahira looked at me, and gave me a small smile, as she placed her hand on her heart.

“It’s here, babe,” she murmured, closing her eyes momentarily as if she was savoring a heartfelt emotion, as she flashed me a gorgeous dimpled smile. “Your heart’s changed. That’s what Ramadhaan does to us. It opens your heart and your mind… and if the guy doesn’t have Allah in his heart, you’re never going to be able to be with him. Honestly, I’m not asking for Mr Perfect. I myself am far from it. An honest but flawed man, who loves his Lord… For me, that’s the real stuff.”

She had hit the nail on the head. Maahira had pulled off her Hijab and was now propped against my continental pillow, watching me from the corner of her eye, while I digested what she had said.

She was right and I could feel it. My heart had changed, my perception had been altered and I was seeing everything so differently.

I nodded, my eyes feeling moist at the corners, and I just realised why.

“I feel everything so much deeper now,” I murmured, looking up at the ceiling now as I spoke. “If this is not a sign then what is? Shouldn’t I want to change my focus because there’s a little baby involved? I want to start spomething different. To do something worthy, not in the eyes of people, but on a bigger scale. I want to start Hifdh classes. Do you think I’m mad?”

It was the first time I had said it aloud, and I wasn’t sure what the reaction would be. 

“That’s amazing,” she said softly, lying next to me, as our shoulders touched. I remembered doing this countless times in our childhood and teenage years.

The room light was dim and the men had both left for Salaah, so the house was much quieter than earlier. I could heart Maahiras breathing as I thought about what she was saying, and a deep urgency suddenly filled me as I turned to her. 

“Can you even believe that I didn’t know he was a Hafidh?”

She looked at me and blinked.

“Are we talking about ‘he who does not exist’?” she said, suddenly turning and looking at me in the eye, as she propped her head up on her hand. 

I grinned, despite my emotions. We both knew who she was talking about and my heart beat faster when she mentioned him. I wasn’t even sure how I had got to this stage, where I was suddenly on the other side of the fence.  Who ever thought that I would fall for a guy because of his Deen? It sounded like one of those cliched memes.

“Yup,“ I said, swallowing my emotion once again. It was like my heart was suddenly set alight and I wanted to change my entire life. 

”So much has happened, Maahi” I said, voicing my thoughts, as my voice trembled. Why did everything make me want to cry? 

A vague memory instantly filled my thoughst as I remembered:

There’s a reason why Allah  loves those who have sinned and repented, for they have the softest of hearts. 

“Mos, is anything beyond repair?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at me.

“I feel like it is,” I admitted quietly, my chest feeling tighter as I though of it. “None of my family know the story with Faadil. I shut them out completely. I didn’t take their advice seriously. I’ve made bad decisions. I let the wrong man get close to me, and I feel so sick when I think about it. I don’t want to get back there. My family will forgive me. But what about everyone else, Maahi? What about everyone else I hurt?”

There were so many people who I had hurt in the process but Hamzah was the one person I never gave an explanation to.

”Mos,” she said comfortingly. “Dont despair. Just think it over, you’ll need to talk it through and maybe he’ll need some time…”

“But what if there’s no time?” I suddenly cried, cutting her off. “So many people didn’t make it here! Look at Layyanah. At Liyaket. They were lucky to have seen the light… And here I am, just trying to find my way out of my darkness, out of those gloomy pathways… but still I’m struggling to take that step? Why, Maahira? Why am I still struggling? Why can’t I just let go? I expect provisions in my life, I expect my debts to be resolved, I expect the doors of marriage to be open for me, I expect loving relationships, I expect and expect…”

My voice dropped as Maahira looked at me, tears filling her own eyes. 

“But I fail Allah, Maahi. I failed to even fulfil my obligations.”

The tears were streaming down, in all their glory, as Maahira turned away and bit her lip. She was obviously a little stumped for words.

