When things get a little Intense

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 75

We’ve all had intense moments. Moments of extreme emotion. Moments that came with so much weakness, human frailty, and pain. Moments that may have become filled with exhilaration and exhaustion, and sometimes, maybe even extreme ecstasy.

Every moment is different. Fleeting. A quiet morning walk after the rain. A heartbreak in the midst of a storm. A damp wind that smells like home. A fleeting burst of emotion.

Even when the odds are against us, when our back is against the wall…

We remind ourselves to hold onto hope. Tawakkul.

This moment will never last. Every moment, will slip away.

And that moment too, had slipped, but my mind was still replaying it, the way I remembered my entire world being rocked with the revelation that Mohsina had broken to me just a day before.

It had taken me a day to finally approach Maahira and ask her all the questions I wanted to. I just couldn’t face Mohsina as yet. I didn’t have the words to say what I really wanted to.

Not until I knew exactly how I was going to help her.
How I could or what I would do… I had no idea. I just knew that I had to do something.

“I can’t believe that she was going to marry him.”

It was the first thing that I had said to Maahira when she picked up the call.

I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, overlooking the endless view of the farm greenery, taking a little comfort in the beauty of the horizon on that clear summers day, still feeling the same way I had felt the day before- like I had lost a limb.

The background noise faded as I imagined her walking away from the area where she was.

It was after five in London but I knew better than to assume that Maahira worked a nine to five. She hadn’t gotten where she was because she pulled the basics. Both Mos and Maahi had pushed and stretched themselves so thin that I sometimes wondered how they even had energy for their demanding social lives.

“How did you find out?”

Her tone was flat. Tired and weary.

”She did,” I said simply, not even bothered to sound apologetic about getting straight into the ugly business. “Yesterday when she told me everything else. About the fraud case. And about her plan to off her marriage, which is why I’m calling you. First, tell me: Did she really know that he was involved in fraud?”

It had been on my mind the entire night. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything Mohsina had told me. The divorce. Faadil. About how she knew he was up to something.

About how this would ruin her and kick up old dust. It looked like it already did.

“She just thought that he was cheating,” Maahira said softly, and I heard her exhausted sigh after. “I told her that she needed to keep an eye on him. She insisted it was business, and they had an ‘arrangement’. She didn’t seem to believe it when she’d heard the rumours that he was up to something else too. He’d done a lot for her. Supported her emotionally too. She had been desperate for cash at the time and had a lot on her mind, other than his womanising tricks.”

I raised my eyebrows, looking at myself in the dresser mirror, as I backed up against my wooden headboard. I had pulled my hair up into a bun but a few stray strands blew around as the breeze sashayed in through the hallway window. I couldn’t help but flinch at Maahira’s words.

He had been there for her when none of us were in the picture. We had bailed on her, and Mohsina felt alone.

It wasn’t our fault, I reminded myself. She had pushed us away.

“And she didn’t care?” I pressed, my eyes narrowing at myself as I leaned back. ”Like… cheating was okay for her?”

Cheating. Faadil was cheating on her and she didn’t even bat an eyelid.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, shocked at what Maahira had just revealed. What kind of sick relationship was she even setting herself up for?

And all for money. For the promise of a good life.

It comes in the Hadith that this world would dupe us so much that we would do anything for it. We would become fools, reduced to something so low, in its pursuit.

It fools us into believing that if we barter everything for this Duniyaa, we will get contentment. The truth is that only Allah… only the knowledge of Deen and the actions that bring us closer to Allah can bring that.

One of the most beautiful traditions of the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) captures this concept perfectly. He said: “Whoever makes the Hereafter his preoccupation, then Allah places freedom from want in his heart, gathers his affairs, and Dunya (worldly life) comes to him despite being reluctant to do so. And whoever makes Dunya his preoccupation, then Allah places his poverty in front of his eyes, make his affairs scattered, and nothing of the Dunya comes to him except that which has been decreed for him.” [At- Tirmidhi]

As expected, Maahira already had answers for me.

“Jamz,” she said seriously. “The corporate world is a brutal chase for pomp and pleasure, filled with trails of deceit and manipulation. The big guys do what they want, without consequence. They do what they need to just to get to the top. This is a classic case of the big guy using the little guy.. well, girl in this case. He had wealth and status, and he promised her the same. That’s all that mattered to her.”

”That’s disgusting,” I said, feeling hot with anger and annoyance.

How could she? How could she do that to herself? She betrayed us. She betrayed herself. How could she lower herself to that kind of level… just for money? Money.

”Don’t judge her,” Maahira said, and I could hear her shifting her approach, like she wanted to prove a point to me.

”How can I not judge her?” I scoffed, shaking my head again. “Would you do that, Maahi? Would you?!”

She laughed, but it was a humourless one.

I couldn’t help but feel like I was so naive. Maybe there was way more out there about the world that I had to learn about.

“You don’t want to know that answer.”

I breathed in and glanced at my bookshelf, itching for a distraction.

The rapid beating in my chest increased significantly. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. It sounded like Maahira had a story to tell and the silence already spoke volumes.

“I was so caught up, that no one could have saved me,” she said, her voice dropping even lower. “It was a pure miracle that Allah Ta’ala put guidance into my heart before I did one of the worst things anyone could do. Before I broke up someone’s marriage, and compromised my own respect.”

”Alhumdulillah,” I replied softly, remembering the fall out that Mos and Maahi had a few months back. It was coming back to me now.

How she had suddenly changed her life had made me realise that whilst Mos had been plunged headfirst into a situation, Maahira had really done an amazing job slowly morphing into someone who I looked at with something close to admiration. Even her social media vibe had changed, where she stopped taking selfies and flashy posts and now documented interesting places, food and goods she loved in London.

I sighed. It was all I could manage before she spoke again.

“There comes a time when you realise that everyone will leave you,” she continued. “And when everyone leaves you, and you’re all alone… it’s only Allah that can come through for you. I had to see the light before I was destroyed by the darkness.”

On point. She was so right. Sometimes we forget that Allah can forgive all our sins, even when we’re not willing to forgive  others. Sometimes we forget how merciful Allah is, when we refuse to show mercy to others.

I understood but I still couldn’t say anything.

”Tell me what you thinking. Tell me you’re not thinking the worst,” she said, and I could hear the concern in her voice now.

I sighed. Again.

“I’m thinking that I can’t believe that she was prepared to accept anything just for that idiot. Who knows what else went on.”

“Jameela, listen,” she said quietly. “That’s life. We get involved with bad people. We make the wrong choices. We cherish someone who turned their back on us. Who hurt us. Who broke us. That’s life. It happens. We move past it, we make Tawbah and we get up again.”

“But Hamzah doesn’t deserve all this,” I argued, the anger igniting once again as I thought of all the opportunities she had to come clean. “I also think my parents should know what she’s planning to do and why.”

“You cant be making these decisions for her,” Maahira said firmly. “It’s her past and you cant tell anyone about this. They may know some stuff but not all of it. This is stepping directly into a problem you have nothing to do with.”

Maahira’s voice was serious, and tears burning the back of my eyes as she said it. It was a warning and I wasn’t sure why but I was so upset.

Sometimes we’re so quick to put our hurt and feelings above everyone else’s. Sometimes all logic flies out the window when emotions get involved.

Sometimes we forget the simple rule of leaving alone that which does not concern us. Maybe this was something that I had to just let her get though on her own.

”But why?” I said as I regained my composure. I couldn’t understand why I should.

I didn’t want to listen. I was angry with her. My sense was clouded. I was angry that she had been with Faadil. Angry that she had let this happen. Angry that she had abandoned us as her family for that period of her life, without even giving us a heads up. Angry that everything was coming back to break everything else apart.

“Mos was doing what was best for the family,” she said softly in a pleading voice. “She wanted to help your father and keep you guys out of the mess. She felt… responsible. You know your sister. She thinks that it’s her job to take care of everyone. Except herself.”

I breathed in and sat down, closing my eyes momentarily, a little overwhelmed by what Maahi had just told me. Once again.

Here i was thinking it was Mohsina that was bad, but in fact, I too was so messed up.

I breathed in, feeling the anger dissipating.

She wasn’t the bad person here. Yes, she had sinned but she had tried to fix it.

She did it all for my father. I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t know but I didn’t think that she would want to marry someone to secure my fathers safety. I didn’t know that everything that happened was because of him.

“I just don’t like how this is all turning out,” I said, pulling at the hem on my top. “Im angry in some ways but I still wish that I could just help her somehow. Maahira, they can’t get divorced. It’s ridiculous and so horrible.”

”I know,” she said softly, sounding hopeless. “Those two have been through the worst and they’re so good together. They can’t just… die…”

I nodded.

“What can we do?”

There was silence for a bit before she spoke again.

”I think we just have to support them,” she said softly. “In what they choose, together. Apparently he’s got contacts who can work on this. I’m hoping that this will prevent them from… you know. She mentioned that there’s a Zubair guy that he’s been friendly with and who can help… you know him, right?”

My heart did a little leap as she said his name. It wasn’t a question.

Of course I knew. And I know that she knew too. Mohsina had probably told her that she didn’t want me involved with him.

She had gotten her wish. There was no way that Zubair would ever look at me again. And no way I would look at him.

Ever. Again.

“I know.”

Of course he had contacts.

I knew that him and Hamzah spoke. So did he and my brother, and the stories that M Husayn had first told me were quite something. At first I had thought that it was all fantastic, until I found the weapon stash.

My brother was fascinated by his past, but with everything we knew now, it kind of confirmed that Zubair was, in fact, some kind of  undercover mafia member in the past.

And as much as I tried to off my feelings for him, I still couldn’t imagine him being that kind of violent person. He kept the weapons because it all belonged to him, but the operative part was that it was his past and no one could find out about it.

That’s said, at least we didn’t have to worry about him murdering us in our sleep.

”I know it’s a lot to digest,” Maahi said, her voice kind now, as I heard some noises in the background. She sounded like she was back in the office now. “I know you’re worried about Mos, but I truly believe that her and Hamzah have the real thing. He’s going to make it work, whatever it takes. If anyone can get through to her, he can. Just make Du’aa, Jamz. Truly, you don’t know what it can change.”

My resolve was already strengthened because I knew that she was right.

They did have the real thing. And above everyone here, she did value him.

Through it all, I found myself wishing that Layyanah was around. She would know just the right words to say. The right kind of comfort to give.

What do you do in situations where there seems to be no way out… where every path looks the same? What do you do when it feels like you’re in a never ending maze that has no end?

My heart felt like it sunk to the ground, and while Maahi ended the call, I couldn’t help but still feel a little overwhelmed.

Seemed like Hamzah and Mohsina only had one hope, and wasn’t it just so ironic that it came down to Zubair? The whole thing was just so bizarre…

And despite my newly implemented disinterested stance, I knew that Zubair had been a little scarce and the low down that Maahi had given me explained why I hadn’t seen him around recently. It was weird that he was actually involved with helping my sister, and yet he was so averse to me.

I had been tracking him solely for the motive of avoidance. And of course, that would mean that he had probably consulted Papa about it too, and yet my father had barely mentioned it.

It wasn’t that I minded. It was just that I was hoping it would help Mohsina and set everything right again. I wished that it was all that easy. I wished that it could go away.

And with that hope, I found some peace. It wasn’t that I didn’t ask. I couldn’t not ask. I was worried and stressed and I really needed to know what was going on, but the dread of knowing the final verdict here was killing me.

It helped that the coffee shop had been a little busier and getting everything sorted out with Ma in the kitchen that week was keeping me busier than usual.

I tried to shove Zubair’s whereabouts and Mohsina’s problems out of my head for periods of time until the evenings came and it overwhelmed me all over again.

My parents were as unaware as ever. I mean, they knew that something was going on, and Mohsina had a ‘situation’, but they barely knew what drastic measures she was going to take.

She had sworn me to secrecy until she met with the lawyers and all I could do in the meantime was make a fervent Du’aa that everything was going to work out for her. It’s and that her marriage would be saved through it all.

My heart had taken enough of an emotional rollercoaster, and making sure the coast was clear on Friday as I stacked new boxes for take aways and filled up on coffee cups as my father cashed up, I couldn’t help but feel an emptiness that lurked within me. It felt like I was waiting for something to go off, or some kind of bomb to explode.

I wasn’t the paranoid type, but I still wasn’t sure which would happen first.

”I know it’s much less than it’s worth, but how’s about a coin for your thoughts?”

My father was smiling at me as he watched me, a wad of cash in one hand and a coin in his other. He had probably been watching me for quite a while, and I had barely even noticed.

I grinned back.

”It’s supposed to be a penny, Papa,” I said, winking at him.

He smiled and tossed me the coin.

The last time we had spoken properly was after I came back from London.

We had agreed that everything happens for a reason and Allah Ta’ala most definitely has a plan that is better. We had agreed that we wouldn’t bring the subject up again and that Zubair’s times and tasks would be allocated differently so I wouldn’t have to see him much.

I knew that Papa blamed himself, but I really didn’t. I just believed that this was the way it should be.

“Im just thinking of Mos, Pops,” I said with a small smile, letting him know that my thoughts were not on Zubair like he thought. “I miss her.”

There was a flash of a frown before he smiled, and for a minute, I thought Papa actually knew more than he was supposed to.

I loved my father. A lot. I was always the one to seek comfort in him, and turn to him if I was ever in a fix. He had been my support and my comfort, and I knew at any given time, he would come through for me.

But for Mohsina, I understood that it wasn’t ever like that. Papa and her had a different kind of bond. Mohsina relied on no one and confided in no one. They would have conversations, sure, but I knew that the forever fiercely independent Mohsina barely bore her heart to anyone.

To think that Papa knew something would be ludicrous. Right?

“You should talk to her,” he said again, a certain concern in his voice as he said it. “Does she know about, erm, the thing…”

My father cleared his throat and my cheeks reddened just at the way he raised his eyebrows and nudged his head toward the door.

This was so awkward. Having the conversation about a boy I had lost my sense over with your father was way more embarrassing than I thought. I wanted my money back.

“She knows,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. Never mind we’ve been skirting around it awkwardly too.

“And errr,” my father continued, digging in the back of the till and pulling out more money, probably concentrating on avoiding eye contact. “After, erm… You been okay?”

Oh my word, this was so mortifying. Also, the way Zubair had become ‘erm’ was quite original too.

“I’m fine,” I said, clearing my throat too and checking on the serviettes.

This conversation was becoming a little too intense for my liking, but the truth was, I was fine. I wasn’t as heartbroken as I had been… nor was I feeling as bulldozed as I had been a week ago.

Things might still be a little uncertain but I knew that all the duaa I had been making would come through for us. The Duaa of Musaa (AS) was definitely the reason why my faith had been unwavering. The reason why my heartbreak no longer felt so raw. Even if it wasn’t exactly looking up yet, I knew that soon there would be a little light.

“As long as you’re okay,” Papa said quietly. “Can’t upset the coffee cart again and change all of that.”

I frowned, a little perplexed by his words. I got his message, despite him stopping the apple for coffee. Clever trick.

But still.

My father was quite confusing. He had such a roundabout way of saying things, and at times it felt awkward to even ask him what he was talking about.

Now was precisely one of those times.

“I was talking to him, erm, last night,” he said hastily. “He came back quite late. With Hamzah.”

It didn’t take a brainiac by now to figure out who ‘erm’ was. And I had to pretend to be at least a little shocked that he was with Hamzah.

“Ah, I see,” I said, raising my eyebrows slightly. Papa’s brow was still furrowed as he turned to me.

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” he said, looking as guilty as the lion that ate the mouse. “He said he’s just helping with Mohsina’s case.”

It was no sweat. I wasn’t affected. Despite the racing heart, it’s as all cool.

I nodded meekly.

My father knew that Hammonds had kicked up old dirt. He knew about the money Mohsina had borrowed too. What my father didn’t know was the extent of Mohsina’s involvement with the main perpetrator.

Perpetrator. It felt good calling that good-for-nothing that.

”I’m glad he can help,” I said, trying my best to talk without emotion.

Never mind the turbulence brewing within.

”There’s one more thing he asked,” Papa said, now looking at me, as if trying to read me. “And I think Hamzah has something to do with it.”

”What’s that?” I asked, now slightly confused.

I mean, I knew that Hamzah and Zubair spoke before this too. I had seen them a conversing a few times outside, while Hamzah went out for a cigarette.

What I didn’t know was that while my sisters marriage was on the brink of collapse, my own marriage would be so tactfully arranged.

It was one of those intensely unexpected moments that would bring so much more than any of us expected. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was too surreal. Maybe I just felt everything so intensely.

I didn’t know that it may just be the solution to everything.

Well; almost everything.

“He changed his mind,” Papa said, almost as if he was holding his breath, waiting for the final verdict here. “Of course I will have to ask your mother, but I thought I’d let you know first. See if you okay with it after, you know, erm….”

Yes, I knew ‘erm’. And I was still highly embarrassed but now I was also almost holding my own breath, while I waited for Papa to finish this moment that was bringing on the most intense kind of anxiety.

And as expected, he didn’t fail to deliver.

“He asked if you would be okay with meeting him.”

---

Dearest Readers 

I’m so sorry for the delays. Been a busy holiday, but still trying to keep posts going. Please keep this weak author in your Duaas. As the new year comes upon us, let us spend the night in abundant istighfaar and Duaa. 
Though most of the work is on break, keep in mind that we are Muslim first.

Remember, keep safe, and keep it Halaal peeps. Peace y’all. Till next year.

❤️ 

Much Love, A x 

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

 

Advertisement

When Instinct takes Over

Bismihi Ta’ala
Jameela

Part 63

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a diversion was precisely what the doctor ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps a doctor was exactly what I needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wonder what his Dadi had been telling him.

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

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

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

“How are you?”

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

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

Oh gosh, tmi.. I sounded stupid.

He raised his eyebrows.

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

Did he think I was putting it on? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Emm. Geeee.

Was he throwing me up?

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

Did he know my father was outside?!

Astaghfirullah.

Aiy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was just being nice. Right.

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

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

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

Perfect answer. Almost too perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like I could forget.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rugrats?!

I loved kids.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I got what he was saying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Awkward was not the word.

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

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

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

Or me. Or whatever.

The guy was obsessed. With himself.

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

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

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

To say he was slightly taken aback was an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Always love hearing from you guys

Much Love

A xx

Mission Revive a Sunnah: Avoiding Suspicion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

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

 

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 ­

­

The Greatest Gift

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 45

And all of a sudden, it was June, and as the morning sun broke over the tips of the mountain edges, the sunshine appeared like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

It’s silhouette boasted its sublime beauty as I cast my gaze over it, I couldn’t help but sniff the the scent of roses in the air and hold out a hope that it was surely a promising sign. And as nature showed off it’s best winter bits, I wanted to sink myself into the realm of abandonment that it promised, but it was just that, with Faadils arrival that morning… I was starting to doubt my own optimism.

And as I hastily made my way to the kitchen window, sneaking past Nani and Ma, who, along with one of my aunties, seemed to be very absorbed in their meal preparation, each allocated a task that looked particularly tedious, I kind of hoped that they wouldn’t notice me there.

I had strategically positioned myself in the the corner of the kitchen that that had the most extensive view of the yard, purely because it was the only perfect  spot for me to spy on my sister and her boss, just to ascertain if things were really as dandy as she had pretended they were.

And with the backdrop of Quránic recital and slight chatter in the background, my sole intent at that point was to locate them and attempt to figure out his intention too.

And as I watched the from afar, clapping my eyes on  Mohsina, in her black cloak and scarf, talking somewhat civilly to her boss, a fear had gripped me as I realised that this wasn’t just a normal conversation.

I mean, why would he come all the way here just to talk about some audit? Besides….The look on his face, when he said he wanted to meet with Mohsina… there was something that I couldn’t mistake. It was obvious that he had feelings for my sister… and the worst part was, I think that my sister wasn’t completely unaware.

And as I processed and sighed, as I watched them in the distance, almost as if they were talking about something intimate, I literally wanted to run out and scream at my sister, like a policewoman, to tell her to keep her hands above her head and just take a step back. But of course I couldn’t. After all, she wasn’t a baby. I was supposed to be the smaller sister, who needed the taking care of.

And as if it was a final straw, I just sucked in my breath as I saw him pulling something out from inside his coat, and then, as they both stepped out of my view, I was literally at my wits end.

Oh gosh, no, he musnt. He must not spoil this. he must not try to bribe or threaten her with materialistic things, he must not, he cann-

“Jameela!”

I jumped as I heard Nani’s voice right next to me, widening my eyes as I realised that she had caught me red-handed, my eyes fixed outside like an obsessed crazy woman.

“Who you looking at like that?” She asked, her eyes narrowing over her spectacles as she looked at me accusingly.

“Nothing Nani,” I said, swallowing nervously.

Oh goodness. If she had to see Mohsina and Faadil, Nani would probably lose her mind. I could not imagine all the things she would say if she had to know the very obvious truth. How could my sister ever be so stupid?

And of course, I had to think of something really fast because Nani was still looking at me suspiciously and trying to figure out exactly what I had been up to. She knew that something was up but from where she stood, she couldn’t see them. All she could see was the gorgeous morning sun that had settled so easily over the veld that was displayed before us, and it was a breathtaking sight.

What Nani didn’t know that my breath was kind of punched out of me for completely different reasons.

She hovered for a minute, before looking at me – and then suddenly, tapped my arm almost aggressively.

“Ouch,” I said, rubbing my arm.

Mohsina and Faadil were no longer in view and although I wondered exactly where they had gone to, I was quite grateful that it meant that Nani wouldn’t spot them, but she still wasn’t looking happy.

She was shaking her head at me disappointingly.

“You looking at that boy isn’t it?” She said accusingly. “That fella’ your father got for the shop. I saw him here earlier.”

Oh gosh. Nani. Only she would call him a ‘fella’.

“Erm…” I started, not really sure if I should really allow her think that I was being like one beh-sharam who couldn’t control her gaze and was checking out boys so candidly.

But Nani wasn’t hearing any of it. She was already on her own roll, and Ma and my Aunty’s ears had also perked up.

“Don’t you go getting any ideas!” She continued, giving me a death glare, with her eyes widened. “Jameeela, you are a good girl, you don’t go doing all funny things like your sister. We’ll find you one nice boy from in the family and get you married there. You must remember that your Nana’s father came here in 1915 as a trader. Not as sugar cane worker. We can’t get all mixed up with lower class people.”

I widened my eyes, a little shocked at this onslaught. Haai, I didn’t even know about all these things. Did Nani even know that we lived in the 21st century?

“Mummy,” my mother said, clearing her throat, and obviously feeling a need to step in. “You know we don’t worry about all these things. As long as he is a namaazi (prays regularly) and comes from a good family, we will accept whatever Jameela chooses.”

“No such thing,” Nani insisted, looking appalled, and raising her rolling pin in warning. “If he’s not aapra wala (our people), how he will provide for her? How will they get along?”

She shrugged her shoulders and then turned to the counter, hastily pulling out a container from the cupboard to add more flour to the dough she had just made.

I glanced at my mother, noticing her silence for a few seconds, as she probably gathered what next to say.

I didn’t quite understand. Growing up, my parents never made much mention about such things like sugar cane workers and different castes. All I knew was that we were Muslim and we had to strive to be the best Muslims we can be. Ma often told us that we could never judge anyone, no matter what they were, what they looked like or where they came from. I also understood that everyone had their differences but if there is love and understanding between families then anything can be easily conquered.

“Mummy, don’t teach her all these funny ways,” Ma was saying reproachfully, as she glanced at me. “She mustn’t worry about material things so much. Nowadays girls have too many lists and criteria that need to be ticked off, that every boy they see is not good enough. If they can’t afford her facial products, he’s not good enough. If they don’t have money in the family, he’s not good enough. It’s not Islamic. Nowadays, we spoil the girls too much and then when the husbands can’t maintain them, they come back home and we cry.”

Now Ma was generalising and putting me down unnecessarily. We weren’t all like that.

I wasn’t quite sure about that. I wasn’t really worried about if the guy could afford me. But I did know that Mohsina had worried about those things at one stage. Money was important. Family was important. Complexion was important.

I just didn’t agree. As far as I was concerned, I just want someone with a mild temper, good manners and who had Deen. I just wished Nani could understand that.

“You saw what happened with Mohsina,” Mummy was saying as Nani looked indignant. “If her situation didn’t change, only Allah knows what kind of home she would have got…”

Ma was right about that. Imagine if, according to by suspicions, Faadil was the next son-in-law. I wasn’t even sure where he fitted in, with regard to all of that traditional hogwash… but I wasn’t exactly sure that he would make the greatest husband. Financially, I knew he might have made up for it though. But at the end of the day, money doesn’t really buy you happiness, does it?