“You’re not the only one, love,” she said, so quietly, that I barely heard her.

But it wasn’t even about anyone else. I was so off track. Instead of seeing hijab as a means to get closer to my Creator, it was a mere fashion accessory. Instead of filling my days with Ibaadat, I was dwelling on ways to make more sins. Instead of trying my utmost to be grateful to Allah for his infinite bounties, I took great pleasure in posting my entire life on social media for the whole world to gawk at. And I still wondered why I was lost?

“It’s not the end,” I heard her say, after a few seconds, almost as if she was holding onto an iota of hope that was left.

“But will he forgive me?” I asked candidly, my spirits lifted slightly. If he had to know about Faadil…

”Its not your job to worry about that, love,” she said quietly. “You take the step and apologize. Be honest. You try and set it right. Once you take a step towards Allah, He makes a way for you, even when you can never imagine. Don’t you ever despair of his mercy, it’s really far more than you can ever imagine. There’s always a way to pack your past into a suitcase and start over.”

And as I looked at Maahira’s solemn face, it just so happened that it was that very moment her phone let out a shrill ring, and I already knew that the moment had passed for now. 

I just knew that I had to take something from it if I wanted to make a change. 

And as Maahira left that evening, after our intense heart to heart, somehow, I was feeling lighter than usual. I tried to submit as much work that night as possible, knowing that since I’d resigned, I still had to pull my weight till the notice period was over. Working from home was not ideal, but it worked for now. Going into the office would be an emotional disaster right then, and I wasn’t ready to take it on yet. 

As promised, Zaid arrived with his uncle and Saaliha, early the next morning, consuming us all once again, with his cuteness and daily needs. Not a person in the house was immune to his charm, and somehow, he livened the the entire household. It wasn’t long before there came a time when I could not have imagined life any other way, especially as preparations for Eid came up, and I took a trip to the local mall to choose three different outfits to show him off in. 

He was, obviously, looking like the handsomest young guy as I dressed him in a little Kurta-romper thing my obsessed parents had found near Fordsburg, just before breakfast on Eid morning.

Ramadhaan seemed to have flew by, but I knew that the real test would be that day. Would I be able to maintain all the resolutions I had made? Would I be able to keep up the good deeds I had promised to? Would I maintain that beautiful connection with the Glorious Qur’aan, that I vowed to?

And for all that grief that Liyakets mother had felt, her grandson was a small compensation for her. When he wasn’t having tummy issues (which still happened often), he was a ball of laughter and fun.

It was for this reason that Eid was particularly spectacular that year, and it wasn’t even about that or the Matilda cakes or Nani’s famous burfee. There was a peace that surrounded me, coupled with a mixture of sadness as I realized that now that Ramadhaan was over, everything was going to come at me at full-force, while I struggled to get back into my old groove.

Having Zaid, as we agreed I would, was my cherry on the top, and everyone ooh-ed and aah-ed over him as if he was my child. I held him tight to me, for the moments that I had him with me, feeling a little aggrieved but also absolutely in awe of this gift that my beloved friend had left for me.

I didn’t want to get back into the mundanities that had consumed me. All I wanted to do was immerse myself in the beauty that I had found, but I knew that I couldn’t. While I enjoyed family around, ignored my mean girl cousins who never ceased to mention something offensive every Eid day, and sat in my own bubble of bliss where no-one could touch me, I didn’t expect that evening pan out anything like it did. 

And it was all good that day. I mean, I was in an amazing mood. I was all prepared to knock out all those bad habits for good, and as I sat on my Musallah, just after maghrib Salaah, trying to hang onto those last remnants of Ramadhaan bliss, I couldn’t help but feel jolted out of my tranquility as Muhammed Husayn tapped me from behind. 

“Mos,” he said, a slight frown on his forehead visible as I glanced at him. “Come down.”

I looked at him questioningly. Maghrib had just finished and I was immersing myself relentlessly in a short Du’aa as I hoped to hang onto the feeling that still existed within me.