And now that they had moved on to talk about my Bari Foi’s niece in law who had gotten married into a ‘poor’ family and was actually really happy, I decided to make my way out the kitchen since the point of money not buying happiness was proven, and because Mohsina and her boss’s presence was becoming a major concern for me right then.

I only hoped that she wasn’t getting herself deeper and deeper into more sins….

And as I made my way down to the hallway passage, peeping around the corner to see if she was maybe on the patio, it was at that moment that the door opened and my sister walked in, barely even looking up to see if anyone was around.

Her red-rimmed eyes were a dead giveaway, and as she trudged up the stairs, I followed her into the room where Zaid was still napping, careful not to make too much of noise and wake him. I could tell that that was probably the last thing Mohsina needed right then.

She had already delved into her bag-packing, and as much as I didn’t want to to pry, and she had told me to mind my own business, I knew that this was something that I couldn’t just shove under the rug.

”Mos,” I said softly,  sitting on the rug near the bed and grabbing a few vests of Zaid’s to fold and pack. “Is everything okay at work?”

Mohsina glanced at me, and wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye as she nodded.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, and looked away again.

I had to ask her. There was no two ways about it. I had to.

”Mos, does Hamzah know about him?” I said, my heart beating incessantly as panic filled my gut. Did she know how dangerous this could be? How much of pain and hurt she could cause if she didn’t handle this correctly?

She shook her head and looked at me, tears filling her eyes once again, as she looked away. She was clearly overwhelmed with emotion. What had happened outside was probably more than she bargained for.

And there was no denying that the situation at hand now was completely terrible.

”Ah, Mos,” was all I could say, as she hopelessly covered her face with her hands, looking as if she was completely inconsolable. To tell the truth, so was I. I had no idea what to tell her.

But because my nature was to be a dreamer and full of hope, I knew that I had to be positive and give her some too…

“It’s going to be okay,” was all could say soothingly, getting up to place my arms around her shoulders comfortingly, but if didn’t quite do the trick.

Within her, was already a torrent of emotion that seemed to overcome her as she clutched me and sobbed her heart out for a good few minutes. And as she did so, I could feel the crushing of self-desire, the breaking of her inner-most despair, and the sheer desperation that she clung onto me with. It was like she was searching for something that she hadn’t quite realised that she had lost…. trying to piece all those broken pieces together… but they didn’t quite fit…

And even though it took her a few minutes, eventually, as the tears ceased and her body eventually calmed, as I held onto her tightly, with it, she had released all of the hurt and grievances that were holding her back.

”I just feel so terrible,” she said, pulling back slightly as she looked at me. “I always thought that I loved Faadil. That he was everything I wanted.”

What she had just uttered was way more than I knew, a revelation of something undercover that had transpired, but I held my tongue back from calling her out right then.

“What do you mean?” I asked carefully, feeling a bit worried about her response. “He knows you are marrying Hamzah?”

It was the furtherest I’d ever come to asking her the truth about her boss and the look in her eyes was a dead giveaway.

“He literally begged me not to,” she confessed as she nodded, pulling at a thread on the duvet cover, not meeting my eye. “It was everything I had ever wanted. Most insta-worthy kind of scene. The backdrop, the smooth words, the revealing of the most stunning one carat diamond ring…”

I sucked in my breath as she trailed off, instantly feeling panicked. A one carat engagement ring? She still didn’t meet my eye and my heart contracted painfully. What this world does to us was something I sometimes couldn’t make sense of…

“He promised me the world,” she continued weakly, as she confirmed my suspicions. “Said that Zaid would stay with us. He could employ two nannies- for the day and night, and a helper too, for housework. He said he was looking into it and we could even accommodate him at Hammond’s, by making some adjustments to my schedule and a small nursery with a qualified assistant. He wants to make it more child-friendly. He’s prepared to do whatever it takes.”

”Oh gosh, Mos,” I said, my heart beating crazily as she said it.

She sounded like she was already bought. A night nanny?

My word, that was a luxury. I knew how little sleep Mohsina was getting these days.

And my heart sunk because I already knew that she was going to fall for it, hook, line and sinker. All of these things were what Mohsina  always wanted in a marriage. The stability. The money. The financial security.

After all, Hamzah was only a CA. Fine, he wasn’t exactly incapable of providing, but he was still establishing himself. How could that compare to the associate Director Faadil, who manages a mega-corporation and had millions on his payroll every year? He could probably even hire a helicopter to transport them wherever she wanted. He could give Mohsina the life that she always dreamt of, and she wouldn’t even have to sacrifice Zaid.

Why would she not jump at this opportunity?

“Jameela, he even said I didn’t have to work, if I wanted to be a stay-at-home mother,” she continued quietly, glancing at Zaid who was shifting slightly in his sleep. “It’s not only about Hammond’s. He was sorry he didn’t tell me all this before but when he heard that I was getting married, it made him realise how much I meant to him and he just can’t let me make this mistake…”

I narrowed my eyes, as anger rose in my chest.

I had no words for this… treachery. Whether something went on before this or not… All this time, throughout losing Layyanah and coping with the emotions that had brought, Faadil was nowhere in the picture.

He took her for granted because he thought she would be around, no matter what. When Zaid came into the picture, it probably suited him better, because he assumed that she’d be focused on him and not really on the market anymore. Suddenly… When he heard that Hamzah was prepared to marry her… everything changes?

Why was she so gullible?

I can’t understand. I wanted to cry.

“So you going to believe him?!” I almost cried.

My heart was beating crazily as I said it. My sister was way in over her head.

She looked at me, and tears filled her eyes again.

“It’s everything I ever wanted,” she cried, tears falling freely as she continued. “I would have died for this kind of commitment from him, Jameela. But Jamz… You don’t understand, Jameela. That kind of life he’s offering me.. where I could have anything I wanted at the click of a finger…”

My heart lifted slightly as I waited for her to finish.

”That life means nothing to me anymore,” she finished, and my heart soared as she said the words.

It was inexplicable right then. The relief I felt, was like the warmth of the  sunshine on my face early this morning. The brightness that it brought was not just light alone, but new life, and hope, and soothing to the heart… much needed relief from the torrents of rain that seemed to be the drenching us for weeks on end. Breathing came easily again, and as I filled my lungs with new air, once again, I felt alive and eternally grateful for this great bounty.

Mohsina sniffed and dabbed her eyes.

“I don’t want to go back there,” she whispered, meeting my eye.. “Back to that place where Allah was only a second option for me. Back to that place where I didn’t trust Allah enough to let Him come through for me. And now that He’s come through for me, and He brought amazing things through for me again, am I just going to desert Him and forget everything He granted me in His mercy? Does He not say that when you take one step toward him, He will run to you, so am I going to just turn my back on Him once again?”

Her eyes were brimming with tears as she looked at me, almost as if I was capable of giving her those answers. Only she held the pen to her story. Only she could determine how this was going to end…

“And I know I was wrong, Jamz,” she confessed, as she swallowed back more emotion. “I was wrong with Faadil and I was wrong with Hamzah. I know that before this, I made Allah Ta’ala wait, and everyone else took precedence. The thing is, I realised that you can love someone until you are blue in the face, but you can’t force them to meet you on the bridge. Even those with the most love for you can still leave. Whether it’s a friend or family or a beloved…. whether it was Maahira, my family, Hamzah or even Faadil who was so busy while I went through my own turmoil after losing Layy… everyone takes a step away from you at some point. But not Allah. But not Allah, Jameela…”

She paused, swallowed and looked at me. She was so right.

Not Allah. He stays where He is, waiting for us to come back, even when we’ve forsaken him.

And it was obvious that it hurt her. That’s how it was with Haraam relationships. She had forgot Allah and it pained her and it broke her and sometimes you are reduced to a point when you are not even sure if you could ever be repaired…

“I’m so proud of you, Mos,” I whispered, not able to speak any louder due to the emotion that weighed me down.

This wasn’t easy for her. I could see that. But this wasn’t only about her. There was a greater picture, a bigger story, and a more promising future that she had to make for herself.

“Don’t be,” Mohsina said remorsefully, shaking her head. “I ignored my Creator. I put everyone else first, and I made Him wait. I was sooo terrible. And I know that it may take a while to get to a comfortable place with Hamzah. Old dirt may pop up. The past may haunt us. It may not be easy from day one, but I know that Allah will heal every pain and replace it with something better. And that’s why I know that this … what Allah has allowed and inspired, it’s only through Him. If He has done so much for me, even if this is not perfect, even if it’s not that amazing kind of feeling and the perfect situation… I know that I have reached out for Allah and He is more beautiful than any sin…and all I want now, even if this doesn’t go perfectly, even if Hamzah hears about this and wants to call it off, even if there’s no-one else here for me… even if I have nothing else…. all I want, Jamz, is for Allah to forever hold my hand…. and that will be the Greatest Gift…”

Her voice broke at that point and I understood exactly what she said, as she pulled herself together, trying to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks as she let loose every emotion that had been consuming her. She had got it spot on, and I couldn’t even believe that she had reached this place where Allah came before everything else. The most beautiful part was that she had no idea about this spectacular sacrifice that she had just made and that had so completely inspired me too…

“Gosh,” she moaned, glancing at herself in the mirror and looking horrified. “I’m going to look like a train-wreck for my Nikah. I’m not sure if Hamzah will even recognise me…”

I smiled as I watched her carefully dab her face with some toner, and apply a little bit of concealer to cover up her puffy eyes.

I didn’t know what else to say. Honestly, my voice was just kind of stuck in my throat because I could not possible even convey the joy that I felt right then.

Soon Zaid would be awake and her time would run out, so I hastily helped her with her packing, silently thanking Allah for making Nani give out that huge sum of Sadaqah that saved us from a very unfortunate plight.

I still could barely believe what had happened, but I knew that she’d made a mistake. I knew that she regretted it. But as I glimpsed her smile that day, I also knew that despite whatever had happened in the past, very clearly, her heart was very much focused on her future.

As the time for the Nikah approached, and she emerged from her room, I noticed that my pretty sisters cheeks were naturally flushed, as a new bride should be, but it wasn’t even that that was making her glow the way she was.

And I didn’t know much about love or soulmates, or any of that stuff, but as I looked at her, knowing that this though this was something she had prayed for fervently,  I could feel that her entire purpose and aim here was for Allah’s pleasure. She had, undoubtedly, sacrificed so much to get here, and I knew that, most definitely, the sacrifice had not gone unnoticed.

And as she focused on her new chapter, the part where she left it to Allah, and surrendered herself in a must sublime way, I could feel my own heart soaring with joy. Zaid was in a particularly good mood after his nap but what her feelings were at the time when she had given her answer to my father and and they had headed off to masjid, I could not imagine. All I knew was that this was, by far, one of the most crucial moments of her life and she would probably never forget it. As the time of the Nikah drew nearer, and the excitement in the house mounted, I could not have imagined a more beautiful transition of woman to wife, than my sister had endured that day.

It was just pure exhilaration as I shifted my gaze to my sister, and I forced myself to hold back. My eyes were filling with tears and the lump in my throat seemed to expand.

The streaming of the live Nikah was transmitted through the link, and the break in transmission got us slightly on edge, but as Mohsina’s phone beeped next to us and she showed me the screen approximately three minutes later, I couldn’t help but chuckle as I saw the simple two sentence congratulatory iMessage.

Hamzah:

Deals all done, wifey. Too late to run. 

I shook my head, knowing that only Hamzah would be daring enough to send a message like that at this moment as she smiled almost in contempt and tapped a reply. No doubt, Mohsina probably had a witty comeback.
She placed her phoned down, knowing that congratulations were in order from everyone else too, and as I took pleasure in her happiness, it was as if this morning’s emotional escapade had never happened.

Gazing at her, her beauty even more apparent on account of her sublime joy, there she was, this new woman, all set for this new journey, with only Allah in mind, as she knocked down all those obstacles that had ever stood in her way.

And yes, it was truly such a momentous occasion, and as I watched her, her recently slender figure draped in a simple but beautiful abaya that she had purchased for the Nikah, with the sun gleaming through the window and highlighting her subtly made up face, an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia had caught me off guard. She had, most certainly, grown into a woman who was so much more worthy of all those mistakes she had made, and I knew that throughout every encounter and trial and setback, she always emerged stronger and more beautiful than she had been before.  Every test purified her and every setback had served to bring her back to her purpose, and I knew that this step was going to be the greatest one yet…

And as I slunk back with Zaid in my arms, waiting for my turn to offer her a proper greeting and goodbye, as Nani gave her Du’aa (prayer) of happiness and many, many pious offspring which made me cringe, I could hear Ma and one of our cousins wishing her with the beautiful words that our Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) had taught us to pray for couple:

Barakallahu lakuma wa baraka alaikuma wa jama’a baynakuma fii khair.
May Allah bless your union, and shower His blessings upon you, and unite you in goodness.

And as I glimpsed her face, all I wanted to do was reach out for her and hold her close to me, not only because she had been through such an enormous change of heart, but also because she was, undoubtedly, doing the most amazing and selfless thing. And I couldn’t believe it, because what I could see before me was the unfolding of the most beautiful kind of love story. It was the most inspiring kind of reformation that I ever had the privilege of witnessing.

And that’s when I realised, that this journey that Mohsina was taking was not about Faadil and breaking free. It wasn’t about Nani or my parents expectations. It wasn’t even about Hamzah or Zaid any more. And that was what got me, because everyone who was so in awe of this amazing match and union, will make you believe that this is the happily ever after, where the shoe fit Cinderella or the frog turned back into a Prince. People will make you believe that this is the once upon a time and then end of the rainbow that we’ve all been searching for, the initiation of them both riding into the sunset to have their very own happy ending.

But it wasn’t.

And when she gave me a small smile, almost as if she herself couldn’t believe that this day had actually come and my sister was no longer just the  accomplished and Instagram-obsessed, self-motivated, career-driven chartered accountant that she had once been, I knew it for sure. In her place, instead, there was a calmer, self-contented girl on a journey of reclaiming her heart, who relied on Allah and Him alone, and I couldn’t quite believe this amazing change in her had actually taken place.

And as I soaked it all in, if there’s one thing I learnt, it’s that when you really want something, always remember that you hold the pen to your story. You can close the pages of chapters and start a brand new one whenever you need. You can walk away from those things that may ruin you or drain your spirit. Learn to embrace that middle road, the middle chapters, after which you are not sure what comes, because this too… are filled with magic and hope.
You can seek those people who you always wanted, and write them in, as you please.  You, and only you, hold the pen to your own beautiful story.

Live a beautiful love. Dream a beautiful dream. Guide your soul, through His guidance.

One day, even if it doesn’t come together right then, it eventually was will see that all that is with Allah, is never lost. In fact the Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam)
has said: “You will never give up a thing for the sake of Allah (swt), but that Allah will replace it for you with something that is better for you than it.” (Ahmad)

Sometimes Allah takes in order to give. His giving is not always in the form we think we want. He knows best, what is best. But still somehow, we will give your whole life, still, to reaching this ‘place’. You do this because in the fairy tale, that’s where the story ends. It ends at the finding, the joining, the wedding. It is found at the oneness of two souls.

What they don’t tell us is that that we will never finally be complete, because we haven’t yet found that source of completion. The final piece that joins it all together. The deal-sealer. The beginning of the path back to Him. That the ‘something better’ or the ‘best’ is the greatest gift: nearness to Him.

Sometimes the greatest gift lies beyond the taking and the returning…  sometimes the greatest gifts, is that something eternal, that never tires, never leaves and never breaks….

And that is the only Greatest Gift that is forever worth waiting for.

---

Authors note: Dear readers, just a quick one to say that this was an extra long post so the next one (or two?) before the break will be a bit shorter, InshaAllah…

Much Love,

A

xx

Mission Sunnah Revival

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…

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.

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aan

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah ­

When the Game’s not Over

Bismihi Ta’ala 

Part 44

Mohsina

Buzz. Buzz!

Maahira: No!

Are you serious?

Me: you heard me. He’s here. Right now.

Maahira: Did u even tell Hamzah???

Me:  .

Maahira: boy, you’re in trouble.

Me: Not my fault. Didn’t have a chance to talk again. Tonight.

Maahira: Talk. tonight? Watch me while I die laughing.

Me: *rolling eyes*

Maahira was being super immature.

And as I thought about what to reply amidst my anxiety, it was precisely at that moment when Jameela started pounding on the door, in complete fishwife style.

It was the first time that my usually dazed and dreamy sister was actually sounding more panicked and out of control than me.

“Mos, are you in there?!” She called, sounding like she was losing her marbles. “Mos, you won’t believe it! Your boss… ex boss… is here ! He’s waiting outside. It’s a bit early for the function but from what he told me, I doubt he’s here for that…”

“Just keep him outside,” I said hastily, pulling on my drabbiest cloak and a black scarf. Last thing I needed was Nani spotting the ‘business mens’ and going outside with a rolling pin. “I’m coming out.”

”Dont worry,” she said quickly. “He doesn’t want to come in. He’s at the shop.”

I sighed, relieved, as I checked in the mirror and picked up my phone again. I cannot look good. I cannot make an effort for him. I cannot.

Buzz again. 

Maahira: listen. Tell him 2 respect ur wishes and leave. He can’t even be there at d function. Plz listen 2 me this time. U can’t risk it.

Gosh. She wanted me to chase him out. I might as well send Nani.

Me: What if he pulls out all the lines?

Maahira: don’t be fickle. You cannot fall for it.

Me: Faadil is smoother than chocolate ice cream. You know me and chocolate.

Maahira: then go on a damn diet, girl. It’s time to divorce chocolate! Chocolate is bad for your health!

Me: *sad face*

Maahira: are u crazy? What are you even thinking about. This is Hamzah. He wants to make this work.

Me: :>

Maahira:  That’s my girl. Allah will put Barakah in the right thing when you do it the right way. Faadil is never going to be the right way.

She was right. Faadil wanted a long engagement and huge, flashy wedding with all his high flying associates. Hamzah’s requirements were so much simpler.

Simple wedding. Simple home. Simple life.

It was a simple equation.

Simple everything = More Barakah. No questions.

Me: I know. I need to be strong.

Maahira: U are. C u later now. Still recovering  from Samoosa run #2. Burying all hopes of happily ever after in my pillow. Scarred 4 life. xx

I smiled, despite my sombreness at the current predicament I found myself in. I couldn’t wait to hear Part Two of Maahiras Samoosa Run Escapades, because they were always filled with the most dramatic and hilarious scenarios.

And after convincing myself that chocolate is really bad, I was all psyched up to handle Faadil’s smoothness, and knock it right out my system.

Besides, after the week that I’d had, I was hoping that no obstacles would be chucked in to throw me off course. But such was my luck… everything that had happened seemed like it was meant to throw me off track and the tests that were happening entailed me grappling to stay on the right path, no matter what it took.

And I know that you are wondering where it all started so let me dive straight into it and spare you the grief, because all I knew was that I was way in over my head.

But that’s the thing with Tawakkul, isn’t it? Even when you are over you head, somehow, things still come through for you, when you have faith that Allah will see it through. The thing with Tawakkul is not only to pray and believe that not only will you be able to believe that nothing can harm you with Allah by your side, but to fully understand that you have the strength to fight anything because your strength comes only from Allah Azza Wa Jal.

And at that point, right after Ramadhan, when spirits were still flying high and my heart was endowed with faith of higher degrees, I had some kind of hope in my heart that what I wanted would somehow be granted.

In fact, even at the beginning, I remember already feeling exhausted, as I had complained to Jameela. If only I knew what the rest of the week entailed, I would have been far less dramatic.

”I can’t breathe,” I had remembered saying to her as she walked into the room, with me scrounging around for a decent abaya to wear, as Muhammed Husayn told me that Hamzah and Papa were waiting downstairs to speak to me.

“I had a feeling that outfit was a bit of a clingy one, especially around the upper area…”

I glared at her as she grinned at me quite obnoxiously, quite peeved that she was making light of a potentially serious situation.

“Listen,” she said, pulling off the pretty baby pink abaya she was wearing, with a cream trimming. “Wear this, but stop acting like you are having an anxiety attack. He only wants to speak about Zaid. Your outfits not going to make a difference.”

I glared at her.

“Or maybe it will,” she said mischievously and I narrowed my eyes, but I was, honestly, quite relieved and very intent on being modest.

I mean, modesty was our trait. What defined us as Muslims. Besides, what else could come out of strutting myself, except Nani having anxiety attacks too and we really didn’t need more kuku people in the house at the moment…

After being quite certain that looking decent and unexposed would have a far greater impact than being revealing, I calmed my nerves and made my way down the stairs, surprisingly keeping myself together. My frame of mind had altered significantly, and strangely enough, those things that impressed me before, seemed almost inappropriate. Where a basic slack suit would have been fine before, going on front of non-mahrams with anything slightly fitted made me cringe. I can’t believe how I actually wore topas above my bum before.

And making my way down to the lounge very self-consciously, with my father in the passage and the rest of my family seated just outside the house for Eid supper, I didn’t even process that the house was unusually quiet inside. By some miracle, Nani hadn’t gotten wind of Hamzah here yet, being so busy with the evening meal, and the silence felt a little strange. I actually half-wished that Nani had been let in on it but then then again, if everything didn’t go as she expected, the dramatics would have been inconsolable, so I instantly held the thought back.

And as I halted outside the lounge door, I could hear Muhammed Husayn talking to Hamzah, and as I entered, I was quite shocked that my otherwise unconscious brother was actually offering Hamzah something to eat. The fact that he had some manners was a great surprise…

“Thanks bru,” I could hear Hamzah’s voice say politely. “It’s been a busy Eid. I cannot eat a single thing more. Maybe just some water.”

And if I wasn’t bordering on palpitations, I would have probably greeted as I entered, but as I entered, my heart was literally in my throat as I realised that not only was my family not present at all, but Hamzah’s entire family was missing too.

In fact, it kind of caught me off-guard, because it  meant that while Muhammed Husayn went off to fetch the water, all I was faced with in a painfully appealing blue-grey kurta, his legs folded underneath him, Sunnah style, as he sat with a gurgling Zaid, was Hamzah himself.

And with Zaid already on the carpet, and in his element, I had arrived just in time to see the royal roll-over from tummy to back, and it always made me laugh when my little guy had that look of amazement on his face, as soon as he accomplished his goal.

I smiled as I saw it again, watching Hamzah excitedly pick him up and throw him in the air, while Zaid broke into a fit of giggles, just before they both caught site of me.

I had just entered the room, clearing my throat noisily, not able to conceal the major trauma that it had brought on, because according to me, that stuff was just damn dangerous…

”Sorry,” Hamzah said sheepishly, glancing at me briefly I stood there, probably looking as formidable as ever, before he quickly turned his gaze away.

“Assalamualaikum.”

”Wa alaykum Salaam,” I mumbled, relaxing a bit because I knew I shouldn’t be so possessive, so I added . “It’s okay. He loved it.”

And I wished I could just chill but being there, right now, was making me all sorts of unsettled, because honestly, I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to make it through this meeting.

Muhammed Husayn had re-entered, watching us almost anxiously, as if we were some kind of ping-pong match. I wasn’t quite sure what he expected. To tell the truth, I wasn’t quite sure what I expected either…

”I’m sorry if I disturbed your Eid supper,” Hamzah said, his back to me as I made my way to the couch behind him, and my father hovered outside. Sitting within this view was awkward, and I wasn’t quite sure why I felt that way.

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t even with my family and that some of my cousins annoyed me anyway, but I didn’t.

There was so much on my mind. I had heard, through the grapevine, that he had decided to go to Al-Aqsa as a last minute I’thikaaf plan, and it was something that I wanted to desperately ask him about. I wanted to ask him what had inspired him in the spur of the moment. I wanted to know how he felt now, after such an overwhelming trip.

I wanted to ask how his Tarawēeh had gone. How he felt first Ramadhaan after losing his bestest friend. I wanted to know if his heart had been healed with the word of Allah. I wanted to ask him if Ramadhaan had gone as it planned, and if Allah had made apparent His love for him through the recital of Qur’ān that had become his beautiful refuge. I wanted to ask him about his journey from then until now… about how he had undergone the significant change that I’d glimpsed a few months back, before everything went so terribly wrong.

I wanted to ask him too, if he felt the navigation of Qur’ānic guidance that had brought him back to his route, when circumstances had swayed him off-track, and love and loss had broken him inside. I wanted to ask him if he had felt the weight of Allah’s word that had intervened between his heart and his whims and if his purpose in life had changed as much as mine did….