“Hamzah is here,” he said, and I was little taken aback by mention of him. 

But yes, of course. They didn’t have to let me know, right? I had to be easy. He had come to see Zaid. It was Eid day, after all.

“He asked me to call you.”

---

 

Mission Sunnah Revival

The Sunnah of Quraan Tilawat…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, I it’s recommended to set a certain amount of Quran to read every day.

Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said: “Stick to the reading of the Quran, as it is Noor for you in this li free and treasure in the Aakhirah.” 

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When the Game Begins

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 40

We are a pretty lost generation. Toxic, if you ask me.

We have taken self-entitlement to another level. We are obsessed with self-care. We are closed off to all advice, even when someone has good intent.

We forget that accounting is also an act of integrity. We end up throwing around lines like ‘I don’t owe anyone anything’, when in fact, we forget that there are things bigger than numbers, things like actions and their consequences that we need to account for.

We owe those we hurt, an apology. You owe those who support you, some gratitude. You owe those who you disrespected, some respect.

And we are so off track that if we’re not destroying the relationships we already have, we have become unable to build any new healthy ones. We lose what is real chasing over what appears to be.

You see, whilst previous generations would indicate their nobility by their lineage, their family or similar traits, for Gen Z and the Millennials, the ball game is a completely different one. For the ‘digital natives’, we value our worth on comments and inbox messages filled with colorful words that have no depth.

Nowadays, when relationships get hard, all we do is log on and get high off the false sense of security and appreciation.

Our version of worthiness is now defined by the money we could spend. How many followers we have. Which virtual celebrities we could tag whilst living our best life, because our lives were only the best when it warranted outside validation.

And the game didn’t end. I had been all caught up in it for such a long time but I was coming somewhere back down to Earth when the situation had gotten a little stressful at home and I got caught up again in my different kind of delusion.

“How could you?!” I shot at my sister, pulling over one of her newer abayas with a teal-coloured zip, and spinning around to face her. “How could you let Nani fry them?! Do you even know how bad this looks?”

It was all about me and my expectations and how I felt about the entire thing. About how embarrassed I was. I glanced in the mirror, shaking my head at her as I tried to slap on at least a little make-up, just to appear human.

The foundation I had layered on was looking drab and too much already. Over a week of sleep deprivation was not looking good for those bags. My skin was almost dry and disgustingly flaky. I desperately needed to get to Sandton to purchase my Hydro-facial products but I hadn’t gotten a single chance.

My life was an official and crazy mess.

“I couldn’t help it,” she mumbled, looking extremely tense as she watched me. “I was busy with Zaid and I couldn’t leave him.”

Was that all she had? She couldn’t help it?!

Well, I couldn’t help losing it.

“But I told you to watch Nani with those samoosas!” I hissed, seeing red. I did tell her. Before I went to shower. “If you weren’t so caught up in stalking that ridiculous boy, we could have avoided all these damn problems!”

Jameela looked hurt, and remorse immediately overcame me as she mumbled an apology.

And of course, with all that pent-up frustration, I couldn’t help but immediately see an opportunity to take some of it out on her.

I breathed in as I removed my thick line of eye-liner from the day before that I hadn’t had time to remove and I just wasn’t feeling anymore, now convinced that all my Qur’an reading for that day was completely void because I had lost it with my sister.

That was uncalled for. And it wasn’t nice.

There I was, faulting her for not controlling her gaze when I was ten times worse than her.

But she didn’t know that, did she? My Nafs was reminding me.

She doesn’t know what’s really going on, and she wasn’t going to find out.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz Buzz.

And there he was. The reminder. And right now, when I was getting ready for one of the most important meetings of my year, was when Faadil decided to call, after almost three days of no communication. How great was his timing, and what on Earth was he busy with all this time?

I instantly pressed down the side button of my iPhone, silencing the vibration that was becoming a little too disruptive for my overactive mind. No need to give him the time of day right then. It takes two to tango, right.