But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t say al the words I needed to. I couldn’t even say one.

And at first I didn’t understand it. it’s not like I hadn’t spoken with men before. I wasn’t that green. As an external auditor, my entire career had been meetings and clashes with the opposite sex, and it was barely appropriate or ideal. I did it because I didn’t have any motivation not to. I didn’t have the kind of conscience that halted me.

Now, though, as I stood there, with only Hamzah in view, even though I was properly dressed, I could honestly say that I never felt so awkward in my life. Something major had altered within me and I literally felt like hiding behind a curtain.

I knew, on this journey I was taking, there was a little room for deviation. As much as I wanted to ask him… I knew that there was a way to speak, to be modest and aware and keep myself from appearing anything less than dignified.

”My father said you wanted to speak to me,” was what I said quietly, careful not to be speak too openly.

And as he nodded, without looking at me, and the whole situation was oddly surreal.

And as if a reminder was vital, in the back of my mind was the story of Musaa (AS), which stood out for me as having some of the most important lessons. Attraction to the opposite gender is not taboo; it’s like hunger in Ramadan, and it’s completely natural. But, as a lesson, in this story, Allah shows us how to control them:

Allah Ta’ala says: Then there came to him one of them, (daughter of Shu’aib (AS)) walking shyly, as it was narrated from the Commander of the Faithful, ʿUmar ibn Al-Khaṭṭâb:

“She was covering herself with the folds of her garment.” Ibn Abî Ḥâtim recorded that ʿAmr ibn Maymûn said: “ʿUmar said: ‘She came walking shyly, putting her garment over her face. She was not one of those audacious women who come and go as they please.’”

The âyah goes on: She said: “Verily, my father calls you that he may reward you for having watered (our flocks) for us.”

And those words… well, it was a beautiful example of good manners and modesty: she did not invite him directly lest he have some suspicious thoughts about her. Rather she said: My father is inviting you so that he may reward you for watering our sheep.

How simple and beautiful were the ways of our pious Ambiyaa, who showed us a most virtuous way of life…

I breathed in as I awaited his response.

”Yes,” he said blandly. “I spoke to your father. He said to speak with you. Its been a long two weeks, and I can’t describe how much I missed this guy. With going back to work I thought it’s best to work out some kind of proper arrangement so we can both have the best of him.”

I took a deep breath, knowing what I had to tell him first, before we figured out a better arrangement.

“We can…. but, I resigned,” I said flatly, looking at a spot on the carpet near him, and swallowing hard. “Two weeks ago. From Hammonds.”

The silence in the room was almost deafening.

He was the one person I was waiting to break the news to, since it had happened, because I knew that this would be my one shot of redemption. It would be my one shot to prove that I was taking this seriously. It was my one chance to prove that maybe… just maybe… I was more worthy than he had thought… but the news had a less than desired effect..

He glanced at me briefly, before looking down again. It didn’t seem to be news to him. I couldn’t seem to meet his eye either.

“I see,” he said quietly, gently lifting Zaid up onto his lap, and shifting onto the couch, so he could face me, without meeting my gaze. “Did you get a new offer somewhere in else?”

He was waiting for my answer and his tone was neutral as he asked, but I knew that there was a note of inquisition there.

“I’m thinking about doing something different,” I ventured carefully, purposely wanting to knock him for a six. “I wanted to study Qur’an.”

I could tell from the way his gaze suddenly faltered, that this was something he didn’t quite expect.

Good, I thought to myself. I liked to catch people off guard. I was, after all, anything but predictable.

And I expected more of a reaction, but all he did was tickle Zaid’s tummy, almost as if he was avoiding a response.

Zaid, however, was making up for it completely.  And as we both sat in silence, listening to Zaid giggling gurgling away, both Hamzah and I were on completely different wavelengths.

“That a massive change,” he said softly after a minute… so softly that I barely heard him. “I didn’t know how much had happened while I was gone.”

I kept silent, simply because I could not formulate the words to say what I needed to. There was still so much to let him know, about Hammonds, about the job, about everything that had happened in between that had upset our entire future…

But how could I even begin? 

How could I explain to him that those vile men had taken me and broken my spirit to such unworthiness? How could I explain to him the humiliation of having to beg for my fathers safety, with money I didn’t even have? How could I tell him the feeling of having to literally sell my happiness into the safety that Faadil had promised me?

But it was over now, right? It didn’t matter. We just had to work on Zaid and giving him the best we could.

I couldn’t look at him. The moment I tried, everything came flooding back, and I didn’t want to remember that, as the basis that formed us. I didn’t want to remember the hurt and the ugliness and the general feeling of hostility caused by wealth and status that existed between us.

This was too much.

I hadn’t even said what I needed to say. I hadn’t even gathered my thoughts enough to string them into the kind of thread that would patch up all those shredded pieces. I hadn’t told him that I had prayed, in the early hours of the morning, and that I had asked Allah to illuminate a way. I didn’t tell him how he had inspired my change… How he made me want to be better… and I hadn’t even told him all the things that I so desperately needed to say way back when I never got to say them….

Instead, I just looked down again. So that was it. That’s all he really wanted to speak about. Alright then.

I shifted in my seat, now intensely aware of the silence and not sure if it was my cue to leave. After all, there was no need for me to be sitting here with a strange man, if we had nothing more to discuss.

Hamzah’s focus had now been shifted to Zaid, who was now suddenly a little more unsettled, as he let us know in his own way that it was probably time for bed. Knowing that his tummy was starting up again, my first instinct was only his comfort.

“I think Zaidoo needs to la-la,” I said cheerfully, swallowing back all emotion that may have surfaced, knowing that it was time to call it a day. “I’ll take him up.”

If not anything else, maybe this will be the beginning of a more civilised relationship between us, that we both would be more accepting of.

It would be the initiation of more understanding and compromise. That sounded like a good plan.

“Relax,” Hamzah said to me, instantly scooping Zaid up and cradling him in his arms expertly now, as he popped a dummy into his mouth.

I turned my face because it was doing strange things to my insides because I had no idea that Hamzah actually had it in him to do human things like rock babies to sleep.

“I’ll do it. I missed this guy way too much to part with him…”

I was instantly on edge now, feeling a little threatened that he was getting so cozy with my little guy. I knew it was silly of me but i couldn’t help the possessiveness.

”But you’ll have to,” I said firmly, not wanting to raise an argument about who was keeping him tonight. We had discussed this a while ago. “Part with him, I mean.”

“I know,” Hamzah said, but I could hear an edge to his voice. “But I may change my mind.”

I narrowed my eyes. Now he was making me anxious again. One minute I was sure that he was a saint, and the next I wanted to strangle him.

“You can’t,” I said firmly, shaking my head. “Not allowed.”

”I’m not allowed to change my mind?” He asked incredulously, and I shook my head vehemently, no longer feeling so aware of myself.

When I got ready for an argument, unfortunately, I was all about tit-for-tat. As much as I knew that I needed to work on it, I just couldn’t swallow my anger.

”Its not fair on me,” I said bluntly. What will I do without Zaid here? He was my safety net. “You can’t just swop and change as you please.”

”But what if I want to?” he insisted, looking at Muhammed Husayn now, almost as if he was talking to him. “I like change. It’s more exciting when it’s not expected. What if Zaid wants to?”

”Not in this case,” I insisted, revving myslef up for a proper motive to argue. How could he pin this on a baby? “Zaid doesn’t know any better!”

I couldn’t believe he was pursuing this.
Muhammed Husayn was looking at us both now, opening his mouth to try and stop us.

“Okay okay,” my brother said, glancing at me as if I was embarrassing him, “Can’t you’ll just come to some agreement…”

Zaid had conveniently abandoned the sleeping mission and was bobbing over Hamzah’s shoulder, flashing me a scampish grin.

It was almost as if they were all ganging up on me and I loathed the betrayal.

Frankly, even if Zaid started blowing me kisses right then, I wasn’t gonna sway.

“Maybe we can do a trade off?” Hamzah said furtively, and I knew he was aiming for a compromise. I wasn’t.

“I’m not interested,” I snapped, getting up and walking a few steps toward the exit to show I was serious,  but not wanting to go without Zaid. “I don’t compromise on my deals and that’s final. Muhammed Husayn, please bring Zaid up to me. Now.”

I shot my brother a warning glance and Hamzah had the cheek to look amused. He actually found it funny.

“Okay okay,” Hamzah laughed, putting his hands up in surrender, as I halted, waiting for him to hand over Zaid. “I’m sorry, I’m just joking. Just open this, and I’ll stop being a pest.”

Ugh. He was being ten times worse than a pest.

He had apologised and I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or angry. This was the worst part about Hamzah. He was always up to some stupid prank. I thought that he would have grown up from back in the day, but he obviously hadn’t got the memo. That was, clearly why, no-one intelligent ever trusted him enough to get involved with him. Except me. Clever me.

I was glaring at him now like he was the bane of my life.

Also, what was with this audacity to look so alluringly proud of himself and it made me even more agitated. Even as he handed a silver paper packet over, I was still fuming, feeling like I had compromised way more than my sanity to accommodate him. If this was another prank, he had to leave…

But because he sounded so sincere as he handed over the package that I had barely noticed was next to him all this time, I kind of crumbled a little, letting him pass it to me through my brother, whilst studying it silently, with a no-nonsense look on my face.

“I brought you something,” he said quietly, as I opened the packet. Actually, more like ripped it apart, due to my state of mind, which almost immediately dissipated as it opened. “It’s kind of an apology.”

And as he said it, the thing was, if I had a weak spot for anything, they weren’t many people who didn’t know what it was. Coffee and Cadbury chocolate were my favs, and just catching a glimpse of that purple-blue wrapper always made my heart sing, and as I pulled it out, the huge slab of Bubbly chocolate was basically a soothing to my eyes.

On it though, I hadn’t even processed, stuck with a fancy piece of washi tape was a little handwritten note:

‘Another chocolate, another chance?’

And my mind was so clouded with emotion that I couldn’t quite understand. And of course, I felt a little conned into forgiving him but if didn’t quite answer what exactly Hamzah was saying until he looked up at me, and then spoke.

“In case you are wondering,” he said with a grin, his eyes meeting mine for the first time that evening. “Muhammed Husayn did tell me that he ate your chocolate.”

Muhammed Husayn was looking only slightly apologetic, as I glanced at him.

“Also… I’ve been doing my fair share of thinking,” he said quietly, sounding extremely apprehensive. I figured this wasn’t easy for him to say. Who would have thought Hamzah actually lost his pluck? “And well…. after Maulana gave me a good talking to about being mature and stuff…. I spoke to your father and asked his advice…”

I actually had no idea that my father spoke to him , and as I looked toward where my father stood, he smiled at me, almost reassuringly.

”What did my father say?” I asked, a little calmer now, as I wondered what the two of them really spoke about and if he was really just talking about my father’s concerns… or someone else’s.

“He said he worried about you and Zaid,” he said steadily, glancing up at me, his eyes meeting mine and holding my gaze for a minute. “I did too. So I asked Allah to show me a sign about what I needed to do and when you told me just now that you had quit Hammond’s and wanted to start classes… Well, I suppose that was it.”

Wait. A sign?!

“Listen,” he said softly, obviously noticing my alarmed expression. “I know that we are all just figuring things out. What I do believe is that everything happens for a reason and all I can see is Allah piecing this whole thing together in a better way. And maybe it wasn’t meant to be before, and the timing was off, but I do firmly believe that Allah is showing us that sometimes these things can’t be planned or chosen, and maybe we lost so much and people we love but is it maybe possible that through this all, Allah is choosing us to be together in a most unconventional way..?”

Woah.

Us? Did he just say us? Together?

I swallowed the huge lump in my throat, biting back emotion as he said it while I spotted my father lingering by the doorway, with a strange look on his face.

Oh gosh. Tears were filling my eyes and I wasn’t even sure if I had was understanding right. I missed Layyanah so much right then.

But Hamzah wasn’t finished.

“I love Zaid too, and I know know you can do this on your own, but you shouldn’t have to. All I know is that I don’t want to have to miss another Eid day with him ever again.”

“…..”

That was me. It was just snot and tears and I couldn’t quite believe I was already starting to bawl my eyes out. Every damn thing just made me want to ugly cry. And I wasn’t certain but I thought I heard Hamzah just say that he might want me in his life.