Guilt was slowly creeping in, as I watched Jameela’s flushed face, and that, was something I didn’t expect. Usually, saying mean and degrading things had no effect on my heart. Usually, I wouldn’t even feel an atom of remorse for the ugly words I would utter. But this time, my conscience was already gnawing at me.

Something had changed my heart and I had no idea as yet what it was.

But there was no time to even digest it because we had to be downstairs within a few minutes and make good impressions and brace myslef for the unknown.

What I didn’t quite know about change was that they were already creeping in, from the time Zaid had come into my life.

And boy, had he really taken over my life. It was like the wind was knocked out of me, and all I ate, slept and dreamt about was all things Zaid.

In fact; as I looked in the mirror one last time, I even looked like all things Zaid. Imagine if people from the office saw me like this. Thank goodness Faadil hadn’t video called. Imagine if he was exposed to this. He would very possible run for the hills if he did.

I speedily draped my sheila, making sure I looked semi-normal, and then sped down the stairs to hear the sound of jovial chatter already in the lounge. In all fairness, there was no need to be over-morbid, but the whole thing was just making me so unsettled that I really wished that everyone would just get on with what they came here for and get it over with.

Ans it was getting to me because now, I had to deal with Hamzah and family. And of course, it made me extremely nervous to think about it.

I held my breath as I entered the lounge, purposely keep to the extreme left, as I glimpsed Nani, my mother, and three other ladies on the other side. They looked up as they saw me, and though I expected them to be civil, as Hamzah’s mother came forward to greet me, I really did not expect her to hold on to me so tightlly, that I felt like I could barely breathe.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said to her warmly, and I was surprised that really meant it, as I held her back.

And though she was silent, as she pulled back, it was only then that I saw tears in her eyes as she looked back at me, probably not trusting herself to speak. Behind her, sitting on the chair beside the couch because of her troublesome back, was Liyakets mother, who I had been seeing when I took Zaid to see her every second day.

And though it was different circumstances, the entire thing was like dejavu. Meeting his amazing mother. His lovely sister-in-law. Hearing Hamzah’s unfiltered voice talking from behind the screen.

But in other ways, it was different. This time, there was no forced-smiling necessary.  No chuckles and light-hearted humour. No attempts at cornering me in the kitchen.

Hamzah, in fact, didn’t even leave his seat, even as we called the men to the dining room table for some tea and Nani’s famous samoosas.

Not even for those, and to tell the truth, despite my dramatic performance, I think I may have been just as disappointed as Nani about it.

The daunting Maulana Umar, who I’d heard of through the grapevine before, was a friend of Hamzah’s older brother. And as I sat, trying to calm my nerves as Saaliha played with Zaid, who had been back and forth several times and now also needed a change of nappy, I couldn’t help but overhear the talk that was now starting on the other side.

Amidst it all, there was a tone of grief within the quiet chatter that ensued that day, as we both said our piece  and tried to be civil about what we wanted out of this arrangement.

And my heart was thudding in my chest as we spoke,  me in lower tones, mostly through my father, because I knew that Hamzah wanted full custody of Zaid. I actually couldn’t believe him. He felt he was entitled to it, since Liyaket was his best friend for nearly two decades. I knew that he was persistent in whatever he did, and I knew that he wouldn’t back down about it.

It was just that the Maulana who was here was talking so casually and calmly, that I really had no idea what to make of it anymore. Was he going to push me to the edge for this or give me a break?

And if things had ended on a good note with us, or even a slightly amicable one, it may have been easier, but the tension between us, even though it wasn’t direct, was very much evident.

As for the suggestions put forward, I disagreed (maybe purposely) with everything he said, and he, in turn, argued everything I put forward.

It was evident from the emotion in both our voices that we very palpably felt the loss of our two closest friends, who would have probably banged both our heads together if they’d been there.