And I’d like to say that I was bowled over by this very impromptu proposal, but I’m afraid that there weren’t many words to describe how I felt right then. It was a bitter – sweet occasion that brought back so many memories of Liyaket and Layyanah and I couldn’t help but think of how they would have felt right then.

And sometimes we look for these situations as if they can be found, but the thing is, sometimes it comes suddenly, overwhelming you, like a hot summer storm. Sometimes these things can’t be planned and chosen. Sometimes Allah intervenes directly, and the entire thing just becomes a new part of you that you’ve reached, and there’s no going back without soaking it all in.

And the rest as history, of course, because I already knew what I wanted. There was no way I could even hold Hamzah’s annoying tendencies against him because I knew that there was no better way to work this out, and despite my worries and concerns, Allah had come through for me in so many more ways that I had ever imagined

And of course, I had been on cloud nine till Monday morning, basking in congratulations and well- wishes and being extremely grateful to Allah for inspiring Hamzah’s decision, because I knew that none of it was possible without my Rabb who was forever looking out and keeping watch for me. Besides that, we knew that it was the best thing for Zaid, but it didn’t mean that it was only about him. We had both given our final answers two days after making isthikhaarah, and everything felt so right, that I couldn’t imagine it any other way.

But as always, reality had to intervene at some point, and I suppose it was a way of getting back at me as I found myself slightly anxious- making my way back to the office, facing real life once again.

Hands down, that last day at Hammond’s was the hardest and the huge set back for me. Seeing everyone again, going through the motions… was extremely overwhelming. Most of all, meeting Faadil, this time, making sure we stayed an arms length away from each other, with no emotional attachment at all, was most difficult.

And it was emotionally taxing and he had tried to convince me otherwise, but on that day we had both agreed that we were going to be mature about our break up, and wish each other well for the future. That’s what closure meant. The meeting had ended off on a slightly nostalgic tone, but the relief I felt after, hoping that he was no longer holding onto a future together helped me to shoved the thoughts out of my mind as I tried to push myself into the week ahead.

It was just that, even at that time I had made it clear, I got a feeling that the conversation wasn’t completely over. He had been cool about it, but from past rumours, I knew that Faadil was always the one to call things off, and he had tried to make it sound like he was, but my news had kind of knocked him off course.

Nonetheless, I shoved any stray thoughts out of my head, because at long last, I had made it to the Nikah day and my heart was in my throat as I thought of what  it would all entail. Over the past few months, I had imagined different and varying scenarios in my mind, but none could really compare to how it really felt that day, right up until Faadil phoned to say he was outside my parents home.

He hadn’t come inside. I remembered telling him once that my family was pretty traditional and I was glad he respected it. It was just that now, after trying to call and message multiple times, he had now let me know that he had taken a small road trip to see me without knowing that today was my big day. There he was, standing in the open, with grassy fields as a backdrop, familiar scent of Montale Oud that I had become to accustomed to was way too familiar for comfort.

And I know. I know what you’re thinking. Another man calling me and wanting to see me while I was supposed to be getting married on that day, was probably the lowest I could go. I was stupid. Really stupid. I felt crap about it too. But this time, it wasn’t like all those months ago, when Faadil had caught me at my weakest resolve.

It wasn’t about making the most of my unmarried status. I had grown up. I knew where my loyalties lay. I had made a commitment to Hamzah, and it meant much more than anything that had ever happened with Faadil. What I did know was that rejection was barely his cup of tea, and this was his last attempt at closure, or perhaps a last attempt to change my mind…

Perhaps he expected to win in the end, like he always made sure he did. But this time, I had to just take one look at him before I knew that this wasn’t just Faadil the great, coming to blow his own horn.

What started with sin, must end in ruin. Right?

“Mos,” he started weakly, as soon as he spotted me. The relief on his face as he saw me was undeniable. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

I looked down, knowing that I owed it to Hamzah to at least be a little conservative. Maybe he thought that instead of calling, if he placed himself in front of me, it would change my mind. What Faadil didn’t know was that my attraction for him was based only on the temporary things that now meant nothing to me….

”Just hear me out,” he almost begged. “I know this is a little late, and I heard you’re getting married today. Mos, I can’t lose you…”

---

Dearest readers

Extra long bonus post. It was the other POV I had written so I tied it up… so will try and post again soon InshaAllah, since l I’m due for a short break after Mosee’s drama is over .. ❤️

Much love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival

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…

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, to purify the rusted hearts.

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.”

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aan

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

­

Counting Chickens

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 43

We’re Home.
And then we aren’t.

Sometimes we are lost, and then suddenly, we’re not.

And I’m not going to make this about love or soulmates or all the soppy stuff, because I honestly believe that it’s not about all of that.
What I can say, for sure, is that every one of us has a hole in us. A hole that we try to fill with different, temporary things, in order to gain our peace.

And while we get busy finding careers, holidays, soulmates and having kids, we forget that our happiness and peace cannot depend on them alone. A temporary fix cannot ever, fill a permanent hole.

When there is nothing else that can find that void but Allah, we lose ourselves in chasing the wrong things, to the wrong people, and on the wrong paths, until we finally find the source of it all.

Allah Azza Wa Jal, and His words.

And as much as it guides, protects and frees us…  most importantly, it brings us back to our beautiful purpose.

And as it hit me, almost out of the blue, as the sun met the sky on the horizon once again, and I closed my Mushaf, I could not have ever thought of a better way to comprehend what was unfolding right before me, right then.

My Lord, You have not created all of this without a purpose. Exalted is You.
(Qur’an, 3:191)

Purpose, everything has one. Nothing in the heavens or the earth or inside of me or inside of you is created without a purpose. And as we grow, and we learn, and we put self-absorption, doubt and temporary fixes aside, we come to realize what our true purpose in life is.

And as I crept toward the window, glimpsing the motion of hundreds of dust specks that swirled around in the morning light, as if they were doing a little happy dance of their own… my own heart lifted…

Like a sweet surrender to the sunnier side of life, I couldn’t quite believe that after all that rain, we had been blessed with the most gorgeous of days just when we needed it most.

And breathing in the crisp winter air, i savored the time of day I loved most about the farm we called home, admiring the stretch of glorious green before me. The sweet sight of the sun kissing the mountain tops, and then spreading beyond to highlight the best bits of country-life before me, in their optimum form, made  my spirits instantly soar. After a week of rains, seeing the sun find its way through the clouds to bless us with its warmth once again gave me a very palpable oozing within my chest…

And now, after the slightly stormy season of our life, I had high hopes that the sun was here to stay.

Even at that time of the morning, the house was buzzing with activity. Pots clanged as my mother counted chickens and argued about whether there would be enough, and I could hear my father shouting at Muhammed Husayn to get out of bed and come help him outside.

I could already see a few workers in the yard, clearing the grassy patch where the marquee would go, so that  it wouldn’t be too drenched with the morning dew that seemed so excessive that particular day.

“Mummy, can you just relax?” I could hear my mother saying from where I stood on the landing. “I hope you didn’t invite the whole world. We really won’t need so much of food. And it’s not the first time they have had a wedding in the family…”

”But it’s the first time we are having wedding in my family!” Nani said bossily. “What Will Khairoon and Taahira say if it’s not enough? Aunty Bhen is also waiting to see the menu. As it is she is planning her grandsons wedding from now and he’s not even proposed.”

Nani had more of a social life than me. How was that even fair?

“You shouldn’t have told her so early,” Ma scolded. “Then you wouldn’t have to give the whole itinerary. Plus, simplicity is the Sunnah.”

“What early?” Nani argued, missing the point. “I only told Khairoon two days ago and her kitchri was coming out. Leave it. Next time I won’t tell her till day of wedding. Just now something will go wrong and we will know why. Everything must be perfect.”

And I had chuckled to myself, wondering where Nani picked up stuff like that, but Nani and her eccentrics was really the highlight of every occasion.

She started rattling something in Gujarati that I barely understood, but I could tell that Ma had given up already. Nani was on a roll and no one could stop her.

And of course, despite the emotion, no one could help but be bowled over by Nani’s reaction to the proposal news. It was a mixture of excitement, happiness and tears as she processed them, and her theatrics, when my father had said that Mohsina and Hamzah and were proposed (again) was something that had made a very lasting impression.

And as Muhammed Husayn had cheekily told Nani that Mohsina had finally found a muscle man to marry, Nani had literally paused in the middle of cleaning the dhaniya, with an odd look of her face.

And while she was probably to figure out whether he was for real or not, and my father came in and confirmed it, an array of emotions consumed me too, as she shook her head silently, and then wiped her eyes, which were filling with constant tears.

Then, as if her entire life depended on thing thing, what she did next, was nothing short of amazing.

And I knew it was something completely astounding because as long as I knew Nani, her signature accessory that she had worn since half a century ago, was a simple but obviously expensive gold bracelet, around her left wrist. And it had been there for so long, that if you saw Nani without that, at any time, then you would probably question if it really was Nani at all, because it had literally become an essential part of her identity. And like most of the older people I knew, their gold and jewelry meant the world to them, and was their prized possession.

This particular piece, she had mentioned, was one that she had from before she even got married, so how old it was; I probably couldn’t even calculate.

But that wasn’t the point. Hearing the news, was something that had immediately stirred her, and as if it was an automatic reaction, as a token of gratitude… in the moment of elation, she immediately unclipped the bracelet, gave it to my father, and said:

”Weigh it and give the money away in Sadaqah (charity).”

And of course, like me, my father had looked at her like she had lost her mind.

Like, was she for real? She had just given away an expensive gold bracelet, on hearing one snippet of good news? I could not comprehend. I was, honestly, lost for words.

And of course I didn’t understand, because when I looked at it, I realised that because of Nani’s extreme elation, older and more religious people knew nothing more than to turn to Allah Ta’ala in every situation. Like a built-in reminder, their entire purpose and every circumstance always took them back to Allah.

And that’s when I recalled that several of the Sahabah (radiyallahu’anhum) had also practised this very act, of showing their gratitude to Allah Ta’ala for his favour by donating a portion of their wealth, I was rightfully blown away.

And of course, Muhammed Husayn raised his eyebrows at Nani, and singled Mosee out.

”Mos, see how happy Nani is that you going. She’s giving away all her jewellery.”

Mohsina had narrowed her eyes at him, as he said it, but Nani was still emotional as she looked up at him.

”So long I have waited for my grandchild to give me this news. My Du’aas are all being answered in front of my eyes. Why can’t I part with a little bit of Duniyaa because of it, huh? Don’t be so naa-shukriyaa.”

Mohsina had stuck her tongue out at Muhammed Husayn, but despite their light-heartedness, their was a tone of solemnity that was already imminent.

And what she said wasn’t just some kind of silly tradition. What I didn’t know then was that it was actually a Sunnah to give Sadaqah on hearing of good news.

In Bukhari it’s mentioned that Ka’b ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu), upon receiving the good news of Allah Ta’ala accepting his repentance, gave the clothing he possessed to the person who passed on the message to him.

And as I recalled the Sunnah of Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi was Sallam) and his Sahabah when I saw her immediate reaction, I could not quite believe that qualities like this  existed in people of my lifetime.

The feeling of celebration was in the air and everything that came with it was immensely beautiful and uplifting.

I mean, I had always loved Hamzah for Mohsina but after everything that had happened, I really didn’t want to keep my hopes so high.

I mean, in every way, it seemed far-fetched, disastrous and near impossible, but somehow, when it comes together in a most unexpected way, you honestly could not have imagined it any other way.

From what I had gathered from my father and Muhammed Husayn’s snippets (which was not very detailed) and after a hugely emotional and slightly tense exchange, the question was popped and from what she had said previously, Mohsina knew that there was nothing more that she wanted more than to marry him.

And as I stood outside, as they finished talking, I could tell that both had undergone a tremendous amount of change over that past month, and their decision had been a beautiful result of that.

And despite knowing the outcome, later on when I finally asked my sister how it went, her vague answer was:

”All I can say is I was that there were two game changers…” she said mysteriously, with a coy glint in her eyes, as I raised my eyebrows at her questioningly.

“Zaidoo, and the bubbly chocolate,” she said with a smile, and I laughed.

For Mohsina, I knew that chocolate could fix almost any situation, and if Hamzah knew that, I was quite certain that he would be able to handle her pretty well…

Of course, although I lowered my gaze as he exited, I could tell that like Mohsina, Hamzah was very much at peace right then, as they got ready for this huge and crucial step of their lives.

All in all, it wasn’t one of those cliched, I can’t live without you, kind of proposals, and I didn’t expect it to be.