There I was, trying to be civilized, behind the screen, but I literally felt like yelling my head off at him. And okay, I couldn’t blame him for my crazy, but I could tell that even the Maulana was a little in over his head with us, as the tension rose and fell, when finally, I could tell that it was time to call it a day. And I’m sure he was glad to be done with us too.

I really did feel quite sorry for him.

“This is a unique situation,” someone said, trying to dissipate it. “Very little family is involved and that was the case when the parents were around too. It may just take a few more meetings to come to something amicable, right?”

Yah right, was all I could think. Let’s see how amicable Hamzah can be. 

There was a series of ‘Jhee’ and general tones of agreement, before the maulana spoke again.

“So we know that this baby needs a good upbringing,” Maulana started. “Any child does. I cannot stress more on the importance of upbringing and how much this can mould a child.”

Okay Maulana, I thought in my head. Enough with the Bayaans. Just give us a solution that will be good for us both.

”With this in mind,” he continued. “There are many things that can be designed. Rosters, on who will keep him when, for the interim. Proper planning as he grows, for daycare or for his schooling, and also, it requires commitment from both sides to keep to the agreement. If this can be done with little problems, then Allah Ta’ala will put barakah in the arrangement.”

Ja, neh. Now he was talking. I was starting to like him. Finally.

“But,” he said, after a few seconds, and I held my breath, wondering what he was pausing for. “We need to also remember that disagreements are inevitable. When there is a dispute and no understanding between the parties continuously, children suffer the lifelong consequences. Even though this is a very heartbreaking situation, the advantage of this baby being very small if that whatever foundation is built now, will be the only one he knows. My best suggestion is to make it as normal as possible. Form a home for the child. A healthy child is one who has been jointly reared by two parents.”

Haaai. Now what?!

I could literally hear Jameelas breathing next to me, but no-one dare say a word, in case they had gotten the wrong end of the stick.  Was the Maulana actually suggesting what I thought he was?

“Maulana, I’m sorry,” someone said from the men’s side. It must have been Hamzah’s brother. “Just to make it clear…. What exactly are you suggesting?”

He cleared his throat, gave a small chuckle and I held my breath.

“There can be an arrangement,” he said, and my own breathing quicker as he said it. “Either hand the child over to a couple who has made a home and is willing to take him-“

”Maulana, that won’t work,” Hamzah’s voice said swiftly before anyone else could get a word in edgewise.

I agreed, for once.

”Or you take my best advice and make your own…” Maulana finished off.

My cheeks flushed as he said it, even though the message was ambiguous. Did he actually even say that?

Did he mean Hamzah must make his own home? Was he trying to kick me out of the equation completely… or was he suggesting something else that entailed us both?

Did he know the history here? I was almost certain that he did, and was just taking the mickey out of us. None of us were thrilled, and I could hear the ominous silence from where they all sat.

I breathed out, not even realised how long I had been holding my breath until I felt the relief in my chest, coupled with a ache in my gut that I couldn’t quite comprehend.

There was silence, because I knew that it was directed at Hamzah and I.

“Hamzah?” He said, from where he sat behind the screen across the room. “Sister Mohsina? Lets forget the disagreements, and try to make something work, alright?”

I could hardly breathe easily right then, looking from my mother to the three ladies who were sitting there with her, still unable to focus.

I mumbled a half-hearted reply, and so did Hamzah, but the guilt I had been feeling was now overwhelming.

Liyaket’s mother was still sitting there, a little unfocused but silent. She probably didn’t quite know what to make of the whole thing.

Losing her only son must feel like your entire world is lost. Imagine not being able to see your only child, ever again. Imagine not being able to hold him, to touch him, to hear his voice calling her. Imagine having that loss, which feels heavier with time, and each passing day.

I prayed every day for Allah to fill that huge void she felt… that we all felt, so much more, now… with His amazing Love, until we are reunited in Jannah, one beautiful day.

I closed my eyes for a minute, wondering, not for the first time, if this was really happening. If Liyaket and Layyanah really left this world. If this little baby had really become my responsibility. If Hamzah and I really went through so much, only to be back here again.

Murmuring and hushed tones continued for a bit, before Maulana started speaking again.

“See, Allah Ta’ala has designed us in such a way that any child will thrive best, given both parents together,” he said carefully. “Circumstances are unavoidable. Every child needs a mother desperately, with her comfort, emotional understanding and compassion. Together with that, the father is also as important, as he holds an amazing space in defining the child’s direction, for financial support, in setting boundaries and in keeping a family aligned on the path of Allah Ta’ala.

I’ll leave you one last piece of advice that you both should take very seriously. To avoid court, we have to work together and be selfless. And I know that everyone will have their own opinions and objections, but when you two truly stop thinking about yourselves and start thinking about the child and what’s best for him, then you both will see sense and I know that you two will make the best decision. You’ll are welcome to come to me when you do. Inshaa Allah….”

And with that, Maulana Umar greeted my stunned father respectfully, before I turned to Hamzah’s mother and sister in law, who I also greeted, feeling just a little embarrassed and out of place.

Yes. I had been a bit difficult. A bit pushy with how much I wanted to control.

I wanted most of Zaid’s time. I wanted to choose schools. I wanted to make sure he had the best care. But wasn’t that because of him? I just wanted the best for him, right?

I didn’t even think that it may have been my ego talking for me.

I knew that I hadn’t been easy, and neither had Hamzah. Both of us had our preferences and our criteria but what Maulana had said had nailed it on the head. We weren’t really thinking about Zaid. Everything we had said was centered around ourselves, and there was no way that it would make any difference to Zaid if it was one way or the other.

I desperately wanted to make things right, even as I greeted the ladies, but it was too late and there was nothing that could be done. What Maulana had said had hit a nerve, and there was no way I could make it all right then.

And with less than a week away from Ramadhan, office work still pending, after everything sunk in, I found myself retreating more into my own world, and caring less about the old one.

The messages kept coming. The posts kept flowing. The game continued, but I wasn’t really playing.

And I’m sure it was the combination of the blessings of Ma’s famous haleem (yummiest lentil soup), Nani’s multiple-filling samoosas and all the general goodness that homemade luxuries had brought… but somehow, something within me had shifted and while I would, in the past, jump at an opportunity to spend time alone with Faadil as soon as he messaged, any day he wanted to see me, it just didn’t appeal any longer…

I had spoken to him briefly, filed in for some unpaid leave and asked for a break to think about what I really wanted to do.

Of course, to say he was livid, was an understatement. He was convinced that I was throwing away the best opportunity I ever had. Thinking with my heart. Wasting my intellect. Deluded by emotion.

But he didn’t know what changes my heart had been though. He had no idea how much I had been altered. I knew exactly what it was that I needed, because something had happened to me, and though I wasn’t yet quite sure what it was, I already knew that I didn’t want to lose it.

As much as I wanted to at least make amends and redeem myself with Hamzah’s family for the sake of Zaid, I wasn’t going to contact him. Although I needed to swallow my pride, I wasn’t quite ready.

Too much had happened, and as I entered Ramadhaan and a journey into myself, I realized that I had a deeply-rooted arrogance, that was keeping me away from Allah Ta’ala all this time.

It stemmed from the fact that my heart was not in Him, and He was not in my heart. I discovered that a heart that does not have it’s Creator within it, is not clean, but tarnished, and I wanted that to change.

You see, for me, my pride was in my career. My 15k followers. My degree. My feminist position at work. My insta-worhy photo skills. My amazing Instafam, and the name-dropping that I was entitled to do because of it.

And then Ramadhaan came, with a beautiful breeze of serenity, and with the softest tugging at my heart, as I lost myself in it, my altered heart was going to undergo much more than I’d ever bargained for.

Something had changed and I wasn’t sure what it was, and like iron is exposed to water and develops layer upon layers of rust, likewise, the heart too does.

But when it is polished, one would be shocked to notice that it experiences a shine like no other.

And once I realised that, it was like nothing else mattered. Not Netflix. Not Instagram. Not Snapchat. All I wanted to do is fix myself, with the wealth I had just found.

And there are certain beauties that only come with the peace of turning to Him, for indeed, Allāh Azza Wa Jal never ceases to be as His slave expects of Him.

On the authority of Abu Hurayrah, may Allah be pleased with him, that the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said: “Allah the Exalted, Says, ‘I am as My slave expects Me to be, and I am with him whenever he remembers Me. If he remembers Me to Himself, I remember him to Myself, and if he remembers Me in an assembly, I remember him in a better assembly (i.e., the assembly of angels). If he draws closer to Me by a hand span, I draw closer to him by an arm’s length. If he draws closer to Me by an arm’s length, I draw closer to him by a fathom’s length. And whoever comes to Me walking, I go to him at speed.’” [Al-Bukhari and Muslim]

And the more I immersed myself in the words of my Rabb, the more I craved. The peace and contentment that I felt that Ramadhaan was like no other. It was like discovering a secret gem, that was right under my nose. The Qur’ān was my secret refuge and my utmost saviour, altogether, taking preference above everything else, and winning me over into a world where I was truly absolved of any worldly desires.

Where I would be restless before when I opened it, now I was restless without it. Where my peace and contentment lay in everything besides it, now I could not seem to find any peace without it. I couldn’t think properly, if it wasn’t with me. It was like an attachment that was growing within me, purifying and healing me as it my heart opened more and more, and engulfed its superb magic.

I wanted to immerse myself more and more, and while Zaid slept, most days, instead of trying to catch up with the work Faadil had asked me to, I would sit with my Mushaf and soak in the serenity it gave me.

And that particular week, Hamzah had come to take Zaid away for three of the days that week, I didn’t yet know that a little more than just a greeting had ensued that day.

The game though, was still to unfold, because as life often goes, things are not always what they seem.

And the thing is, I had surrendered to Allah’s plan for me. Utterly and completely. I wasn’t fighting anything anymore. I was going with the flow and letting it all just take over, but with the ups and downs of life, when something knocks you sideways, sometimes you just dont expect it.

It was the sign for me. A reminder that most certainly, there is a Greater Power who knows and sees much better than you do.

And that’s when I realised:

This world cannot break you unless you allow it to. And it cannot own you unless you hand it the keys, and you hand over your heart. And so, if you have handed those keys to Duniyaa, you have to claim them back.

And I was still on that journey, the part that entailed taking the keys back… when to top off the jumble that my mind was in, my phone started buzzing away, and seeing the caller ID, I knew I couldn’t ignore her completely.

Maahira had been updated briefly on what was going on, but being Ramadhaan, I wasn”t particularly intent on speaking to her right then, so I opted for a generic, “Can’t talk right now, can I call you back?” message, and tapped send.

Her reply, as always, was instantaneous.

Hey love, I’m here for Eid! Now, r we having that wedding or not?

---

Dearest Readers

Hope everyone is well ❤️ It’s my favourite part of the story… the part when the plunge is taken and that change takes place and im just trying to hang onto it as long as I can. Okay, okay… not too long, I know.

Love reading your comments… thoughts on wedding preps?

Much love

A xx

Mission Sunnah Revival

The Sunnah of Duaa

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, I think the Sunnah of Duaa is one that we need to keep with us… InshaAllah

The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said, ‘Du’a is worship itself’. Then the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) recited this verse, ‘Your Lord says: “Call upon Me and I will respond to you. Verily, those who disdain My worship will enter Hell in humiliation” [The Noble Qur’an, 40:60]’. [Tirmidhi]

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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