And it was barely the most conventional situation. There was, for starters, a little baby who relied on them, needed them and who they both loved immensely. Also, being in a situation where they had history meant that they had to put weird vibes behind them and move on, with no questions asked.
But while that was true, what I knew for sure was that Mohsina had changed, but how Hamzah had inspired her was something she hadn’t yet told him. I just hoped that one day, everything would come together beautifully, so they could work on all those little holes that needed to be patched up once and for all..

And so, without even giving anything else much thought, after they had made their Isthikhaarah, the week had gone by, as Mohsina went in to the office to round off her work, sort out her life and trying to squish other emotions as she brought her belongings back from the Hammond’s apartment, to start a brand new chapter of life once again.

And of course, I couldn’t help but think to myself how strange life was, in that way. One minute, you’re psyching yourself up for the job of your lifetime, changing addresses and wardrobes, and the next, you’re headed in a completely different direction o, and starting off again, in a almost unprecedented way…

I could sense a change in her as she visited her old life again, but I put it down to her having slight withdrawal, which was completely natural when you left a part of your old life behind. How much she had really endured, I wasn’t even aware. Although Mohsina had put on a brave face, for the first time, there was a reservation in her eyes that I couldn’t quite put my put finger on…

There was so much she had been through. So much her heart had altered. And that very morning, as I assumed Zaidoo was asleep, I knew that I couldn’t rest until I spoke to my sister before I went down and immersed myself in all of the preparations that Ma was already screaming for me to come help with. And as I called down to my mother that I was coming, I found myself pausing for a moment, outside Mohsina’s  room door before I entered, savouring the moment as much as I could, so it would seem to go on forever.

I was weird like that. I took note of the lasts and first of life… finding them strangely sentimental.
And as I breathed in deeply again, I knocked softly at first, hearing tiny whimpers from inside, knowing that Zaid was probably threatening to wake up and Mohsina was desperately trying to keep him asleep.

And as I pushed the door open, just slightly, my suspicions were confirmed as Mohsina put her fingers to her lips with widened eyes. Tapping him more vigorously was in vain because Zaid had already sensed an opportunity to abort sleeping mission and sat up immediately, blinking his eyes comically as he stuffed two fingers in his mouth and looked at me as if he was the luckiest little guy in the entire world.

And of course, I couldn’t resist, and as Mohsina sighed, I couldn’t help but grin back at him.

“Oh my word, he just gets cuter by the day,” I sighed, as I dove on the bed, and pinched his chubby cheeks.

And of course, my sister was had no choice but to get up, knowing that today was going to be the big day… and soon her life would changed completely.

”So, how’s the ‘wife-to-be’?” I asked, glancing and winking at my sister, whose nerves seemed to be word very thin over the past few days.

To be fair, Zaid was also being a little bit troublesome and extremely clingy, and I wasn’t sure if that was what was making her a little edgier than usual.

All she had to do now was forget about everything else and focus on Hamzah, Zaid and herself. Yes, I understood that they had a bit to work through… but there was always enough time…. right?

“I’m fine,” she said, flashing me a quick smile before returning to her task of folding Zaid’s clothes and packing them in an open suitcase.

“You want me to keep him tonight? You deserve a better nights sleep you know… before everything changes completely.”

She frowned as she glanced at me.

I knew that Hamzah was going to be renting an apartment closer to his work place where they would be staying, but before the month end, she had mentioned that they may go away for a short break to that amazing farm house that had blown me away.

In my world, basking in the glorious sunshine with birds twittering above them, there was no better place to start a new life. Amidst a stunning backdrop of greenery and tranquility, it would be the perfect setting for the two, or rather, three, of them to bond with no signal towers in sight and make the most of the country air.

Ah yes, I was very clearly a dreamer and my realist sister was quick to remind me of it.

”No,” she said, unnecessarily bluntly. “All hell breaks loose if one of us are not with him. I don’t think it’s possible to leave him.”

”But that’s barely even romantic,” I moaned, with a frown. After all, she wasn’t Shrek’s wife who locked herself up at night.

”Unfortunately, Jams,” she said, turning to me with an odd expression in her eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but this marriage is not about romance.”

I frowned. She was such a bummer.

And she was wrong. I wasn’t sure that Hamzah even knew what she thought that they were setting themselves up for. They could make the most of any situation if they put their heads together. But evidently, they hadn’t.

”Is everything okay?” I asked now, getting a little worried. Her phone, which was on the mantle piece, had buzzed twice and each time she glanced at it, save looked even more edgy. She seemed a little more preoccupied though, as I tried to prove answers out her.

“Is that Hamzah?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her, hoping they weren’t chatting.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, and then, without warning I could see that wall coming down and shutting us off again.

“Mind your own business,” she said quietly, obviously not wanting to disclose what was going on. And of course, I hated it when she did that and I was ready to leave her to her own devices again, but I knew I had to say something more.

I wanted to yell at her and tell her not to let her old life suck get in again. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t know how lucky she was to be given a second chance. I wanted to tell her that she can’t be doing this to us all over again. But I didn’t.

”You are sure about this, right?” Was all I said, looking at her questioningly.

I was so sure that this was the right thing for her and Hamzah, but what was going on?

”Im sure,” she said stiffly, and I took it as a cue to leave, thousands of unspoken words still hung in the air.

In my mind’s eye, I had this inspiring idea of telling her that it’s never too late to start again. To let her know its never too late time to pack your life into a suitcase too, and start some place new. I wanted to tell her that there were so many possibilities, and if only she could start over, the pen to write her life is in her hands…

I breathed in, calming down slightly as I realized that maybe it was something small and it would blow over and settle again. I was optimistic like that, counting chickens and all. After all, the Nikah was a few hours away. There was no going back from here, right?

And as I left her upstairs with Zaid and obediently followed my mother’s instructions, making my way out to the front to check if there was an extra bag of flour in the shop for Nani’s rotis, I wasn’t really thinking about much else. Mohsina was most unpredictable.

One day she was the happiest person in the world, and the next, she acted as if the world was coming to an end. It was a strange but definitive pattern that followed, but it seemed that every time Mohsina went back into office mode, something in her altered and her entire demeanor changed.

And as I unlocked and pushed open the empty coffee shop, which we had closed for the wedding week, and spotted the bag of flour in the far corners of the back room, all I could think about was Mohsina.

Yes, she had taken steps in the right direction, to reclaim her heart, and to get those keys back and , but as it happens, sometimes we slip and end up giving in to Duniyaa once again. I could see her faltering, allowing it to break her and bring her down again. She was seeking something from nothing, digging in, but all that would happen here is she would break her fingers in the process. And before that happened, it was up to me to pull her out…

And pulling the bag into an easier position to lift and hoist up, as I placed it securely under my arm, I was barely even aware of my surroundings as I exited the shop through the front door. Turning around to lock up, as we always did, as an extra precaution, I barely even heard the car that had appeared from nowhere., right behind me, until the person had jumped off.

“Salaam,” a voice said, and as I turned around in surprise, a whiff of a expensive perfume filled my nostrils. I was a little take aback by who was in front of me.

“Can I help you?” I asked politely, pulling my scarf over my head a little more securely taking in his suit and pants, with a tightly secured tie. “I’m afraid the shop is closed for the weekend, but if you’re after coffee, I can get someone to make you a cup quickly.”

Business man shook his head, and from the corner of my eye, I could see Zubair pausing and watching us from a distance, probably wondering what he wanted. After all, handling the shop was Zubair’s job, and I had a good mind of calling him over and tell him to serve the gentleman, so I could get on with my task.

What I didn’t realize was that while I failed to recognize him, Zubair had remembered exactly who this stranger was.

”I don’t need coffee,” office man said with a grim but poised smile. He exuded confidence, even though he was completely out of place in this farm-like setting.

And of course, as he introduced himself, and realization dawned, everything about Mohsina’s recent behavior now suddenly made sense.

“It’s Faadil. I came here to speak to Mohsina. I was wondering if you could call her for me?”

I wasn’t sure how much of a setback this would be, but I had a feeling that maybe… just maybe….
Maybe I had been too quick to count my chickens.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

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…

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, to purify the rusted hearts.

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 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

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

A Change of Heart

---

Bismihi  Ta’ala 

 

Jameela 

Part 39

I once heard a beautiful something that went something like this:

 

The heart is like a mirror. If it is not cleaned properly, it will not properly reflect the recognition of it’s Lord.

 

And it may not seem like a game-changer, but you see, everyone thinks they are fine, until they realise that they’re not.

 

And only once I experienced this for myself, did I realise what it truly meant to have a dead heart. A heart that sees nothing beyond what is layered on top of its dust. A heart that is beating, but has no connection to the one who fashioned it. 

 

Because before this, I was alive in body, but my heart was drenched in ignorance. I was experiencing a spiritual drought. I was desperately in need of some showers of mercy. 

 

But every once in a while, there comes a time in life, a period of intense need, when the thirsty hearts of man are aching for a spiritual change of season, but need a little push to get there. 

 

And as Ramadhaan approached that year, I could already feel my heart yearning for its solace. The souls were stifled. Hearts were undoubtedly ill. The buzz in the air was palpable as Mummy did the usual mundanities of bulk grocery shopping and samoosas galore.

 

And don’t get me wrong, okay. I’m not saying that it was Nani’s samoosas …. but what I did know was that the samoosa filling that happened at the onset of every Ramadhaan did play a really vital role in this particular development, as much as Nani tried to deny it, but that, I’ll come back to later.

What I could say for sure was sometimes when you least expect it, life can do a 360 on you. 

 

A change that can change the hearts, like never before. 

And what changed it, you may ask? 

Well, all I can say is that there’s a time in life when you come to realise that there are certain things that can only come from the wealth of Allah Ta’alas treasures. Through dusting of the layers. Through cleansing the hearts. Through starving the Nafs. Through nourishing the souls… through Dhikr, through Salaah… and most of all, with Quran…  

Quran Shareef was the reason that Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was able to cope with his life.

 

I mean, who can claim to have a life worse than him? No matter what our beloved Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) experienced, he was never hopeless, because he had the Quran.

 

And the same can ring true for us too. The cure from the Curer. The Healer of Hearts. With Him, with His sublime message, the storm can never be too fierce, and without him, surely we will get knocked by even the slightest of a breeze. 

 

But sometimes we need a little stumble, to seek our Lord again.

It was still the week before Ramadhaan when it all started, when we should have been preparing spiritually but we obviously hadn’t, as I walked into the room, I had no idea whatsoever about what lay ahead, but what I was seeing before me was already giving me a little clue…

 

“Hey pretty mama,” I whispered to my sister as I walked into the spare room of our double story home, which undoubtedly had the best view of the plot that my father had inherited from our late grandparents. 

 

There she was, my gorgeous sister. Even in her frumpy  clothes, she was still a stunner.

Nevermind, she was lounging in her scruffy grey gown and pink fluffy slippers. It didn’t matter that her hair was dishevelled and make up completely trashed, Mohsina was the step-in mother who was just trying to pull through. 

 

She was rocking Zaid vigorously as she tried to settle his squirming body, which seemed to be particularly restless that day. I honestly did not know she had this in her.

I could see her grape-coloured burka I had gifted her for Eid the previous year placed next to her, over the chair, and the Quran she had used since madrassa days lying next to the crib, on a higher shelf. It had probably been a while since she opened it, but I knew that recently, since we had lost Layyanah, she had made it her daily routine to read a few Juz of Quran, and I could literally see the effect on her heart. 

That was the beauty part of reading for the deceased. There’s no one in the equation who does not benefit, and neither does it remove from the reward of the reciter. In fact, it was probably her salvation from the craziness of this new life…

As for Zaid, Mohsina was really trying everything to keep him settled, but it wasn’t easy. Nani was trying too, putting all her past skills to good use, while she embarked on this great role of alleged great-grand parenthood. 

“Did you try the gripe water mixture Nani made?” I asked, looking at the empty bottle next to the bed, and feeling a teeny bit sorry for her.

 

“Yasss,” she said enthusiastically, plopping down on the rocker while she held him tightly. His eyes were still wide open as he looked at her. “Tell her to make more. And then she can maybe massage him like she did last week. And put him on her knee to sleep. He hasn’t made a poo in two days.”

 

Oh gosh, TMI. Like why do mothers say things like that? 

Zaid was sucking on the pacifier in his mouth, but looking far from contented. 

 

And I knew it was the formula battle that was causing it. It was why Layyanah had been breastfeeding so persistently in the first place. I remember her once saying that she found that he twisted and turned in his sleep when he drank huge amounts of formula. 

 

She stifled a yawn as she tried to place him down as gently as she could, but he immediately gave out a moan, making her scoop him up and cradle him once again, pressing his stomach to keep him from squirming.

 

“Where is Nani, by the way?” Mohsina sighed, frowning slightly. She was looking a tad bit frustrated. 

 

I knew she wanted the help but I wasn’t good with Zaid at all. He always bawled in my arms.

 

“Filling samoosas,” I said with a small smirk. “From before Fajr. We’ll have samoosas coming out of our ears by the end of Ramadhaan.”

Mohsina’s eyes widened.

 

“I hope she is not planning on serving Samoosas today,” she said in a warning tone. “I ordered the woolies cookies and cappuccinos and Ma says she baked, and that’s all I was planning on giving them. Samoosas would just give them the wrong idea…”

Samoosas. Well, Nani’s entire life at the moment revolves around samoosas, and about that, there was nothing much I could say.

 

“Talking about woolies,” I replied with a tiny smile. “Nani wasn’t too thrilled about the nappy purchase from there last week. Or the formula. Said you’re wasting your money. She said next time to give you her list and she’ll get you a pensioners discount from the supermarket down the road.”

 

Mohsina grinned. Nani’s reaction to the whole situation was something that was pretty awesome. It was probably due to the fact that my sister was adopting an entirely new kind of role in her new-found life that was very much like the role Nani had always imagined for her… minus the husband. 

And of course, it was a shocker for me too. For the first time in years, Mohsina’s phone was barely in her hand. Work had taken a backseat. Her entire life had changed and Nani was noticing it too. Most of all, despite the heartbreak in the backdrop, it had almost completely healed their rocky relationship.

 

Almost. Except for the unmentionable things that Mohsina or Nani never mentioned. 

 

“Nani,” Mohsina mumbled lovingly with a shake of her head, and a humoured look in her eyes. “How can we explain to her the value of convenience? It’s the click of a button, and everything is here. Now I understand why new mothers always look like they do. Honestly, Jamz, I will never look at a stay-at-home mother the same way ever again. They are the new royalty.”

 

I never thought I’d hear the day that Mohsina would say that. And I was so, so in awe of her too. 

As for Nani, besides being thrilled about everything else, since she had heard about the new development this morning where Hamzah and family were due to come this afternoon to see the baby and discuss options on how to care for him in the best way, Nani’s entire purpose in life seemed to alter.

 

”Ohhh, he’s coming here?!” She had said disbelievingly as she heard my mother talking.

 

She said ‘he’ as if he was some kind of royalty or A-list celebrity. 

 

Her half-filled Samoosa was in mid-air as she stared at my mother inquiringly.

 

She was all anxious and excited as Ma explained to her that he wanted to spend time with the baby and was coming with a Maulana, and some of his family who wanted to talk about guardianship of the baby. Ma had made it clear that it was meant to be very professional and serious and no funny business was possible, and asked Nani to make special Duaas for them to come to an amicable decision. 

“Duaas are always there,” she said with an interesting glint in her eyes, but said no more as she continued stuffing the samoosas with chicken mince once more.

 

I walked toward the window, almost automatically, as she smiled back at me, glimpsing a kurta-clad figure in the yard and knowing exactly who it was. The kurta was uncharacteristic for a normal morning, and as I watched, not realising just how long I was standing and unashamedly staring, her voice sounded behind me.

 

 “Who you looking at like that?“ 

I blushed, knowing she had caught me red-handed as I quickly turned away.

Ah yes, the hearts were certainly ill and needed some intense healing…  

 

Especially mine. Tarnished and blackened by all the sins.

 

We tried, a lot of the time, not to cross paths… but sometimes it was unavoidable. 

 

Also, the way Mohsina was looking at me was even more unavoidable.

 

And as I looked at her too, I could see this changed woman who was nothing like self-centered one I had thought she was all these months. She had gone from someone that I could barely relate to, to an amazing woman who I looked up to and greatly admired .

 

Now, to add fuel to fire, she was mercilessly scrutinising me, with a sly smile as she raised eyebrows. 

“I know that look,” she said, shaking her head. “You like him, don’t you?”

 

I shook my head and she sighed. 

Well, not exactly. His name was Zubair and it was a few things that had come to my knowledge recently that had made me … understand  him a little better.

How he had gotten into trouble with his uncle. Why he had maybe resorted to what he had done. Why he needed to earn extra money in the first place, because he hadn’t finished school and his options were so limited, he just had to do all the dirty work that had got us into so much of trouble too…

 

“He’s not exactly usyaar, is he?” She said with raised eyebrows. “The complete opposite of you. Nani might have a thing to say about that.”

 

I swallowed and looked up at her.

 

Usyaar. The Gujarati equivalent of innocent and sweet-natured. Exactly what every mother-in-law was looking for in a son or daughter-in-law.

 

I knew that. And that was precisely the reason why I wouldn’t ever think of him as anything more than just an employee.

 

If only I could control my unruly heart.

 

“You got that look on your face,” she said with a cock of her head and warning glance. “Don’t get caught in that trap. Of feeling like you need to sneak around because ‘he’ is not what people expect of you…”

I blushed, even though I wasn’t guilty of being in that kind of trouble. I knew the rules. No furtive glances. No unnecessary chit-chat. No passing each other’s paths, even by ‘mistake’. 

 

My traps were only in my mind, but they were just as dangerous. As dangerous as he was, in fact. 

What I didn’t know was the Mohsina was only trying to ensure that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes that she did.

 

“I haven’t ever spoken to him,” I said, not wanting to entertain any further thoughts about the ‘he’ in question. “He keeps his distance even though he stays here.” 

 

The thing is, when we had first met him, in the coffee shop that day, we didn’t know that his mother was late and his father had kicked him out of the house after he started working for his uncle. His sister was married and in the UK for a few months… so he didn’t have much family here for support either. And that’s how he came to stay in the front house. 

 

”Papa seems to like him,” Mohsina conceded, glancing at me as she said it, rocking baby Zaid a little slower as he seemed to be nodding off. “I’m surprised.”

 

“He was the one who told Papa about his uncle and how he fooled you into paying him so much,” I said quietly, purposely changing the topic to slightly safer avenues. “I’m so sorry that you had to dig into all of your savings …”

 

I knew that Papa had finally spoken to her about it yesterday and it wasn’t until now that I felt confident to talk about it openly to her too. They had a long chat and spoke till almost midnight, before Zaid woke up bawling and Mohsina had to abandon the heart-to-heart because she was the only one who could pacify him.

What exactly they spoke about, I wasn’t sure… but from the way Mohsina seemed today, I could see that a lot of baggage was off her shoulders. She looked so much more serene.

“It’s only money,” she said quietly as she held Zaid closer to her. “And Faadil helped me. A lot. I paid him back most but there’s a little outstanding. I suppose it wasn’t the most ideal solution but one good thing is that it left less money available for all of his dodge extra-curricular activities…”

 

A slightly pained expression flashed over her face as she said it, and then she shook her head, swallowing hard as I looked at her inquiringly. 

“Activities?” I asked questioningly. 

“Just a few things I found out about him,” she said with a shrug. “A while back….”

 

I smiled sadly as she looked away, but not wanting to ask anymore questions for fear of the answers. The fact that he had given her so much of money and saved us from a horrible situation did make even me feel indebted to him too…

 

The entire thing was just messed up and it was his fault.

 

My heart sank because she spoke almost as if she liked him, yet my sister was way too good for that self-obsessed twit. What she even saw in him, I had no idea…

 

Mohsina turned to me, her hands tightly wrapped around baby Zaid as she stopped rocking him, a serene smile on her face as she glanced at me victoriously and finally bent to lay him down. 

 

My heart contracted slightly as I could picture Layyanah doing this umpteen times before, biting back tears as I watched as she placed him down in the little cot she had bought from the baby shop yesterday.

I smiled amidst the grief, a little in awe of how Mohsina herself had done this whole new transition. Something in her had shifted.

 

And though I expected Mohsina to be all possessive and impossible, she was actually being pretty level-headed in her approach… and though I could see that it was stressing her out, she had really taken it in her stride. 

 

Well, until now, when she looked at the time and did a double take. 

“Oh my word, I didn’t realise the time!” she squealed, widening her eyes and looking panicked as she realised that she had half an hour till they were scheduled to come.

It was actually what I had come to tell her before I had seen her in her maternal glory and got completely distracted. 

 

“I still have to get dressed and read my Salaah! Jamz, please stick around here and tap him back if he starts to move. Or just call Nani. At least it will stop her from frying any samoosas…”

 

And with that, in true crazy-mum style, my sister had already zoomed off to shower and I hovered around and watched the little sleeping sweetheart, wondering how such a tiny human could bring about such a huge change in so many people’s lives.

 

Change, huh? I never thought I’d see it. Till that point, to be honest, I had really given up on my sister. Despite knowing that I should never give up on anyone… I had shelved the idea of ever trying to see eye-to-eye with her until now. 

Instead of the superficial and selfish sister I had been accustomed to the past few months, and amazing, selfless and maternal side of her was make its way to the shore and it gave me goosebumps to see the potential she had.

 

I was so, so proud of her, for putting this above everything, and not just fitting it in like I thought she would. 

 

After the strange behavior she had exhibited over the past few months, pushing us away and distancing herself further and further… somehow, it was like something had clicked into place when she had lost Layyanah. The arrogance she had previously displayed was no longer a part of her. Instead, there was a simmered down, completely contented version of herself that had come to the fore once this new situation had become apparent.

 

And I didn’t even think of her last words to me as I got busy with Zaid and my babysitting duty. I wasn’t even sure how time ran away with me, because the next thing I knew, car doors were slamming outside and Mohsina was sprinting out of the bathroom, scrounging around in my cupboards for something decent to put on.

 

I couldn’t imagine how she must have been feeling at that point, if I was stuck in my own kind of frenzy about what the outcome of this entire meeting was going to be.

 

No matter what she said or how tough Mos acted… It was obvious that this was important. What was happening right now meant a lot to her. Not only was she dealing with someone who was once quite important to her, but all over again, for other unprecedented reasons, she had to make a good impression and build their trust once again and this was a meeting that would hold so much of weight.

 

And of course, it was precisely at that time when Zaid decided he was hungry again and started bawling his head off. Mohsina was yelling at me to take him when I pulled open the room door to head downstairs and be my best version of politeness, when I caught the whiff of freshly fried samoosas in the air. From Mohsina’s unimpressed expression, I knew she did too. 

 

I also knew that she was probably going to kill me for letting it happen but the truth was that when Nani was set on something, especially when it came to samoosas, there wasn’t much else anyone could say to stop her. 

What we didn’t know was that this whole Samoosa Saga was probably going to bring about a lot more than anticipated.

 

Sometimes, changes are gradual. Steady, slow and easy, sometimes the changes give us time to be accustomed to them and give us some sort of warning.

 

Sometimes the changes need to be within us, and we have to work on our inner selves. Sometimes the changes start directly from our filthy hearts, so we can finally see Allah Ta’alas magic in everything once again. 

 

And yes, we were all waiting for Ramadhan that year, to bring its peace and comfort, but what we didn’t know was that our entire world was already starting to transform before that.

See once in a while, with the realisation of life and death, when the hearts are altered and our souls have been moved through the beautiful sustenance of worship, it’s like the ground beneath has shifted. You see things with a new eyes. It’s like your whole world has changed, and things will never be the same again 

 

See once in a while, once in a blue moon, people can surprise you.

 

And once and a while, the ones you least expect, they may even take your breath away…

 

 

---

Assalamualaikum 

 

Dearest Readers 

 

I sincerely hope that everyone had a beautiful Ramadhaan. May Allah accept all our efforts, and grant us istiqaamat. It’s quite a transition, getting back to the old routine.

Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said: “The most beloved of deeds are those that are performed consistently even though they may be little.”

 

May Allah guide us to maintain our efforts. 

May it be a means of change, not only for now, but also a means of us continuously improving.

One sign of acceptance is to be able to maintain our efforts and do more. InshaAllah. 

Mission Sunnah Revival will continue- let’s try and bring all the past ones back into practise InshaAllah, especially trying to stay off social media and guard our gazes…

 

Please do remember me in your duaas

Much love 

 

A x

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah