When we Break the Rules

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 83

Buzz.

What are you guys up to today?

It was a message from Jameela and I couldn’t help but smile, despite my caffeine deprivation, as I thought of how happy she was yesterday. If I could describe it in words, I’d say that she was over the moon, topsy turvy, do-cartwheels-in-the-rain kinda ecstatic.

And me.

Up way too early for my liking. You? 

I typed in a reply quickly, not wanting to go into details of how Hamzah literally dragged me out of bed, forced me to dress in a presentable outdoor dress with a floral sheila, and had all Zaid’s bags already packed with a painfully victorious expression on his face.

“Is that a smile I see?” his smooth voice said as he sneaked a look at me from the drivers seat. “Seems like someone’s cheered up already. Can we head straight to our destination then?”

The service station was still a few minutes away and I couldn’t understand how Hamzah could be so alive at this part of the morning, with so little sleep.

Going out early the day after my sisters wedding was the worst idea he ever had. Sometimes I wondered if he did these things specifically to torture me.

”Please no,” I groaned, adjusting my expression and slipping my sunglasses further up my nose as I put my phone on my lap. “I need coffee. Like, stat.”

He grinned as I turned my face back to my phone, and it buzzed again.

”Well actually, maybe we can,” I said, rethinking and wondering what I could score out of this. “If you think that you can let me in on where we’re actually going…”

”No ways,” he cut off, taking the turn for the service station. “You’re not spoiling this for me with your unadventurous vibes. Today is all about adventure, and that’s a threat.”

”Ohmahgosh,” I sighed hopelessly.

He would be the end of me, the way he was carrying on. I was doomed to die of coffee deprivation in some bundu-bashing destination while wild animals scavenged on my dead body.

Hamzah ignored my sulky face, already popping into the garage while I watched him order my fave coffee drink through the glass, the PSL, not because I particularly liked it but because it was also trending, and it reminded me of why I loved this man to the point of wanting to suffocate him.

But of course, I didn’t.

I opted for a tiny smile instead while he handed me the disposable coffee cup and watched me sip my coffee almost like my life depended on it.

Buzz.

Two unread messages.

I’m staring at my husband while he sleeps like an angel. I love being obsessed.

Barf.

You guys going far? 

You’d think that her teenage hormones would calm the hell down once she was married, but reality had proven that Jameela was beyond saving.

It was literally nauseating to have to read all her messages this early, but I didn’t want to be a grump and tell her to zip it so I could keep lasts night’s food within the parameters of my stomach.

I glanced at Hamzah, who gave me a sideways smile as he glimpsed Jameela’s name on my phone, and I typed again.

My tummy was feeling in some weird kind of knots and I assumed it was because I hadn’t really eaten a thing from the morning.

I hope not because I’m hangry asl and wondering what on earth my husband is up to. We may be out of range, so if you can’t contact me, don’t panic. Okay, maybe panic. If I come back in a body bag, rem you’re my fav sister. Love you (more than Zubair ever will!) *smiley with the hugest teeth*

I might as well cover all my bases here. Before she got any weird ideas of falling head over heels in love, she needed to remember that I came first. Even though I didn’t know what my own future held right then, I was still irreplaceable.

And despite my confusion about said future, I had to give it to my husband. He had me on the edge of my seat, desperately trying to guess his next move. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him.

I just didn’t trust my traitor heart to stay strong against his attempts.

We drove in silence for a while, with me trying my hardest to guess where Hamza was taking me, and him shutting me down every time I gave him a stupid option. It was a game of back and forth that we were playing, never treading any deeper than the simple, mundane things that we thought were safest to speak of, without breaking any of the unsaid rules.

And knowing Hamzah and his nature obsessions, I’d assumed it would be some spectacular spot which overwhelmed your senses with the beauty of seeing the outdoors au naturel. I kept firing ideas of hiking and camping spots to him, and after a few minutes, I assumed that he was taking me to his childhood home, until he drove right past the off-ramp that went to it.  I racked my brains to figure it out just as he took another one, and finally pulled up in front of a semi-large face brick house.

And then, I was baffled. I had nothing. No guesses to what Hamza had up his sleeve, but my danger radar told me he definitely had something… something big enough that I forced myself to take a moment and steel my heart to bear the emotional onslaught today was sure to bring.

I stepped out of the car when he did, already missing Zaid, and trying to tune out reality.

How would I bear it when we had to split him between us?
I shut the thought down.

Not today, Mos, I told myself. Today was for blissful ignorance concerning the future.

Today was just for now. Today was a break from all the damage control that I’d been losing my mind doing… a break from thinking way too much.

I trailed behind Hamza, whose impassive face gave away zero clues…. until he approached the locked gate and pulled out a set of keys from his kurta pocket. With a heart racing so fast, I feared a mini heart attack. I frantically considered the possibilities in my head.

Did my nutcase, think-with-his-heart husband buy a house in the hopes that it will dissuade me from going through with the divorce?

“Hamzah!” I said sharply, the panicked edge in my voice clearly evident.

He touch his index fingers to my lips.

”Ssshh. Rules. Number 1. No screeching.”

His eyes twinkled mischievously as he said it, and I automatically scowled as he beckoned for me to follow him. I stared ahead at him in his white kurta, taking in his handsome form as he stepped through the doorway, letting my eyes slowly adjust to the lighting in the room beyond where he stood.

Even my wildest imagination couldn’t prepare me for where he’d brought me. I looked around incredulously, taking in the big empty room, the dark blue carpetting, the little wudhu khana in the corner with three sinks and the stacks of plastic desks on the right side corner…

I was thrown. Completely. I raised my eyes hesitantly to his, to see my husband watching me with an intense look on his face, almost as if he were soaking in every part of my reaction.

When he smiled crookedly and spoke, I was already turned to mush.

“Stop number one. Welcome to my Hifdh Madrassah, Mos. Where getting the stick meant that we couldn’t sit for days.”

He grinned and my heart almost burst with how childlike he looked in that moment. I wanted to twist his ear and hug him all at once, and for once in my life I just stood there, all uncertain and confused, wondering what next to do.

My word.

My heart was beating at a million beats per second. Knowing the Qur’ān had played such a beautiful role in bringing us together, and how much it had meant to us, I knew that Hamzah had planned this with that very intention in mind. He hoped for it to bind us together once again. Forgetting anger for that moment, I was just in awe that he was giving me a glimpse of his past, even with everything that was going down between us, he had that much of faith in me to let me into this part of his world.

“This place is creepy without the crescendo of 100 voices mixing over one another,” he mused, moving further into the room, as I imagined the memories he had of this place.

Constant recital. Maulana screaming. Boys fighting. Jokes flying. It must have had its own atmosphere… and I’m sure it still did.

Everything looked neat and tidy, almost as if it was just ready for the students to come in and start their work once again.

I followed behind him cautiously, watching the back of his head, unable to predict in what direction today was headed… Until I found a desk in front of me, and Hamza holding out to me the pocket Qurʾān he normally kept in the car to do his dhor.

I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

”What are we doing?”

”Here?” He asked with a cock of his head, gesturing for me to sit. “Or generally?”

“What are we doing here?”

I didn’t want to talk about what we were doing generally. I had no answers, and I was scared about what his would be.

“Simple,” he murmured, lowering his legs into a sitting position and placing his hands on his lap. “When in a hifdh class, do as the hifdh students do. Test me, Mos?”

The last part of his request came out tentatively as he locked eyes with mine, and I didn’t blame him.

Be still my beating heart. Be still.

And of course it didn’t listen. I’d heard my husband recite before, especially before he would make Zaid sleep, in his strong but soothing voice. I’d basked in it whenever he did, and although he had tested me tons of times before… he had never requested me to test him.

And I wanted to refuse. To say it was against the rules to swindle my heart this way. To say I wasn’t worthy of this honour, because I knew there was no other word for it, but before I knew it, the silent room wasn’t silent anymore, and there I sat, not knowing anything… not knowing what this full, but unnerving feeling in my heart was, not knowing what to make of the contented expression on his face as Hamzah recited… not knowing what the heck I was doing with my life and how I would survive this separation, even though, up until now, in front of him, I had managed to keep up the pretence that it didn’t bother me too much.

His voice carried throughout the room as he read, and  despite my confused heart, it was as though nothing else beside him and I existed in this time and space, where absolute tranquility seemed to surround us.

And before I knew it, tears etched my eyes and overwhelming emotions had consumed me. I was battling with myself to try and stop overthinking and just appreciate this moment, because this moment, right then, would probably be the first and the last time I’d get to test my husband his dhor.

This moment, right then, when it felt like all those barriers were falling away… was everything.

Then, all of a sudden, his intensely deep voice stopped as he got up and edged closer to me and whispered, “Pick up your hands, Mos.”

I hastily wiped my eyes and lifted them in the air, humouring him even though I couldn’t understand his request, not expecting his chuckle that escaped from his mouth, completely at ease, in a way I hadn’t heard in a few weeks… and hadn’t realised that I’d missed.

A smile ghosted his lips as he lay down on the ground next to me and I understood why he was grinning. I had put my hands all the way up as if I was under arrest, and all my husband wanted to do was lay his head down right in my lap.

For a minute, as the back of his head met my thighs, I froze at his proximity, because we had been so distant the past few days that I couldn’t quite digest this sudden surge of affection.

“You know,” he said, ignoring my awkwardness and twisting his head so it got the perfect kind of cushioning on my lap without it feeling uncomfortable. “Its a Sunnah of Nabī ﷺ that he recited Qurʾān while lying on the lap of Ayesha radiAllahu anha… and I kinda get the feeling that there’s no better time to practise a Sunnah that right now…”

Smooth. Very smooth.

And before I got a word in, he was already reciting again, continuing with the verses of Surah Tawbah, and I couldn’t help letting a tear fall on his cheek, even though he pretended as if he didn’t feel it.

His eyes were closed, so he couldn’t meet the turbulent expression in my eyes as I watched him, but I preferred it that way.

I couldn’t quite digest this. This place. The recital. Him, Hafidh and the man that I’d come to love with so much of my heart, on my lap, in his childhood Hifdh class, his melodious recitation.. my heart felt like it would explode from an intolerable level of emotion.

I wiped the tears away with one hand, running the other through his hair in a way I could tell he lived for by the content expression on his face, and the way his head sought more comfort at my touch. And even as his reciting stopped, thats how we sat, time unknown to us, the serene atmosphere too sacred to disturb and even check how many minutes had passed during our time together, until that little reminder that nothing good should last popped up in my brain again.

I couldn’t. This was all too much. Too close. Too personal. It was getting deeper than I ever thought, breaking all my rules, and I felt as if my heart was deeper in than I knew, as I instinctively pulled my hand away.

“Don’t stop,” he said as he reached up to catch my hand and guide it back into his hair.

His eyes bored into mine as if they wanted to say words he couldn’t voice. I felt like I was watching a TikTok ‘tell me you love me without telling me you love me’ reel. There was no other way to describe his infectious way of spreading his feelings.

”First explain,” I mumbled, as coherently as I could, holding my hand still, like leverage in his hair, as I spoke. “Tell me why here. Else I’ll stop.”

Hamzah shot me a withering look in response before slowly starting to speak.

“I think you agreed that you owe me one,” he said, almost with an entitled look on his face as he wiggled his head on my palm coaxingly. “Your words, my love.”

”I smell BS,” I snorted, ignoring his sweetness as he shot me a disdainful look at my use of abbreviation within the sacred walls. “Tell me.”

He sighed, and I automatically moved my fingers ever so slightly as he spoke again. Despite my brain being traitorous, I actually didn’t want him to actually stop laying there.

“This is what brought us together,” he said softly, his arms spread open now as his one twinkly eye opened and looked at me. “It’s not easy coming back here, especially with memories of Liyaket flooding through my brain. It’s been hard these past few weeks, and without him, I felt it even more when I needed someone to talk to. Any problem I had in the past, he always had a solution. I knew that I had Imraan and Zubair trying to help out, but it kept coming back to him and this place and a few days ago, I couldn’t handle the pressure anymore, and I suddenly remembered him telling me how often he would ask Maulana for advice, even after we finished our Hifdh.”

He fell silent then, as if contemplating his next words, and I waited.

”You went to him?” I asked softly, when he didn’t speak again.

His eyes were closed beneath my gentle motions in his hair as he nodded, and I wondered if he’d actually fallen asleep until I noticed the edges of his eyes crinkle slightly, and the slight tilt of his lips.

“I did,” Hamza continued, his eyes still closed. “And it was the predictable ‘Hafezsaab, chalo, let’s drink tea’ regime. And all I could think was, how do these people think that tea can solve everything?”

I grinned as he opened his one eye and looked at me again, and it felt like all these layers of awkwardness between us were slowly lifting away, and I wasn’t even sure if it was a bad thing or not.

“And he told you to bring me here so you could knock me off my feet with your gorgeous recitation,” I said bluntly, with a slight roll of my eyes.

“No, gorgeous. We drank the tea silently,” he said, but his grin widening at the unintentional compliment. “Maulana is not much of a talker, and… to tell the truth, I still feel scared to ask too many questions. Sometimes, I still feel like I’m ten and I don’t know my sabaq.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that.

“It wasn’t until afterwards, when I leaving the house, that he advised me.. just one line of advice. He said, ‘Hafidh Hamzah, if you want your Duniyaa to be made, recite Qurʾān sincerely. And if you want your Aakhirah to be made, recite the Qur’ān sincerely.’ And it made me think… Here we are running behind lawyers and divorce proceedings, pinning our hopes on all these other things… even Zubair, and then this reminder comes, hitting straight where it’s needed…”

He trailed off and we both just sat there, lost in thought for a while.

“And that’s when I knew I wanted to bring you here. I knew that Madrassah would be closed now. He always closes for a holiday at the end of Rajab… and then makes the boys suffer for it by having classes Sunday to Sunday for the entirety of Sha’bān.”

I gaped at him. “Serious?!”

It explained a recitation where every second word wasn’t a mistake. No wonder his work was so solid. Man, that must have been tough.

Weak student here, sure… but classes Sunday to Sunday. Yoh. Us mere mortals don’t have the strength to bear that.

“Poor Maulana,” I mused, trying to decipher why he did that. “You boys must have made him really angry when you’ll came back those days after, not knowing your work.”

He chuckled so hard at that, that he had to sit up to catch his breath, and I wondered what on earth was so funny.

”No matter how well we knew our work, he would still end up breaking us all after every holiday,” he finally said, a smile still visible on his face. “It was like routine for him. Once or twice at the end of those heavy days, looking at the expressions on the boys faces, I actually caught him grinning. Poor Maulana indeed.“

It was my turn to grin as I imagined it, and then he put his Qurʾān back into his Kurta top pocket and held out a hand.

“Come,” he said, standing up as he gestured his head toward another door. ”There’s still more I want to show you.”

I would have assumed there’s little to see in a boys hifdh Madrassah, but as Hamzah led me around, his face lit up with a nostalgic grin, for the nth time that day, I was surprised. The sports area, the Tawbah corner – which a laughing Hamza assured me that him and Liyaket had spent his fair amount of time in, the kitchen- essentially just a corner with a microwave and a kettle- until we came to a closed door, and Hamzah whispered dramatically.

“Brace yourself. I left the best for last.”

He pushed the door open, and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t to be assaulted with the smell of.. what was that smell even?

“Can you smell that?” I asked Hamza, sniffing around like a freak. “Theres a distinct weird smell here…”

He sniffed the air and shook his head, assuring me there was no smell here, but I was sure that I saw a glint of something mischievous in his eye.

Then it clicked for me and I turned to face to him, with my hands on my hips.

Euw.

”Toes!” I frowned accusingly, blocking my nose. “This place stinks of toes.”

”Ah,” he said, raising his eyebrows, and moving a chair out the way. “Is that what it is? I always thought it was the salt and vinegar chips.”

”That’s disgusting,” I scoffed, literally feeling my stomach revolt in protest to his description. I couldn’t even. He had officially spoilt salt and vinegar flavour for me for life.

I actually had no appetite at all, despite believing earlier on that I was fiercely hangry.

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching his head. “The boys used to live on salt and vinegar pringles so we could seal it up for the next night. We didn’t have the fancy flavours back then. I didn’t think it could possibly be toes…”

“Yugh. How can you ever confuse the two? You’re more sick than I thought.”

And then we were arguing on whether the place was truly smelly – it honestly reeked – or if my nose was broken (the fudge?) and way too sensitive for scents other than Issey Miyaki (Hamzah was full of compliments). We went back and forth endlessly, until I saw that mischievous glint in his eyes again, and this time it looked almost smug.

And I hated that I knew him well enough to understand why. It had been a while since we did this. I’d pulled back this past month, doing my wifely duties perfectly, but for the most part, disengaging as much as I could.

In the past, we had bickered about mundane things all the time, but not this month. This month it was limited to serious discussions and arguments. I had carefully avoided any level of personal playfulness, even if it was just over something mundane.

He had missed this, I realised, swallowing hard when I thought of how carefree and childish my husband seemed today. He had missed us. For his sake.. to keep him smiling, to save him from going down with me, I had to steel my heart and stop feeding him false hopes.

I took a step back, literally and emotionally, and casually shrugged.

“It’s irrelevant. Just show me whatever it is that so good in here.”

His expression changed too as he flicked a light switch, trying to be nonchalant, and I instantly turned my face to the couches and bean bags now in my midst.

“This is the break room,” he said quietly, not meeting my eye. “No one actually uses it, until it’s raining and we can’t go out. But, what I wanted to show you, well… look there.”

My gaze followed his pointed index finger, to the wall on the far corner, which seemed to be a giant collage of sorts.

As if sensing my confusion, Hamzah continued, “Maulana calls this the Hafidh wall.. every student gets to put up a tribute on the day of the completion. Something to put down as an official achievement.”

I was awed, but I kept silent. There had to be hundreds of laminated squares stuck to the wall. Imagine, just imagine having that many people who you connected to the Qurʾān.. who you walked through the stages of memorisation from day one, till the day they recited اللهم آنس وحشتي in front of a large crowd…

“Lets see if you can find mine,” he challenged with a wink, lightening the mood instantly. “In fact, let’s see how fast you can find it.”

It took me over 15 minutes before I did. And just as I did, my eyes settled on the quote right next to his, and I couldn’t simply look away.

The books of history contain some of his quotes which are worth their weight in gold. And amongst those quotes, I was pretty sure that this one was one of those amazing ones that made your heart shudder at its mere sight.

“It does not behove one who has the Qur’ān in his heart to go to the wealthy and affluent in order for them to fulfil his needs. Instead, his position is such that the entire creation should come to him to fulfil their needs”.

I stood rooted there for a while, just staring at those words, as if something very obvious had intervened to make me see this.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have said Hamzah set this up so I’d see this message. But there was no way that was true, because from this wall full of tributes to the pious scholars of Qurʾān, I had approached this one. I had somehow come to read this one, out of the hundreds.. and subconsciously, I couldn’t help but wonder, did I come to this one, or was I brought to this one?

I jerked backwards as warm hands settled on my shoulders, Hamzah’s voice asking if I was okay.

But I couldn’t say a thing, because I wasn’t.

I couldn’t even process all this anymore. It was getting way too emotional, and I could feel all those walls coming up again, as I took a step away from him. His eyes stayed on mine as he spoke, unaware of the feelings brewing within me.

“It was only after Maulana told me to come here that I remembered his advice to us at our jalsa,” he said softly, stepping forward to stand within my view again, his jaw rigid as he recalled the words. “The Qur’ān will always guide the Hafidh back… be the light through the darkness… the guiding beacon… even when it feels as if there is no end to the tunnel. He would always say that the journey of Hifdh never ends, and I tried my best to make it go on for me. Though I had gone off track once, I made sure that the Qur’ān was part of my life, my go-to, and my answer whenever I didn’t know where the solutions lay…”

I knew that he did. Qur’ān was so much a part of Hamzah’s life that he never left the house without one. His attachment was so intense that I envied it.

“And that’s how I know that whatever happens from here, whichever path we take, I just have a feeling that things are going to come together,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

”I’ll never give up hope, Mohsina. A believer always has hope, and that’s what I’ll cling onto forever.”

My heart literally split at the seams as he said it, and I couldn’t quite help myself as I turned away, knowing that it was time to leave, not leaving Hamzah an option of much else to say.

He followed me silently as we walked out, heart on my sleeve as I let him guide me with a hand on the lower part of my back, not able to comprehend what this all meant.

I couldn’t believe how much he had sacrificed in his journey here, and how much of a sacrifice he had undergone again as he grew and changed his life, and decided to do the right thing for Zaid. We had both made sacrifices, but right now, it felt like he was shining way more than I ever would. To deal with me was an amazing amount of patience and my heart literally ached as I saw the look on his face at times… a look that I couldn’t get off my mind, as I watched him right then, emotions overwhelming me as he guided me out the building.

And as he did it, it felt like I was coming together, and piecing myself back together, even against my better instincts. I felt like the once wounded heart I had sheltered so deeply had bled out way too much for my body to handle. Now, it was as if healing was in place and things were slowly being revived… as if parts of me had come back from the dead… and all I knew right then was how much it felt like an overload on the most vulnerable part of my conscience.

I felt like every rule had been broken, and here we were, back at square one, trying to figure out what the next step was going to really be.

I wanted to challenge him, to ask him why he’d done this. Why we had gone in reverse, when we needed to get into gear and drive away. I wanted to know what this all meant… how he expected today to turn out, once it was all over.

I wanted to know what was Plan B. What did he do when all this didn’t work out the way he planned, or when it did, and he ended up hating me because he lost everything because of me?

It just wasn’t fair. Today was beautiful and touching and oh-so-nostalgic, but what next?

Did he want me to cave and say that I couldn’t picture my life without him? Did he expect me to throw him to the wolves just so that I could have him the way he was?

I breathed out as we stepped out into the fresh air, thinking I’d feel an ounce of relief as we were out of the madrassa, but being away from it made me realise that it wasn’t the place that made me feel this way.

If anything, this amazing  institution had brought me more peace than I’d had in months.

The sinking feeling in my stomach had nothing to do with it. It was me. All me. I was the villain here and I didn’t know how to tell him this. All I knew was that I needed answers.

What did he want from me? Did he want me to admit that this was breaking me? What exactly was I supposed to do from here, in his mind?

“Why?”

I didn’t even realise I’d said it as I stood still in front of his car, my heart beating rapidly as he slowly walked around me, his hair browner now in the sunlight as he stood in front of me.

“Why what?” He asked, his expression as calm as the blue skies, as I glared at him fiercely. I was a storm, that threatened to unsettle every part of his sanity. “Why am I breaking the rules? What are the rules even, Mohsina? That we can’t talk about us ever having a future again?”

“You know the rules!” I accused him, pointing my finger at his chest threateningly, as he stepped closer instead of inching away. “You know what we need to do, how we can’t be certain if anything, but you still doing this to me. Why are you doing this to me? Why, Hamzah? Why?!”

My voice had rose to an embarrassingly high pitch as I watched him stand even taller, not even retreating slightly at my accosting tone.

I wanted to return. Again and again and again. Until we meet Him. Together.

But my body was lit with rage and uncertainty and his stance was as hard as the expression in his eyes. I didn’t even know what I was fighting against.. who I was fighting for.

I just knew that the one who gives up this fight, fails. Only the one who—due to complacency or despair—gives up the fight of constantly bringing the heart back to focus, fails in this life and the next.

But I didn’t want to hear him say it.

“For one thing,” he said simply, his eyes boring into mine as he swiped his tongue over his teeth, the only single gesture that gave away his unease at the entire situation. “I wanted you to know all this because whatever happens, i will always ask Allah for this, and I want you to promise me one thing.”

I looked at him with my eyes narrowed, flashing and holding back the tears, not knowing if I should even do this, but with everything my heart had just undergone, I couldn’t possible do anything else but nod in silent agreement, not knowing what I was promising him as I did.

Not knowing that there were no rules, in this dangerous game we were playing.

“I want you to come back to me.”

---

Just a quick one to say that this post is dedicated to a flower in the Gardens of the Righteous, who helped me to pen most of this post. I deeply appreciate the Naseehah and the extra love of Qur’ān that shone through, which she was solely responsible for inspiring. Please do give feedback on how much it was enjoyed ❤️

May Allah Ta’ala grant her much love, happiness and barakah for her future.

Much Love,

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

Especially as these blessed months dawn upon us, we make extra effort to think good of others and make excuses for them. It’s easier said than done but we make Duaa that in this way, people will also think well of us.

Nabi Muhammad (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said, “Beware of suspicion, for suspicion is the worst of false tales; and do not look for the others’ faults and do not spy, and do not be jealous of one another, and do not desert (cut your relation with) one another, and do not hate one another; and O Allah’s worshipers! Be brothers (as Allah has ordered you!”) (Bukhari)

To put it briefly, having good opinion of people implies:

• Thinking positive of others
• Avoiding suspicion and wrong assumptions of others
• Giving others the benefit of the doubt

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

Sayyiduna Anas Ibn Malik (radiyallahu’anhu) reports that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) would recite the following supplication when the Month of Rajab would commence:

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

Allahumma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Translation: Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.

(Shu’abul-Iman, Hadith: 3534, Ibnu Sunni, Hadith: 660, Mukhtasar Zawaid Bazzar, Hadith: 662, also see Al-Adhkar, Hadith: 549)

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

Advertisement

When we Lose Ourselves

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 68

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was me.

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

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

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

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

Yes. That bad.

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

And I supposed that it happened for a reason.

I sighed.

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

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

My. Goodness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm,” I said vaguely.

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

She was still talking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where did I even start? 

“Jameelas guy called to propose.”

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

Hamzah raised his eyebrows.

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

Mr Smoothie, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I looked at him and he smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had to pretend to be shocked at least.

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

He nodded feebly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His women? Did she really just say that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Love to hear from all the readers

 

Much love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: 

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

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

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

Keep in mind:

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

Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 6446, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 1051

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

Figuring Things Out

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 49

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

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

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

“Mohsina.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I typed back quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beep.

Did u guys talk the talk??

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

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

Beep, again.

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

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

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

Me: Hamzah is amazing with Zaid. 

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

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

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

Maahira: Only amazing with Zaid?

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?”

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

Maahira’s message had just got me thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded, feeling my resolve weakening.

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

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

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

I just got panicky and stressed for everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I smiled. Maybe not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”I love him too much to let it ever happen,” he said softly. “I’ll do anything it takes. You do know that?”

“So would I,” I said evenly, in case he ever thought otherwise.

Hamzah grinned widely, his one dimple now visible,  obviously amused by my unnerving readiness to compete with him. He knew me well by now.

“You would probably have fought me for him,” Hamzah said, a slight smile still on his face. “I can’t ever compare myself to him. No chance.”

I looked at him in shock for a moment, a little surprised by his statement.

“Dont look at me like that,” he said unreservedly, his eyebrows raised. “You did everything in your power to make sure Zaid stayed in your life.”

Okay. And ouch. Again. I got it.

What he meant to say was that I did nothing to keep him in my life.

But that wasn’t true. He didn’t know the situation.. even now. He didn’t know everything that had happened that made my decision what it was.

”It’s more complicated than you think,” I said softly, trying to keep myself from getting emotional. “I don’t know if we should get into it…”

I didn’t want to spoil our evening. Although I knew he deserved to know, to bring it up would put a dampener on our spirits. I didn’t have that kind of ease with words…

”Tell me,” he said, not interested in my own reservations, his tone hardening as he shifted away from me on the couch, so he could look me straight in the eye. “I want to know. It’s not fair that you’re still treating me like I’m some stranger… Mos, I’m not.  I’m your husband now. You can’t treat me like that guy in the office who you never took seriously enough to ask for help when you needed it.”

”It wasn’t like that!” I almost cried, brimming with anger. “Don’t say that! You don’t know… I was under severe duress. I was kidnapped and threatened and robbed by two disgusting men and I couldn’t tell you all of that because I was so embarrassed about it because it would put my father in a bad light and how could I ever do that to him…”

Tears were already streaming down my face as I stopped, and could see Hamzah’s expression softening as he looked at me with something that resembled sympathy.

I couldn’t go on. It was way too emotional for me to relive it.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured, looking like his world was crumbling before him, as he processed what I’d said. “Hell. I didn’t even ask. Liyaket tried to advise me to. I was stupid. I’m assuming you didn’t even tell Layyanah? I told him you were going through your own stuff and being selfish. You looked so together at the office afterward so I thought it was just you being the go-getter you always were.”

”I’m pretty good at masking my feelings,” I said simply, with a small smile. “It’s one of my many talents. And you were pretty quick to cut off all acquaintance after. You didn’t even pass by on your smoke breaks anymore, and there was no way to even explain without you spitting venom at me again.”

”I found another route,” he said blandly, giving me a sly look, as he avoided the last part. “Took me ten minutes longer but I knew passing you would give you a chance to justify yourself and I didn’t want to think that you had a real motive.”

”You’re an idiot,” I muttered with a smile, shaking my head at him. “But so was I.”

”I know,” he said, shaking his head too, as he fixed his eyes on mine. “But if I knew.. if I knew… Mos, if you had confided in me somehow… I would have done everything in my power to protect your family. Did you think I wouldn’t have?”

I blinked back tears, and as his eyes filled with something I didn’t quite recognise. It took him a few seconds he instinctively came closer, taking my hand in his, and in one simple motion, slowly raised it to his lips.

”I’m so sorry,” he almost whispered, and for lack of a better reply, I just grinned like a kuku case, because there were no other words that could be formulated when Hamzah actually presented something close to sweetness.

It was such a elementary gesture…  so simple yet personal, and yet the most compassionate thing that I had ever witnessed of the guy known as insufferable, old Hamzah, with sincerity so obvious, that it’s meaning was something that conveyed so much more than anything he had ever verbally expressed.

And of course, I felt treacherous. There was so much I had yet to say… about work, about my horrible spiral downwards afterward, about Faadil…so many things that still hung in the air, but I knew that I couldn’t disclose it all at once. I knew that I would tell him, but right then… I just knew that I couldn’t.

The journey we were embarking was far from being an easy one, but his acceptance that night had reminded me that there was always some hope.

We spoke till Esha couldn’t be delayed any longer, and as he stood up for Salaah and called me to pray behind him for the first time that day, I never quite knew the intimacy that praying together could bring for any couple.

And no one could deny that there was many a reason for heartfelt Duaa, and as we both whispered our heartfelt wishes, and I prayed that this would ease the barriers between us. I prayed fervently that somehow, we would figure this all out.

And as Zaid awoke after, for a bottle, and we both crawled into bed with him between us, conversation between us had flowed almost effortlessly, as we spoke about memories and life and all the good times that we still wished to have.

I didn’t even know at what stage I drifted to sleep that night but the next morning, as he called my name quietly, and I could smell the fading scent of the now familiar body oud, it took me a few seconds to recalibrate and process who the voice belonged and where exactly I was.

He too, had a late night, but I could see that he had been up from a ridiculous hour and I couldn’t help but admire him for being so focused even on our short break…

Somehow, there was an ease that was placed between us, as we started the new day, and I was optimistic that things could only get better from here. Nothing had been clearer to me that moment as I watched him, his puffy jacket and beanie on, smoking his cigarette while the night transformed into day, knowing that even through it all, Allah hadn’t punished me due to my evils. In my desperate states, when the sickness of sin had overcome, when no medicine except Allah’s could cure me…. He sent this gift.

And that’s when I got it. It’s when I figured that Hamzah wasn’t Mr Perfect and that he would never be. I recalled that there was a time I hated him because of his big mouth, his lack of propriety and because he was never considerate of people’s feelings. I could have written an essay on why you should never come close to him… but life works in really funny ways, when you really don’t expect it.

After it all, I realised how wrong I really was. I realised that he was the only one who showed up, who was willing to sit down and talk through stuff, even when it was uncomfortable. And although he wasn’t the smoothest talker or the most romantic husband, there was something so true and honest and real about him, that just got me.

A deep compassion and integrity, was something that made me weak in my knees. What he had was just what I needed  in the right doses, and what I needed was someone who would grow with me, not afraid to try new things and to mess up and to put it right all over again.

The thing is, in a world of perfectly posed love stories and illusive filters, sometimes we find it difficult to believe that there’s something greater than that kind of obvious romance .. and that love for Allah really does exist…

And maybe that wasn’t the blowing hair in the wind, riding into the sunset kind of feeling that we all desperately wanted. Not everyone has that perfect kind of love, that was seemingly easy and filled with romance and the envy of every other girl, but what I did know was that truly happy, beautiful Muslim couples engage in winning Allah’s pleasure together whenever and in any way they can.

They glorify Allah together in the quiet hours of Fajr, they thank Allah in Tahajjud together, they make it a point to read a minimum amount of Qur’an everyday, they do regular or even random acts of kindness and charity and they maintain loving and happy ties with each other’s families.

Everything I saw and everything I had concluded so far pointed to the fact that he was the best kind of spouse for me, and the one who would raise me to new heights in Aakhirah, because that’s precisely what he wanted out of this too.

As as we left our room early the next day for our Waleemah, I was still in amazing spirits. Things could not have gone better. Hamzah and I had a plan to avoid staying at the hall too long, and to risk Zaid’s safety. A security guard had been organised, and even upon reaching the hall, seeing the beautiful set up and admiring it, knowing that Rabia was responsible for most of the event planning, I made it a point to thank her personally, despite not exactly hitting it off with her.

And I was excitedly nervous, as I greeted guests, looking around in wonder, feeling gorgeous in a size 6 dress that actually fitted me perfectly.

And just as I felt myself easing off, chatting to Jameela  and to my two notorious cousins who obviously loved to make a show of themselves and come on stage, it was precisely as I watched one of them walk back down, when I saw her.

For a second, my entire body went cold, as I fixed my eyes on her slender figure, which I remembered her having almost a year back, taking in her entire demeanour as I wondered if I was maybe going absolutely insane.

And of course, everything was exactly like her. From her walk to her smile, and the way she pushed back her fringe when it got in her eyes…I couldn’t quite understand what was going on, but all I knew was that there was no way she could possibly be here.

Was it a figment of my warped imagination or was I seeing things things that weren’t there?

Was it the depth of desperation that I’d felt and wanted her to be there with me, that had actually conjured her up in my mind? I just couldn’t figure it out…

All I knew was that there was no way she could be there, and as she came up the stairs, our eyes met.

Was Layyanah really dead?!

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of being thankful

From the very beginning of Man’s creation, the issue of gratefulness and thankfulness to Allah has been debated. After refusing to bow to ‘Adam, Iblis (Satan) said:

“Then I will certainly come to them from before them and from behind them, and from the right-hand side and from the left-hand side, and Thou (Allah) shall not find most of them thankful.” [Al-Qur’an7:17]

Allah also says that only few of His servants thank Him. Let us then strive to be among these few by keeping our tongues wet with His remembrance and our hearts soft with His praise.

Someone asked Ali (RA): 

“How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

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

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

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

The Trade Off

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 35

Mohsina

Someone once told me that you could have anything you want in life if you are willing to sacrifice for it. What they meant is nothing in this life comes without a price.

Before  going into battle, you have to know whats the trade off… and you have to know exactly how much you’re willing to lose if you stay in it.

Because too often, going after what ‘feels’ good means losing what you know is right… and letting someone in, means abandoning the barriers you’ve spent a lifetime building.
It means that sometimes, bit by bit, we end up losing ourselves completely, and that’s when the sacrifice can turn out to be more than we can bear. That’s when the darkness brings its demons, and the little light that may still exist in our lives gets completely distinguished.

And if we don’t stop it in time, to bring in the light of Adhkaar and Quran, then we will never cease being ‘lost’ because all we do is keep striving for a misguided purpose in other ways becomes our sole intent…

Snap. Snap.

No. Trash it. Not good enough.

Snap.

And one more.

Snap.

There we go. Perfect capture from the window overlooking the airport apron around the landing strip at sunset, and it barely even needed a filter.

Caption?

Duh.

Homebound. (What else for FriYay vibes, bruh?)

And of course, a plane emoji with a party one, along with the hashtags were a must, to show my dedication to the cause of hashtags…

And the pic was one of the most stunning captures of the South African skyline yet, and the reflex reaction was to post, caption and tag, before I even took in the beauty of the creation that was displayed before me.

It was, after all, all about me and my ego.

My Jo’burg, my city. My amazing corporate life. My, my, my. My.

A hard week out and about, means back home for the weekend, for my cool-off time.

I ignored the message that had flashed on the top of my screen from my mother as I disembarked, checking where I was and if I had prayed my Salaah.

It was the usual and I’d reply to it later, so Instead, as I headed towards the exit, my eyes settling on the newest message that had just come in.

Faadil.

Have you landed?

I tapped on it immediately and answered in the affirmative.

Meet me out front?

Of course, I had to prioritize. Ma’s message wasn’t urgent. I’d see to that later.

Because that was what I had made myself believe. I’d  only got here, to this point where I was so successful, because I’d re-prioritized my entire life.

And maybe the priorities weren’t exactly in the correct order, but that was by the way.

You see, the goal of this life is to realize the truth of Allah’s greatness and our own insignificance before Him. How small we are, and how big He really is. Our purpose is to take ourselves out of the center and put Him there instead…

But we live in a world that perpetuates the illusion of the exact opposite, because unfortunately, the drill goes like this instead:

What I ate for breakfast or bought at the shopping mall is news breaking enough to let the whole world in on. When we post a video or pic, be it the latest restaurant we are at, our skincare routine or my favourite Jimmy Choo, we wait. We wait for a pat on the back or some sort of recognition. And we are ever conscience of—and even compete in—the number of followers we have because the more we gain, the more entitled we are to imposing our opinions or others and slamming people just because we are virtually ‘popular’.

And the vicious cycles goes on. The more we do, the more we post… The more we turn to social media for comfort… the less happy we seem to be. No matter what, the game continues. You lose when you quit, and there was no way I was quitting.

I glanced at my phone, deciding to give it a breather as I made my way to the exit.

According to his itinerary and the airport board, which was mostly immaculately planned, Faadil had just arrived on another flight.

And since I wisely planned it so I had no baggage to collect, I made my way straight out to save time, tapping on iMessages as I glanced around me simultaneously, making sure I was still balancing my patented black heels perfectly with my new Saint Laurent laptop bag as I joined the corporate crowd, all heading speedily straight to the airport exit.

Buzz again.

Change of plans. Bumped into a colleague. Car is waiting out front. You take it and we’ll catch up later. x

Oiy. All that fixing my make-up for nothing.

Sure.

I typed back, suppressing my urge to add how inconsiderate he was. No need to act desperate.

What time later was, I didn’t want to know. It was already 7PM and my brain was broken. Also, my back was killing me slowly too. I suppose a nice hot soak in the bath would be a good idea…

For now, back to the gram.

The announcements from the speaker above were drowned out as I scrolled through my feed whilst walking steadily through the sliding doors into arrivals. MUA, influencers and two school friends had posted, and I found myself double tapping almost unconsciously as I scrolled through all their posts.

Friday night vibes were trending but I was barely feeling it.

And like most Friday evenings, and as I glanced at men and women alike coming back from a day or week out of town, probably rushing home to be with friends or families, there was an inkling of twisted irony here, that I didn’t quite understand.

Although I had told myself that this was the way I had wanted it, at times it felt like I was living a life that wasn’t my own.

And everyone around me here, I was sure, had their own story. Their own hang-ups. Their own perks too. But right now, all that was on their mind was to get home, recharge for the two days that felt like two hours  before the rat race would start all over again.

I took a quick selfie as I wheeled my bag out the sliding doors, trying desperately not to spot Faadil, who was as stark as day, with his back to me, chatting easily to a female someone outside while I walked past.

Black Armani shirt. Fitted denim jeans. Polished leather shoes. His hair was always immaculately styled and I felt my tummy do a little twisted knot as I turned my gaze away.

A colleague? I wasn’t quite sure.

He probably didn’t even notice, but in one glance, I took in way more than I meant to, and body language was always a dead giveaway.

Lost. I felt so lost as I walked past, wondering not for the first time if maybe the path I was treading wasn’t exactly the wisest one.

But then again, I couldn’t forget the plot. The motive. It wasn’t about feelings. This was business.

I walked outside, stashing my phone while I stood patiently, scanning the cars for the office chauffeur driven one.

And as I approached the C-class Mercedes and jumped in, I was determined not to overthink anything. I enjoyed the ride, opening my phone as a remedy to dispel all inadequacies. As if on cue, @londongirlfromjozie had already double tapped and commented, and Maahira’s message had come just in the nick of time.

And since she had called it quits on the toxic situations  in her life, aka Hashim, I kind of related to her journey, because it was around the same time that things had ended with Hamzah.

And though it took a while to build that trust again, we had taken comfort in each other whilst we healed through the trials we faced, and Maahira’s new approach to life actually made me feel soothed but lacking in spirituality…

It’s like she was way ahead of me on this journey of reflection and reformation and I could barely keep up.

Our last conversation had unsettled me, to say the least.

@londongirlfromjozie commented:

Back home? Is it time u let the cat out the bag? 

@mostlymohsina: Mhm.

Maahira’s inappropriate response:

Or should I say – tiger on the prowl?

Me, switching to direct message:

Don’t be a hater. He’s a busy man. It’s not his fault he has to mingle with so many people.

She had heard, through the pipeline, that Faadil wasn’t exactly the conservative type and it made her super wary.

@londongirlfromjozie via direct message:

He has to, or chooses to? It’s one thing if he’s single and mingling but…..

She left that in the air but it had the desired effect. That was a question that was worth investigating, but I wasn’t going to fall for her suspicions with no solid evidence.

Evidently, she wasn’t thrilled about the recent developments on my relationship front with Faadil, and she didn’t mince her words.

What she didn’t understand was that emotionally and financially, I was indebted to him. Throughout the roughest patched over the past few months, he was the only person who had proven to be of any consolation. He had, literally, come to the rescue and sorted everything out, when I felt like I was in way over my head.

To me, it all made sense. The proposal that he had put forth was a strategic move that wouldn’t only benefit the company, but would also serve to reinforce the foundation of it. The financial benefits, of course, were noteworthy, but not the sole aim.

Soon, I would break the news to Layyanah and then to my parents, and I did expect them to be happy for me. I just needed time to wrap my head around it, and to finally come to terms with the fact that it was time to settle down, but for real this time.

I opened my phone again, not able to shake the feeling that her questions were bringing on.

Do you think my parents will go psycho on me?

I typed in our private chat.

I wished I could go psycho on u.

Of all people, I didn’t expect Maahira to be this way.

Haai. But why?

I typed quickly, not sure why she felt so strongly about this.

The next thing I knew, Maahiras name was flashing on my phone and I slid to answer the call, putting the phone to my ear without saying anything.

“Because any work-based relationship is trouble,” she retorted bossily as I answered. “But your boss is the most trouble. And I know his type. Did you even tell Layyanah? What about isthikhaarah?”

I knew Layyanah would have asked me the same thing, and that was precisely why I was fretting about telling her.

Maahira and Layyanah had actually been in contact over the past few months, and I had no idea until I had started chatting to Maahira again.

Maahi had asked her for a sincere apology for being such a rat in the past and things kind of took off from there. It was cool that two of my best girls were friends.

”I didn’t tell Layyanah and you better not open your mouth,” I warned her.

“I won’t,” she promised, and I believed her this time. She knew that if she had to betray my trust, I would never forgive her again.

For me though… I just needed all the toxicity to leave… so I could feel at peace with everything.

I swallowed as I thought about Isthikhaarah. Lately, I’d been feeling so disconnected. I didn’t even think about that. About connecting with Allah. About seeking His help.

But if everything was pointing towards this as a solution, won’t it be the right thing for me?

“You do understand that if anything goes wrong,” she continued. “His first revenge tactic will be to sack you.”

“But Faadil will never do that to me,” I said confidently.

He knew how badly I needed this job and what an asset I was becoming to the company. Of course it wouldn’t get bitter. Besides, he wasn’t the only boss here.

“Just remember, no one is irreplaceable,” she shot back.

I bit my lip, trying not to explode on her.

Was she actually saying that I could be replaced by some other half-wit who probably can’t even do a portion of slavery that they get away with allocating to me?

Ghuh.

“Listen, I have to go in a bit,” she said, quickly, as I heard someone in the background. “Some girls are here from the office. Will you just speak to your parents already? I thought you went to the farm last weekend.”

Faadil also called my home a farm. Most city people did, and now that Maahira lived in London, she was jumping on the bandwagon. I found it just a tad bit derogatory.

As if they were some kind of royalty just because they had a city address.

”I just went to see my favourite little guy,” I said, thinking of Zaid once again, instantly forgetting all the worries that were hounding me. “l’ll speak to them soon. And Layyanah too…”

I had spent an entire afternoon with him while Layyanah and Liyaket went off to do some shopping. I had been seeing him almost every weekend when work time allowed.

And I smiled as I remembered his adorable little double chin and the cutest single dimple that just got me every time.

Even through everything that had happened recently, I honestly felt like he was the one reason I had to keep myself sane. He was undeniably a reason to smile after a long and tiring week at work.

And since I was seeing her so often I knew that I should have already spoken to Layyanah about Faadil, but I just couldn’t seem to sum up the courage…

“I’m waiting to know the outcome here,” she concluded. “I need to know when to plan my trip back home. Let me know as soon as you tell them.”

I cut the call after greeting, feeling uneasy for some reason, now that she was talking about official stuff.

And now this was actually happening, of course.. I could only imagine that it would very possibly be a high profile type of weeding. Faadil only mingled with the rich and famous.

Although I was all in for the fancy favours and trending decor… a part of me secretly always wanted a small and intimate Nikah, and I knew that wasn’t exactly on the cards for him.

I sighed, not trusting myself to say anything more. I’d had no one to talk to about this, so I shoved it out of my mind for then, hoodwinking myslef into believing it was all cool for now.

Deception. It’s like I was caught in a maze that had no way out.

Another message from my mother came through on my phone as I we reached Sandton, and I figured it may be a good time to call, while I bided the time before I’d be home on my couch with a bag of popcorn.

I thought that it would be the usual mother-like nagging, but this time though, there was something else.

”Did you speak to Jameela?”

And of course, if I had the decency to reply, I would say no, I didn’t.

In fact, I hadn’t spoken to my sister in over two months. I mean, we acknowledged each other when we met, but there were no more FaceTimes or calls that would pass by between us intermittently in the week, like back in the pre-high-flying days.

And I wanted to on multiple occasions but I didn’t make the first move. The tension was subtle but it was very much present. I did have a feeling that she might have been upset about the way I live my life but I didn’t sweat it.

My mother had good avoidance tactics. Instead of answering she just said that Jameela will be in contact, and cut the call just after telling me that she was hoping they’d see me this weekend.

EIsh. If they were expecting me I knew that I had to let them know not to. I really just wanted to chill and take it easy. Maybe visit Layyanah and baby Zaid. See Faadil under our stipulated conditions. Other than that… I wasn’t sure and I was feeling pretty selfish.

And yes, at this point, It had been a helluva couple of months. Nightmarish memories still haunted me but I was finally feeling settled and accomplished and being away from home and the constant hounding of my family was helping too.

The guilt. Why couldn’t she just understand? I just needed the peace to deal with myself.

I breathed out as I reached home, opening my Instagram to see the reactions on the last post. 360 likes already, and it had barely been an hour.

And ‘peace’ was what I was fooled into believing I had, as I opened my empty apartment, kicking off my heels and dumped my bag at the front.

No matter how classy the hotels were… How delicious the breakfast had been… How luxurious the business class seats were…. Home was still home.

Later, I would read my Salaah. For now, all that mattered was my ego and feeding my desires. Whipping up a cup of my favourite coffee, and planting myself on my chill-out sofa was the perfect remedy after a long week.

Tomorrow, I would be more productive. Do a little bit of cleaning, and dusting. I didn’t realize that souls needed cleansing too.

For now, I just needed a diversion. Maybe I’d even message Lesley for a coffee date. Find out whats going on with her after Nikah. Perhaps even draw some much needed inspiration and hope she would give me the go-ahead with Faadil.

I shoved everything else out of my head as the red and black logo flashed on the screen. For now it was Netflix and chill, so there I was, procrastinating endlessly with my head in my darkened clouds, prying my eyes open as I lay on the couch.

And I was seemingly lost in a parallel world, on the brink of zombie mode,when the buzzing of the phone on my lap jolted me awake.

And still half expecting it to be Faadil who had said he would see me later, but as I studied the phone in my hand, I realized that it wasn’t him at all.

And for a minute, I wasn’t sure what to do, as I saw my sisters name on the ID, after weeks of no contact.

And while I deliberated on whether or not pick up right away, the call cut and she phoned again, almost immediately. There was no doubt that it had to be pretty important, so I shoved aside my toxic mentality for a minute, pressed the green button, not really thinking further than my pride as I greeted, trying to sound as natural as possible.

“Assalamualaikum,” Jameela’s voice said, really faintly as I struggled to hear. It was like a mixture of bad signal and utter chaos, wherever she was at the time, but my ears were ringing the the racket. “Mohsina, sorry, you have to…”

Her voice trailed off as I struggled to decipher her words as I heard sirens blaring on the other side of the line, wondering where on earth she was at this time of the night.

“Jameela?” I said, sitting up as I was practically jolted from my Netflix-induced slumber, her voice sounding almost foreign to me as she spoke again.

“Mos, you have to come now,” she cried, her voice clearly on the verge of tears again.

She sniffed loudly as my heart beat incessantly in my chest, assuming every worst case possible scenario in my head.

“What’s happened?!” I asked, guilt immediately overwhelming over me as I thought about how I’d put seeing off my parents for so long. “Just tell me, what’s going on? Is Papa okay?! Nani?!”

Lucid thoughts were hounding me. About Nani. About how my priorities had gone completely out the window during the last few months.

When was the last time I had even seen my family properly?

She was silent for a few seconds, but I could hear her fighting back emotion with intermittent noises that I could barely understand as she tried to formulate her next words. Panic was rising within me as she struggled to get it all out.

My heart was racing with terrifying trepidation as I awaited her next sentence.

”It’s not them,” she managed to blurt out, a few seconds later. “There was a huge accident here on the main road. “A truck… a car.. truck shot the robo…”

Oh shit.

I swallowed hard as the anxiety rose within my pulsating chest.
The thought of losing anyone I knew, even vaguely, was traumatic…

“Mos, I’m so sorry…” she said, her voice riddled with emotion as I heard her breathing intensify.

Somehow , in the back of my mind, I was well aware that the blow was going to be unparalleled, but the moment between assumption and execution is always the most prolonged.

And it was all in a matter of a few minutes, but that’s how it always happens, doesn’t it?

Every now and then, we have to look up. Awaken our senses. Begin to taste the reality that surrounds us every day, while we continue to be the losers, caught up in our poisoned worlds.

Because every now and then, when the races we compete in are of fame and success, and when day-to-day becomes a mere means to an end, when the darkness begins to overwhelms us… a great trial comes forth to rescue us. To take away from what’s been consuming our souls. To eliminate the darkness that engulfs us. To heal our hardened and heavy hearts.

Sometimes Almighty Allah, for the child who is not yet capable of signing the deal, makes the deal on our behalf, to reveal to us a greater truth. The truth that comes with enduring the trials we face, patiently and with full trust in the immense reward that awaits the righteous…  To vie with one another in good instead, to pay whatever the price it takes, and barter this world for an eternity of bliss… where we will forever dwell within.

…when we are competing for the lesser, it was the one certainty that will never cease to exist..

The last of it is musk, (The divine fragrance of Paradise, the seal thereof which will be Musk)

So for this let the competitors compete.
(Surah Al Mutaffifeen)

“Its Layyanah ,” Jameela whispered, breaking down the barriers of my hardened heart, as she uttered her next words…

“Mosee… She’s … gone…”

---

Sunnah of Giving and Receiving gifts. 

In an attempt to create love, especially if they may be rifts or some kind of problem… the Sunnah of giving gifts is always a perfect remedy ❤️

Rasullulah (Sallahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said: “If anyone receives something from his Muslim brother, without asking for it, he should not reject it but he should accept it is his sustenance (rizq) which has been sent by Allah Taála.”

(Fadhaail e Sadaqah)

Du’aa for Rajab 

اَللّهُمَّ بَارِكْ لَنَا فِى رَجَبَ وَ شَعْبَانَ وَ بَلِّغْنَا رَمَضَان

Allaahumma Baa’rik La’naa Fee Rajab(a), Wa Sha’baan(a), Wa Bal’ligh’naa Ramadhaan.

“O Allaah! Make the months of Rajab and Sha’baan blessed for us, and let us reach the month of Ramadhaan.”

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Darkened Doorways

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 31

Jameela

There are some days that I wanted nothing more than to leave the world behind and just run far away. To feel the wind in my hair. The morning dew on my lips. The feeling of nature at its best. The sun blazing on my back.

There are days when the doorways to hope are darkened by with doom…  times when no one else but you can see the shadows that chase you, and no one, not even yourself, can save you from them.

Every now and then, the sorrows of life, whether they’re yours or someone else’s, will find their way to you.

And someone once told me that when the pains of this life wear you down, and our hearts become weakened with worries of worldly woes… when our shoulders are leaden and burdened with responsibilities that we barely bear… there is this one powerful and magical expression that can transform, inspire and renew the conviction to hand it over to the Rabb Who pulled you through every other time.

No matter what was going on. No matter who was the problem. No matter how my heart was slowly losing hope either in this world or someone I really loved…

لاحول ولا قوت الله بالله

There is no might or no power, except with Allah.

Truly, there is nothing greater. Nothing mightier. Nothing that is a Guardian, watching out more for us, as our Ultimate Protector.

But the thing is, how do you even begin to explain this to someone who you adore so dearly, but seems to be drifting further and further away from this grounding truth..? How do you even salvage a situation that seems to be so far gone, that no words even seem to fix..?

The situation was something like this:

“You’ll need to come with me to return the Porsche,” Mohsina demanded as we sat side by side in Papa’s old Corolla, as she commanded me, the official family chauffeur. “Everyone’s making it like I’m breaking some kind of unwritten law by driving my boss’s car. I mean, it’s just a damn car. It doesn’t mean anything. Can you even believe them?!”

It wasn’t a surprise that news spread like wild fire on our locality and everyone had already heard the Mohsina had come home in a fancy Porsche. I wasn’t condoning anything but to me it looked like Mohsina was still acting like everyone owed her the respect that she hadn’t yet earned.

I pursed my lips together, not wanting to edge her on further. The whole Porsche saga had caused enough trouble as it was, and I instantly knew that Mohsina was in her whole defensive kind of vibe, obviously riding on the self-righteous train, thinking that nothing she did was ever really wrong.

Sometimes I wondered is her proverbial lantern had been put out, and the light that she was supposed to be seeing in every situation was dwindling further and further away into the shadows.

And at a time where darkness seemed to be flooding the likes of every persons world, whether it was through the television, internet or social media… a torch that shines through the darkness is a most welcoming and crucial weapon.

”I’ll come, but will you manage to drive it?” I asked Mohsina, glancing at her as she stretched her leg out, and winced slightly in pain. I was not prepared to drive her boss’s car. “How’s the leg? Any bruising?”

Mohsina had come pretty close to a broken ankle last night when she slipped on the hospital stairs. I supposed it was a good thing that I was with her to help her up.

Well, good in some ways and a little traumatizing in other ways. I was only hoping that today would be a bit calmer for my heart.

“They lucky if I don’t sue them,” she muttered, pulling down the mirror and re-applying her lipstick. Her hair was wrapped up in a traditionally styled hijab today, and it felt like the old Mohsina again. Almost. Except something was amiss.

”Hmmmm,” I said, concentrating on the road as she went on, and wondering how busy the coffee shop was right then.

It was the first Sunday I wasn’t helping Papa. Garden Getaway had hosted an amazing crowd on Sunday’s. I had bribed Muhammed Husayn to help out, knowing that if I promised him some incentive, he couldn’t refuse.

Mohsina obviously needed someone with her, and I was the only option.

“That place was so bloody dark,” she said, pushing up the mirror again. “Idiots. I can’t believe a private hospital doesn’t even have any proper lighting. That’s probably the reason why they have weird people hanging around unnoticed at all times of the night.”

”What d’you mean,” I asked, indicating to go into Layyanah and Liyaket’s road, a little confused. “Who did you see?”

”No-one,” she said off-handedly, looking away. “Just some vagrants hanging around.”

She cleared her throat but didn’t meet my eye as she looked in her bag to take out some hand lotion. It felt almost as if she was avoiding something, but as quick as the feeling came on, it was gone again.

”You should tell them at least,” I said pointedly, stifling a giggle as I thought of it. “A hospital can’t be having all these hazards. Imagine you come for some emergency, and end up with another!”

”If I don’t sue them, I’ll write them a nice, fat blog post to disrepute them,” she muttered, not even smiling as I watched her open her iPhone again. “That will serve them right.”

I knew what a nice, fat e-mail blog post meant. I’d seen influencers or food bloggers doing that with restaurants, coffee shops and other businesses to dishonour them.

The unsettling  fact was that a little drama really does do it’s rounds and can potentially affect their business and income. Especially if it’s a small family owned thing, I’d hate it if someone had to do that to our little coffee shop and cause a stir on social media before even letting us know what their concerns were.

”Listen,” I said carefully, as I manoeuvred the car into Layyanah and Liyaket’s driveway. “Why don’t you just take it up with them directly. It’s not always the best idea to put things on social media. You know how damaging it can-“

“Can you see how damaged my leg is?!” She cut in, lifting her dress to show me the blue bruise on the side of her calf.

Ouch. It really did look sore.

But still, shame, they obviously didn’t mean for that tile to be loose and for her to catch a royal fall like she did. I had to hand it to her though. She had actually taken off work for two days, using the opportunity to stay in town to help Layyanah for a few days.

But also… Islamically, and ethically, the correct procedure wasn’t to just shame people and make everything a big hoo-haa. The problem is was that with Generation Z, people get their momentum from their followers. It makes me cringe when someone tries to advise people on social media and the advise-ee retaliates by screen-shotting and humiliating the person for all their 10k followers to see.

But sometimes… Well, sometimes we just have to stop, think, and just be kind. It wasn’t a difficult concept but many still didn’t get it.

The thing was… Mohsina was on a roll now, and when she was after someone, I knew that she would go all out for their blood. It’s just that not much was going right for her at the moment. In fact, it seemed like everything was going completely wrong.

“Take a deep breath,” I started, hoping she would calm down, as I wondered if maybe her approach was all wrong. “Read Laa Hawlaa wa Laa Quwwata illah Billah…”

Indeed, no matter how small the matter was, it was the antidote to many problems or ailments, even when sky seemed to be falling down on us…

As always, I tried to get her to simmer down, but recent events were definitely not helping her sate of mind. She was on fire today, and no-one could stand in her way.

And to be fair, amidst all the drama and excitement, sometimes it’s hard to notice when something sinister starts creeping in. I had barely noticed Mohsina slip into a little hole that was almost unreachable these few months, and after spending that while at the hospital with her, it was like if we had lost a whole chunk of her life and now there was a girl who I grew up with that I barely knew anything about anymore.

And then of course, was the drama with Hamzah seeing the car she was driving that might have been a further exacerbation of her current state of mind… because she was kind of out of control.

To put it lightly, it had to happen that the two of them would clash in the parking lot, and Hamzah was very evidently the only person in the entire province that wasn’t impressed with the Mohsina’s driving the office Porsche.

All I knew was that along with some hostility, a few words might have been exchanged, and because Liyaket’s mother couldn’t manage the low seat of Mohsina’s car, she was completely apologetic about the chaos she had caused by making Hamzah come to where Mohsina was and take her home instead.

And of course, the situation had become a little more than just awkward as question marks raised about what Mohsina was really up to, driving her boss’s car.

And Mohsina, being Mohsina, had nonchalantly implied that it was no-one’s business, but that, in my mind, was exactly the thing that got people all revved up and on a scandalous pursuit of whipping up more and more rumours.

Sigh.

My sisters unusual silence that evening, even as I knocked on her door later, was completely uncharacteristic and a little troublesome. She had come home to crash, staying at our family home after months, but it was almost as if she wasn’t even there. I felt like she was purposely shutting us out of her life.

I pushed the thoughts about drama away, soaking up the sunshine as I stepped out the car and glimpsed the beautiful potted plants on Layyanah’s patio.

Where other people turned to social media or more frivolous entertainment, the variety of colours that are err displayed before me was enough to calm my soul.  I let my gaze fall on the array of exquisite flowers that were now in full bloom, almost as if they were summoning us, letting their happiness fill my insides with delight.

Mohsina though, as she trudged ahead of me with the basket of goodies for Layy, was completely oblivious to it all.

And as early as we were, at around 11.30 when Layyanah was discharged, a stream of visitors were already slowly filling the driveway, and I could hear Mohsina muttering about how they better not be crowding the baby, else she was going to let them have it.

And it was cute, her protectiveness. At least it gave her something to channel her energy into for now, instead of the big, fat blog post.

That was the thing with Mohsina. When she was there, she gave us her all, physically. Emotionally though, i wasn’t quite sure. Some moments, it felt like we had lost her permanently… and when she wasn’t here in body, it was like she lived in a different world.

And as we made our way into the room, my soul feeling a little more rested as I saw Mohsina simmer down and greet Layyanah from afar for now… our attention now turned to the  hefty lady with a maroon scarf who was leaning over the cot.

“Masha Allah, laa hawlaa wa laa quwwata illah billah!” she exclaimed, staring at the baby, her expression one of bewilderment.

And there it was again.

A phrase, a word, an expression of awe… of humility… of absolute dependence and surrendering to the might and power of our Lord. An understanding that this new bundle of life was nothing but a sign of the mercy that Allah had sent to show us His magnificent power.

And I came to know pretty soon after that the expression had come from Liyaket’s late fathers sister, who had shamelessly opened the net of the sleeping baby and literally jolting the baby out of slumber as she tossed him from side, scrutinizing him for the fifth time that hour.

“Such a long nose he got,” the Aunty said, sounding almost unhappy about it. “And soooo fat and red his cheeks are.”

To me, all babies looked the same. Her face was, to my great surprise, slightly resentful as she looked at him, though. And as she spoke next, I got why. It was probably out of loyalty to her late brother.

“Doesn’t look like the Khans,” she murmured, shaking her head and glancing at Layyanah. “He looks just like you.”

I could see Layyanah giving a small smile as she watched, obviously used to the reaction by now.

Our little cutie let out a tiny whimper and closed his eyes again, almost to say that his precious sleep was far better than any relatives interruptions, no matter who they were. Layyanah was the calmest new mother, not even flinching as the aunty rolled her baby from side to side, trying to provoke some reaction.

Mohsina, on the other hand, was physically wincing.

And as I gazed as the sweet little pea, as Mohsina quickly concocted a story to maroon-scarved aunty about Layyanah’s feeding routine to get her out of the room, I couldn’t help but notice that from the fingers to the nose, little Zaid/Zakariyya/Hanzalah really did seem to  very much resemble his mother. Mohsina had said that she could see a little of Liyaket in there, but for now… Layyanah was winning the trophies.

”Sorry, but I had to chase her away,” Mohsina said as she picked the woken baby up and carefully soothed him to sleep. “She was treating my child like a rag doll.”

Layyanah shrugged, obviously feeling the same way.

Several of Liyaket’s family had apparently expected a little Liyaket. It was almost as if, even after doing all that hard work, the baby had no right to even resemble his mother.

Liyaket, on the other hand, could not have been more thrilled or indifferent to who the baby resembled. According to Layyanah, he could not stop swooning over and carrying the baby, which annoyed her endlessly because she really didn’t want him getting spoilt.

How you could spoil a baby so cute and small was beyond me…

And waiting for the seventh day, while the parents were deciding on a name, we were enjoying the little bundle and really quite in awe of every little move or murmur he made.

And of course; despite the aesthetics, Liyaket’s family, all the way from his crazy aunty to his deranged third cousin (the same one that I had gotten freaked out by at the wedding) had come to visit and it felt as if this was some sort of royal child.

The two last visitors had left the room after Mohsina insisted that it was time for the baby to have a nappy change; and to my surprise, and true to her word, she gently placed the baby on the feeding mat, and through my mother’s guidance on video call, successfully executed the mission that Layyanah had been dreading.

And I was blown away, to tell the truth. I actually had no idea that she even had it in her.

I sat back and watched as she swooned over him, obviously in love with him already, and wondering if it was real. The thing was, even when he was screaming his head off… There was just something about her nature and touch that had the right amount of gentleness and calm that soothed him almost immediately.

I, on the other hand, was a complete wimp with babies, feeling that he was just way too tiny for me to even attempt to carry him, I slunk back, watching from afar.

Layyanah smiled as she shifted, sitting herself up in bed. Despite everything with her family and their indifference to her new bundle… with Mohsina here, to the rescue, I was so glad that she could still look like a really blissful, new mummy.

”I can’t believe you changed a poo, Mos,” she laughed as she stifled a yawn, later on as everyone left. “Like, I would have waited for Liyaket to come back. The nurses were trying to show me but I was so damn tired. Can you imagine, they brought the baby to me last night and left him there till five. You would think that they would let you sleep after pushing out a 3.5 kilogram baby, but they had no pity ‘cause I said I’m breastfeeding. Pardon the pun, but that really sucks, neh?”

Mohsina chuckled, but again, it felt almost as if it was all just a hollow expression with no real feeling.

And perhaps it was to do with the fact that we could hear some voices in the vicinity that she wanted to escape, because I could see her gathering her bag and draping her scarf again, ready to leave.

From what I heard, Hamzah had been in and out intermittently. Obviously avoiding Mohsina purposely, so staying as far away as possible for now… but he couldn’t stay away forever, could he?!

Somehow, in record time, we greeted Layyanah and managed the escape back home without much more drama to fetch the Porsche, while she went up to fetch some stuff from her room to take back to the apartment.

And as I plopped myself in the couch  for a quick breather, overwhelmed by serving visitors at Layyanah’s place most of the afternoon, it was 5pm on a Sunday evening, and our kitchen was buzzing with frivolous activity . Mummy was busy frying up some sandwiches, Nani was sitting on the chair with her famous pansurah for all her morning and evening Duaas while I, in all my exhausted glory, was laying in the couch, watching them all with my legs up in the air.

Serving people was exhausting. Between the coffee shop in the morning and Layyanah’s house, I was absolutely knackered. I didn’t blame Mohsina for escaping to her room, after spotting Nani on the couch, because we all knew what was coming.

Nani, as always, was never one to miss out on the latest saga. Somehow, nothing escaped her knowledge and spotting the Porsche in the driveway when she came back to our house that day was a sure giveaway.

”Everyone is talking,” Nani muttered, her eyes glancing outwards again, almost as if there was some kind of thief in the yard. I had briefly explained that it wasn’t her car, and Nani already figured the rest. “How many times I told her not to ask for favors with all the office mens. Only one thing they want from girls. I’m telling you, Bhengori, I have a bad feeling about this.”

My mother looked at her but said nothing. I mean what could she say?

Mohsina was a law unto herself lately.

The whole Porsche thing was a bit of a sinister event and I just had some niggly feeling that there was some ominous intention behind it.

But then again, I was a bit of a sceptic at the worst of times and Nani may have just been letting off all her steam, but I was lapping it up.

“I think it’s time she meets that boy now,” she was saying to my mother. “Get all these office boys out of the picture. Remember that nice poiro I was telling you about?”

Mhm. A boy. Yes, maybe that will help her. If Nani had someone in mind, at least it may be someone who was pre-approved. Pre-approved boys were usually the safest options because there was always someone you could complain to about them when their husband tendencies got overwhelming.

I looked at Mohsina as she re-entered, a slightly anxious look on her face, scarf tied at the back of her head, white blouse and beige culottes that sat above her ankle.

I could almost hear the ‘chi’ on the tip of Nani’s tongue, but she considerately kept it to herself. Instead, she gave Mohsina the most eyeballing once over, and then said:

“You think everything is fashion show,” she murmured. “Looks like your clothes gone small.. what will aunty Khairoon say if she sees you like this? As it is she is complaining how all the girls nowadays are so modern. She wanted to meet you. How will I explain my own granddaughter is so nangi. This is why my hair is gone grey. See.”

She was pointing at her grey parts that she’d had for the past eighteen years, as far as I could remember.

Old people and their reputations were quite tiring to keep up with. And I thought we had problems.

“Now you want to go out at Maghrib time, and you wonder why afterwards you are sitting with problems!”

Eish. Nani and her guilting .

“Don’t worry Nani, I can’t get possessed twice,” Mohsina smirked, almost snidely, but that had already set Nani off on another tangent in Gujarati about how she can’t say things like that and doesn’t care what kind of impression she’s making and when she’s older she will see how she will be sitting all old and lonely and regret.

I sighed, slipping on my shoes. It was all the usual things but I was so over it all because it was getting late and we still needed to make it back to return the car. Plus, I was exhausted.

The two of them were still bickering as I tied my shoe laces and zipped up my abaya, when the sudden and piercing ringing of the buzzer startled me.

While they went on, almost oblivious, I hastily made my way to the door, looking first in the camera that we had installed since the shop opened. The front driveway was often open, but no one ever came up to the main house, and we definitely weren’t expecting visitors.

I peeped through a small gap in the door, not really processing the two figures who were out there, or what they might be there for. They were probably just lost and needed some directions.

I glanced in the mirror and adjusted my scarf to cover my hair, pulling open the door with my other hand and greeting them like a good host should.

And okay, I wasn’t over-friendly but I had to retract my hospitality before they got the wrong idea. What I didn’t expect was a handsome young stranger to be standing there, and I immediately looked away as he offered a small smile.

”The shop is in front,” I said, wondering how they had missed it, and hoping he would leave soon.

“We didn’t come for the shop,” the young man said, and I immediately looked up. “Is your father here?”

Yoh.

This was really fast work. Was this maybe Nani’s proposal? Leave alone efficient, on top of that, the candidate here wasn’t as bad as I thought. Actually, not bad at all!

”He’s still busy with work,” I said. “I think if you go, you can meet-“

”No, that’s very good,” the guy said, and I caught a wiff of some intense scent as the wind blew. “We see your sister has a new car. Just need to have a word with her. Me and my friend here. Can you call her?”

Another man, middle-aged, came up from behind, and I immediately put my guard up as I saw him. All rosy  thoughts about the handsome young stranger flying out the window.

I swallowed, not knowing what was going on, but already weary of this new man who looked a little more intimidating with every second that ticked by.

”And your name?” I said, almost in a squeak. Fear overcame me, as the man’s expression hardened in a way that made me shudder.

“Just call her!,” he demanded, and I immediately stepped away as I got that intense prickly sensation at the back of my neck. It sent a few shock waves through my body as I realised that the instinct to scream was overwhelming.

And though I so badly wanted to, I wasn’t sure what was going on but my body was frozen with fear.

My voice was clogging in my throat as I tried to call for my sister, thoughts of what could happen if I didn’t or couldn’t, clouding all judgement.

I didn’t ever think that the likes of these people would ever darken our doorway, but what I didn’t know that the same nightmares that haunted my sister every night were the very ones that were right in my midst…

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Du’aa for Rajab 

اَللّهُمَّ بَارِكْ لَنَا فِى رَجَبَ وَ شَعْبَانَ وَ بَلِّغْنَا رَمَضَان

Allaahumma Baa’rik La’naa Fee Rajab(a), Wa Sha’baan(a), Wa Bal’ligh’naa Ramadhaan.

“O Allaah! Make the months of Rajab and Sha’baan blessed for us, and let us reach the month of Ramadhaan.”

 

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When the Game Changes

Bismihi Ta’ala

Two months later

Mohsina

I once heard someone say that for the generation of people that we call the millennials, sitting is the new smoking. And with all the health aversions that come with that, more concerning is the thing that we often do while we’re sitting:

Mindlessly scrolling through our social media feeds when we have a few spare minutes (or for some like me, when I’m not working, sometimes for hours). And as we probably know intuitively, and as the research is confirming, it’s not the best habit for health or even for our collective psychology. In a world where we think through, we learn through, we escape into … it becomes something that is completely consuming and an actual hobby, we still find ourselves lonely and isolated, even with every application or device at our disposal.

And there were many things that I could tell you about during that frame of time where I was grappling to find myself, but the one that stood out for me was finding myself out of a virtual world that I was positively sinking into before that.

It’s not always easy to change your perspective. To see a new world, new choices, new possibilities. Often when submerged in darkness, it’s almost impossible to even find a sliver of light.

And I’d be lying if I said that that day spent out in the open, almost in another dimension, in the midst of the consuming greenery of Kwa-Zulu Natal and its splendour, did not make a difference to me. Of course it did, but as much as it had changed my heart, there was something else that had changed too.

Sometimes change is not once off. We are constantly changing. Morphing. Emerging. And sometimes it’s not always for the better.

And with all my Netflix and Instafam challenges that were going on, whether it was a make-up challenge or little reel that I was doing just for kicks, I knew that it was going to pull me back into it, as soon as I got back to my normal routine.

But even amidst all that, in retrospect, it was the beginning of a different era for me, a game changer, and Layyanah’s simple wedding was when it all started.

Two months later, as I sat on a bar stool near my newly bought Kitchen Aid mixer, I was now in a completely different dimension altogether.

Hey babes. U busy?

I glanced as my phone lit up, actually not keen on replying right then because my fingers were intricately piping the little rosettes on my mini cheesecakes. The phone would have to wait, for once. These salted-caramel babies were going off later for a special order and I wanted them to be perfect. And yes, you are probably wondering what on Earth happened to the Snapchat and Netflix addicted version of Mostly Mohsina, but the journey that had brought me up that point was definitely not to be undermined.

The next message came before I could even break away from the task at hand.

I’m coming over.

I set my piping bag down, wiping off the icing that had decorated my lower arm by mistake, and then popping the cakes into the bar fridge I had bought especially for my baking.

I glanced in the mirror, taking in this new lady, with her hair wrapped up neatly, and my new pro chef-style apron, who appeared so collected and unconcerned at the incessant buzzing of her phone. Sometimes, real life was really more exciting than what went on in that delusional alternative.

And seeing her car already in the driveway and my lack of replies, I knew that Layannah had probably checked with Jameela if I was home before she took the two-minute drive over. And in all fairness, Layyanah kind of had a right to come over and hound me.  It had been nearly two months of beating around the bush and then flat out denying anything was serious.

And I was being cautious. All I was doing at that point was trying to figure out who I was. Trying to keep everyone happy. Trying to not get caught up. Trying to divert my attention. Trying to stay off social media. Trying to be a better version of me.

Sometimes you need someone who you take seriously to make you take the plunge. Sometimes it just takes something bigger to make a difference.
Everything was looking a little clearer. A little more purer. A little more transparent.

Since I dropped Netflix, my time management skills were soaring. And now that I was all into my pastry cheffing, which was very likely my next feasible career option, I pressed out the extra cream that was in the piping bag, wiped my hands and grabbed my phone to hastily type away before she entered the kitchen.

I could already hear her and Jameela chatting away in the hallway about baby-related items, but I needed a heads up just in case my inkling about her knowing the unknown were right.

Did u tell Liyaket?

It was a simple and to the point iMessage because we had made a resolution that any extensive messages were out of bounds. I just needed to know one thing.

Hamzah’s reply, as usual, was quick.

I thought u said no messaging. 

I scowled. So he was being cocky about it. I did say no messages. We had also said no calls, but he had called the day before when he needed to know if my family had anything planned the following weekend. And this was urgent. I wanted to know what I was up for when Layyanah arrived and he was obviously refusing to be transparent for a reason that I knew too well.

Also, I knew that those Hamzah and Liyaket couldn’t keep a thing from each other, so I should have known. They were worse than women. Still, he had no right to open his big mouth without telling me, especially since Liyaket hid nothing from Layyanah either.

And speaking of her, it was at that moment that my friend emerged from the lounge, all bright eyed and ecstatic.

If pregnancy glow was a real thing, Layyanah definitely had it. She wore a grey hijab tied traditionally and a long blush dress with grey tights and patent grey pumps. Her cheeks were glowing and she was looking amazing and I couldn’t help but feel emotional about how far she had come, spiritually. She had changed so much, and not only in her appearance. I had seen that she had even begun reading her salaah, which I knew was a huge step for anyone, after so many years of not praying. I was so, so proud of her.

“Salaaaam lovieee,” Layyanah cooed as she entered, her eyes all glowing and excited.

Layyanah was here in record time. She had become a piece of furniture here now that she lived a few streets away from us, and my parents and Nani absolutely loved her to bits.

And of course, I was over the moon that Liyaket had found a cute little 3-bedroom house, fully equipped with a little yard and a flatlet outside in the area. Liyaket’s mother had been a tenant of someone somewhere for years, and now that Liyaket could finally stand in his own feet, he often said that the least he could do was help to look after his mother. It was the perfect set-up because now that Layyanah was expecting, it would definitely be good to have the little help she could offer, since her parents were not exactly involved in their life much. And yes, I had spoken to her about her mother and though she had said that she was trying to make amends with her parents, from what I heard, they weren’t really interested in being involved in her ‘lowly’ life.

But for Layyanah, it didn’t matter. Although Liyakets mother was not in the best of health and had tremendous back problems, she was absolutely ecstatic that a baby was on its way, and to tell the truth, so was I.

”Hey you,” I smiled, wiping my hands on my apron and kissing her cheek lightly. Jameela was right behind her. “How’s my angel girl doing?”

It was too early to find out the baby gender, but I was convinced she was having a girl. Liyaket had another theory though.

“Killing me slowly,” she groaned, making a puking face. “I cannot eat a thing. It’s nearly 12 weeks and if it doesn’t end soon I think I may just have to give it a good scolding.”

“Don’t terrorise my baby,” I warned her. “You know I’m going to be her favourite aunty, don’t you?”

“Then it better behave,” she retorted, but there was a huge smile on her face as she said it. “Because her favourite aunty is going to be getting married soon and I cannot be feeling like I’m dying on the Nikah day! Liyaket just told me that you guys are planning the wedding for January. I’m so freakin’ excited!”

I knew it. Where I preferred to be quiet and private, Hamzah was the complete opposite.

I hated drama.

“Ssshhhh!” I said, placing my finger to my lips. “My parents don’t know yet. I have to speak to my father first. They only want to come in two weeks so I’m kind of waiting till next week before..”

I could see Jameela looking at me with a smirk on her face. Of course she knew, and to be frank, she was obsessed with Hamzah and his family. I’m not even joking. She honestly thought that the guy could do no wrong and speak no wrong. I had no chance if there was ever an argument, because Jameela was always on his side.

Layyanah narrowed her eyes and then widened them, as her expression changed.

”But why so longgg?!” She moaned, looking annoyed.

I rolled my eyes. Long?!

”Make Nikah, and then carry on as you’ll are!” She said simply. “Easy peezy.”

I knew that she was talking from a place of concern for us and she was so right. Ideally, to make Nikah would be awesome so we could chat, guilt-free, and just get to know each other in the meantime.

But there were always buts. We were both at really crucial points in our career and we couldn’t not announce a Nikah. Hamzah was on the brink of signing with a big company for next year. We also didn’t want interfere with the office policy and work place rules.

”It’s not long!” I argued. “Next year is literally around the corner. If we do it now it will just be a big drama  and you know how I love drama.”

It wasn’t long. It was a few weeks away. I felt like it was just just yesterday that Hamzah and I were going through that weird and awkward phase after Liyaket and Layyanah’s wedding where we had no idea how to face each other.

And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t think of Hamzah as more than a friend that fateful day out in the open, when emotions had overcome me the spring air was knocking me completely off my base. But of course, I wasn’t that type to go all gaga over a guy, and the last person I ever expected to be even slightly impressed  by was Hamzah.

And then the following weekend, when I met Layyanah for coffee at our usual spot, her eyes were all shiny and excited, like she was hiding a huge secret.

At that point it was too soon for a pregnancy announcement and so I looked at her, all confused, wondering what exactly she was all bright-eyed about.

And then she said:

“So what do you think about Hamzah?”

And I had frowned slightly, wondering why she was asking.

“He’s cool,” was all I said, not giving away too much.

And yes. It was typical me. Trying to deny feelings and all that. I was scared. Really scared that he would be the one to pull his usual tricks on me because by now, I knew them all too well.

“Cool as in?!” She pressed, raising her eyebrows. “Does he make the cut for Mostly Mohsina’s high standards or not? Because Liyaket think that Hamzah needs a girl to ground him and we think that that girl is you.”

“So you guys are trying to set him up with me?” I said, a little annoyed.

I felt like I was a dirty rag being used to wipe a spilled mess because I was convenient. I wasn’t just prepared to be used because I was there.

Ghuh.

Why couldn’t Hamzah make his own decisions?

“Listen,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I know Hamzah and I know how he rolls. There’s no way that I’m going to be one of those girls who go all gaga and then he drops like hot potato. Sorry, Layy. I’m not interested, neh.”

Pssshht. Like really. What did she think I was? Did she think I was going to fall for that?

Layyanah sighed. And then she knocked me for a six.

“Hamzah’s crazy about you,” she blurted, rolling her eyes and I just kind of went into cardiac arrest. Right there. “Do you even know how bloody unapproachable you are?”

And I was lying if I said that the feelings and butterflies that come with someone who you really want to know about can be stifled. I tried with everything I had within me to fight it, to ignore it, and to act like I didn’t care, because I knew that no good could come out of something that started with sin.

And no, none of it was right or then there was a hint of seriousness a week later, when there came the game changer and it was so strange because it was only afterward that I realised that some things happen with lessons that are two-fold. That sometimes Allah wants good for you, ans puts you in the deep end because he knows you deserve so much more than what you settled for.

The Holy Qur’aan mentions:

‘And approach not adultery, for it is a shameful deed and an evil, opening the road to other evils.’

In a world where every second person was involved in a relationship and set on completely disregarding the laws of Allah, going out and walking around Sandton or Rosebank with my guy, going out to the famous coffee shops we all loved as if it was the trending thing to do. But was it trending when it came to the laws of Allah?

Because the verse was so true when it’s said that Zinaa opens the doorway to other sins. We are so caught up, so brainwashed and convinced that Zinaa and extra marital relationships are ‘normal’, that haraam has become a norm and halaal no longer has any value. Limits have been pushed and boundaries have been broken. It’s progressed so much and to such an extent that no joy is even found in what’s become ‘normal’. Unfortunately, for some, no joy is even found in the simple haraam. And this is the cause for the degradation of humans, and why they fall into the trap of LGBTQ, thinking it’s all okay to be however you want to be… when really, it goes completely against the laws of nature to satisfy yourself with anything other than what’s Halaal.

And no, people don’t just change overnight. It happens over a frame of time, where people slowly get dragged into sin and as they get deeper and deeper, they kind of get sucked in.

It just so happened that things had kind of spiralled out of control for me before we got to grips with what we were getting into. At first it was more of a ‘let’s see where this thing is going’ kind of tune. We chatted. We joked. We even met on a whim, outside the office, for a quick walk to the Gautrein before a meeting.

Yes, sometimes we change, but the change is not always for the better.

Together with this sin, my virtual reality continued at a steady pace of filming reels and reviewing products and keeping followers hooked. As always, there has to be a game changer.

Now, by now I’m sure that you are well aware of how seriously I take my social media pages. And in case you didn’t know, Hamzah was born on a completely differently planet. He had no social media applications whatsoever and relentlessly picked on my occupation with mine. And so it went, a light-hearted reel that I had done about Muslim guys pick up lines (that had zilch to do with him) just for kicks went viral (which is every influencers dream) and spiked my followers to almost 12k. Of course, I was ecstatic. It was a dream come true, and I honestly was blown away by the response.

And nevermind everything that goes with the whole social media upkeep, anything was worth it. I didn’t think much of it, because for me, that was who I was. I was virtual reality, and my life was pretty much absorbed in it, so I really didn’t see the issue.

I barely thought it would reach Hamzah (and I’m sure it was the work of his annoying sister who had become my rival after the episode at the wedding) but it did, and the entire thing just blew out of proportion.

And of course, I had the upper hand, because being me, all liberated and independent, I knew that it shouldn’t concern him. I mean, it was my life and my business and I told him precisely that.

Like, there was no way I was going to let some (random) guy come and trash and change everything that I had worked so hard to achieve. I had put a lot of effort into my social media pages. I earned money from them too. I didn’t deserve to be told what I couldn’t do. If you weren’t paying me, you don’t have a right to question me. I was feminism at its best… or should I say, at its worst. I just couldn’t see it yet.

”What’s the big deal?” I had typed ferociously (please tell me, how do you even argue with someone over iMessage?!). “It’s not like it even has anything to do with you.”

And he only said this:

Its unnecessary. I don’t like to see you on social media. It’s like you are selling yourself.

Now that, just made me mad. If it was a guy doing it, it would be a different story, wouldn’t it? But because I was a woman and I had filmed something humorous, I was selling myself? 

How dare he tell me what I could or couldn’t do? I didn’t have a ring on my finger. As long as we both were where we were, we could both do as we please.

Right?

Wrong. We forget that we have a Creator and Provider to please too. That each gender has his specific strengths and weaknesses and Hayaa is a crucial part of Imaan.

Once your Hayaa is compromised, so is your Imaan, and it was a risky gamble to take, but I did.

And yes, with all my new ideologies and perception that I was only accountable to myself, I was wrong. But then again, so was he. We were wrong in our approach, wrong in what we were doing. Wrong in trying to combat Haraam with something Haraam, and he may have had a point but that’s precisely what got him.

As long as there is no commitment then there are no rules. And simply ‘going out’ with someone does not define commitment. I expected him to call it quits, at that point. And I didn’t care. I took the risk. Arrogance had consumed me. In my world, I didn’t need a man to prove my worth. And I put on a brave front when we didn’t speak for a day, I wasn’t going to go crawling back with my tail in my legs. And I knew that I was being full of myself, but Hamzah was, surprisingly, not as immature as I was and as I thought.

And woah, his response really blew me away.

Because he didn’t act the way I thought he would. Instead, he told his mother about me. And his sister. And then his brother. And then he phoned me to tell me that it’s time to be serious and that he’s coming home to meet my parents, but this time,I need to change something too, and that this was my cue to trash all my reel-making.

How the hell is that for a game changer?!

And of course I was completely stunned. Not to mention, reeling from panic. All I could think of was that this was happening way too fast. We had barely spoken for 2 minutes. Did he even know my crazy Nani and family and how they behaved?!

How on earth did he just decide that he was ready to take this to another level?

And then, common sense was finally settling in for me. If this was what he wanted, it meant that Hamzah, of all people was actually serious about me. Why, I had no idea. But this meant that we really had to change something. There was no way that we can carry on chatting and ‘dating’ because I knew very well that there was never any barakah in that. It was no use denying the facts.

And I didn’t expect it, but the thing was, staying away made things more exciting. It was like venturing into the unknown. Nikah was a few weeks away and  all we had to be was a be patient and everything would fall into place.

Sometimes it takes two people to be strong. When it comes to things like this, one person just doesn’t make the cut. What was the excitement in doing something that was forbidden when there was a simple and easy way to make it all right?

And yes, though Nani, friends and family were keeping me busy in the weekend, work was still sucking me in during the week. I was still focused and determined to prove myself, and I could see that I was a huge competition for many people who were still running after the incentive that had been offered over 2 months back.

The last thing we needed was anyone finding out and ratting us out at work, because a bad referral wouldn’t be good for any new opportunities.

And it was barely a day after Layyanah had promised to plan my entire wedding function, when I sat all absorbed in the latest account that Faadil had assigned to me, when the memo from his e-mail address came, summoning me to his office for a meeting within ten minutes. And I was all cool about it, thinking that maybe he was rushing off for a meeting and needed to check in with me before he went off until I made my way over to his door, when I realised that this wasn’t exactly about what I presumed.

As I pushed the door open, sitting on the chair on the other side of Faadil’s desk was none other than Hamzah, and I immediately did a double take as he caught my eye, and I recognised that look of concern as he communicated for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, we might be in for it.

For once in my life, I didn’t know what to say until Faadil gestured for me to sit down. Oh yes, if I thought that we had a game changer before, this was going to be an even bigger one.

“Take a seat,” he said in his office voice, and I knew that he meant business. “There’s something I need to discuss with you two.”

 

---

Dearest Readers,

Shukran to everyone for reading❤️

Although the topic of Zinaa in the Quran and Sunnah is obviously clear and unambiguous, the reality of our times is that Zinaa in schools, universities and even the workplace is so common and even regarded now as a norm.

And although in the past I’ve steered clear of it, I think sometimes we have to take the bull by the horns and talk about it. Although this in no way validates it, the best is to stop the sin and make Nikah and atone for it.  At times when it’s not always possible, to show a way of lessening Allah’s displeasure, Ulema advise to leave the sin completely. 

May Allah forgive us for the wrongs we’ve done in our past, and especially for the ones we never hastened to make right. I hope that this can sincerely review someone’s perspective on extra marital relations and hope that for the pleasure of Allah we can stop sin, especially amongst our youth, and bring Barakah into our lives again.

Please let me know your thoughts – hoping we can explore the topic a bit more. Thoughts? 

Duaas for the ummah 🤲🏼

Much Love

A xx

Mission Sunnah Revival: Sunnah of Lowering/Guarding the Gaze 

It is in this instance and era, surrounded by half-naked people, that we must have the courage to follow the command of Allah and His Prophet Muhammad (Sallalahu alaihi wa Sallam) and lower our gazes.

Allah says:

“Do not go near fornication and adultery, it is an abomination and an evil way.” (Quran 17:32).

This sin is so hateful in the sight of Our Lord, that He commanded us to not even go near it.

Despite what anyone may say, looking upon that which one is not supposed to is going near adultery, for an illicit affair begins with a lustful glance.

Allah wishes for us not to commit this ugly sin, and thus He commands us to lower our gazes:

• “Tell the believing men that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; that will make for greater purity for them; And Allah is well acquainted with all that they do.

And tell the believing women that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty…” (Quran 24:30-31).

The Sunnah of lowering the gaze even on social media is also important and detrimental to our imaan if not done, a stepping stone to greater sins.

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

No Filtering

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

In the same way that good deeds are a protection for us, and protect us from calamity… I’ve noted many times in the past that when you are submerged in sin it’s almost impossible not to openly welcome the wrath of Allah.

Often when you are drenched in darkness, the light seems very far away. Like that flicker in the distance, so evasive and unreachable, sometimes we lose hope completely of ever surfacing.

As a rule of thumb, Nani had once told me that reading my Tasbeeh every day is a foolproof hack to accomplishing even the most impossible of tasks. 33, 33, 34… and If I didn’t have enough time, even a shorter version…. Somehow, even the  unattainable gets achieved and the improbable gets accomplished, when you take out a little time for Allah in the morning and evenings.

And I knew I should have. I should have stopped with my worldly whims and fancies. I knew I should have done more of the actual cleansing. Dusting off the dirt. I would have and I usually did. But the thing was, I was busy. And I know I always use that excuse but that week, the office was buzzing with talks of the new incentive based promotion that Faadil had let out the bag on Monday when he called us to his office.

Hamzah was right. ‘Bossman’ was looking for me, but thankfully I wasn’t the only one who missed the memo. It was a whirlwind of excitement and enthusiasm after the little meeting and the office was a little more alive than usual. Everyone was giving off their best. Trying their utmost. No-one wanted to miss out on the opportunity that was opening up.

And of course, there were a few preferences, he had said, as he paced up and down, hair immaculate, clad in Hugo Boss jeans and an apple green shirt.

I wasn’t even bothering to look down and be a little decent while he spoke. It had become normal to ogle at strange men. The guilt was becoming non-existent. That was the thing with social media, Netflix addictions and spending more time on it. Once you get used to looking at whatever image your eyes fall upon, it becomes natural to forget that there was a filter on the gaze before. The dust had already settled, and it was becoming harder and harder to scrub it off.

And of course, Nthando, Mikael, Lesley and I were still sitting in a combination of frenzy and limbo after Faadil walked out after the (second) meeting he had called for, still trying to figure out what it was exactly that was going to set us apart from the others in this three month long competition for a huge incentive and permanent position at Hammond’s.

Oh yes, there were a few preferred graduates but no-one knew who they were. Some people had glanced at me, while others had muttered Hamzah, Robert and Lesley’s name… but no one really knew for sure.

Nthando was already scribbling notes in her diary, Mikael was busy with his laptop and Lesley just had this dreamy look on her face.

“The man just gets me every time,” she said, and my eyes always bulged slightly as she stretched out her long tanned legs. I wouldn’t say that they were particularly toned or anything but the girl had good genes, okay?

I’ve caught the guys literally stopping and watching her walk past, and to tell the truth, I assumed she enjoyed it. She was wearing a skirt, and though we had strict office rules about mini skirts, Lesley took it to the limit by wearing them just at the knee.

Every. Single. Day.

I couldn’t imagine what Nani would say about that if she had to ever come to my work place. And maybe I admired her confidence, but besides that, something within me told me that it wasn’t the kind of attention that I wanted to draw. It was just devalued. Objectifying. And so unnecessary.

“Did you see the way he dominates the office?” She continued, throwing up her hands dramatically. “It’s amazing.”

”Jah,” Mikael said absent-mindedly in his Cape Town accent. “When I grow up I want to be like Faadil the great.”

With Mikael I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or sarcastic but I half-laughed anyway and got up, not really wanting to sit around and listen to more Faadil-obsession, knowing I needed to get back to work after the eventful morning. Even the L-squared dramas were semi forgotten as we shifted into work zone, and I found myself getting lost in the work day and week. Never mind about them. For now Layy had sworn me to secrecy about their plans and I had agreed and forgot about it.

Other than that, I felt like I was stuck in this bubble of work, and it was all just going to burst before I even got to enjoy it. Maybe it was the mention of the incentive. Maybe it was just the worry of my future. But it had been more than once that week that I found myself wondering about things that I never did before.

Things like:

Was this what I really pictured myself doing for the rest of my life? Was this really my calling? Maybe I wasn’t cut out for an office job. Did I need an outlet? 

I couldn’t think about it too much without getting anxiety.

I sighed.

A distraction was just what the doctor ordered. A coffee and selfie time was the solution to everything. Layyanah had gone awol since from Wednesday. I wasn’t sure who or what had gone down but I figured that for now, the less I knew, the better it may be.

The thing was, there wasn’t even much time to ponder about it or even message because before I knew it, the week was over and I wasn’t even sure if I accomplished everything I needed to. Everything felt so rushed and in the moment.

And though I was feeling unaccomplished, I knew that some comments and likes would cheer me up, so I scrolled through my gallery and found an old post of a some nature reserve that Papa had gone to on the West Coast and posted it. Nature wasn’t my thing but it looked good on my feed and it was completely appropriate for weekend vibes. To tell the truth, the picture didn’t even need a filter. It was that beautiful, but that was just by the way.

Caption: Weekend vibes!

Another amazing week- productive and exhausting and definitely calling for some unwinding time…

I put in the emoji of the dancing girl, the heart eyes, and some nature and weekend hashtags before stashing my phone in my bag.

It was time to retire for the week so I packed up my stuff, shut down my computer and went for the elevator just a mere half hour after work time.

And as the elevator pinged open, I was a little annoyed to see Hamzah in the lift, coming from the top floor, work backpack in hand and looking just as annoyed to see me. Yeah okay, I could see he was rushing. Plus he was a mess. His tie was loose, his teal shirt was hanging untidily and the entire lift was stinking of cigarette. Ten floors down with him is going to make me super claustrophobic because besides having to deal with the stench of cigarette for that long, to tell the truth, I wasn’t exactly into the polite thing this evening.

“Press it closed,” I said automatically, not caring about being rude and audibly sighing in exasperation. “I’ll wait for the next one.”

Ugh. Fifteen minutes at least. He shrugged and pressed a button, looking relieved, but then suddenly jerked it open again.

“Get in,” he said, stepping out himself and gesturing to me. “You’ll wait ten minutes by the time it comes back. You have further to drive than me.”

He wasn’t happy about it and I didn’t need hand outs, but the traffic situation was stressing me out and my Choti Kala was coming home tonight and I really missed our conversations. She was the only one in the family who got my urgency to gain my corporate fame and I really needed to have a heart-to-heart with her. About life. Relationships. Family. It was away over due.

So when I heard footsteps and spun around to see Faadil pacing the office hallway, probably checking to see if he can lock up, and I figured why usually annoying Hamzah was being so polite, I jumped at the opportunity of the headstart. Of course, I thought, feeling relieved.. It wasn’t a hand out. With Hamzah there had to be some ulterior motive.

Right? That could be the only explanation.

“Trying to impress the boss, huh?” I muttered as I walked past him, raising my eyebrows judgementally. I was only half joking. I just had to have the last say. It would save me from saying thank you. “What a gentleman.”

I was being sarcastic. I mean, until I glanced at him and saw that he was looking exceptionally confused and I realised that maybe, just maybe, he had probably not even seen Faadil pass in the first place. And then of course, it got me wondering if maybe I was wrong and he was just being nice, but like, Hamzah was never just nice. Not for no reason.

“Why would I want to impress him?” He asked blandly, pulling a face as if he was disgusted at the mere thought.

“Erm, duh,” I said, as if was self explanatory. “Getting a head start for the big incentive slash promotion that everyone is dying over.”

He still had that confused look on his face, and then realization dawned, and he purposely stomped into the lift, punched the close button and turned to me.

“You think I’m that desperate?” He said, a disturbed look on his face. “Not everything’s about money, Mos. The thought of signing with Faadil for another two years is not exactly my dream job. Just FYI. Not everything’s about the big bucks.”

It was the first time I had heard him call Faadil by the name and from that I knew that he was slightly pissed off.

And with that, the lift pinged open again sooner than expected and he sashayed out onto the next floor, cigarette stench and all, before two more people came tumbling in, leaving me feeling just a little crappy as I waited to reach ground and step out, wondering if maybe I shouldn’t have been so judgmental in the first place.

But also, in my defense, wasn’t everyone here for the big bucks? He couldn’t tell me that he was so in love with auditing and taxation that he dreamt about it lustfully every freakin’ night. Everyone who worked here was in it for the money. There was no other reason to work like slaves.

But then again, it was only Hamzah so there was no need to break my head over it because it didn’t really matter anyway. I wasn’t sure why he smoked if it didn’t help his chill levels. The guy needed to go for some aggro therapy or something. Yeesh.

I walked up to my car, only greeting the guard as I stepped into the parking lot, pulling down the mirror to check my appearance again. Today was a low profile kind of day. I had worn a modest bottle green blouse with a loose grey pants, since it was a Friday, wore a longer coat over. I still looked good and my make-up wasn’t completely trashed yet, in case I stopped at the garage for a coffee and there were any decent prospects around. My feet were breaking from the heels I had worn to make me appear thinner and taller, but beauty was pain and I got that.

I checked my phone before I started my car, pausing to see my last post reaching a 100 likes and then psyching myself for the trip home. The roads were surprisingly uneventful that Friday. Usually Johannesburg boasted at least 3 a highway accidents and umpteen traffic jams, but this Friday was a little easier to get to my semi-farm based home and it was a welcome record.

I had just taken the off ramp when my phone buzzed in my lap and I momentarily glanced down. I tried not to type while I drove, usually pausing to message only when I stopped at a robot but traffic was slow and it was more or less safe in this area.

What’s the plans for the rest of the eve? 

It was a message notification from Maahira on Instagram. Seemed like she even forgot that there were other ways of communication.

She had sent me a picture earlier of her standing with a friend outside the London train station. It was pretty cool to think that my friend was so independent in a distant city all on her own.

I thought for a minute about what to say.

There was no need to say that I was going back home. The truth was, even though I was looking quite forward to spending time with my aunty, I couldn’t let her know it. That wasn’t the life we always dreamt of having. For Maahira and I it was always about the corporate life. The glitz. The glamour. The functions and events and the chilling with friends after work to catch up on social time so we could have the best of both worlds.

It had always been a dream of hers to work in London and I always wanted to work at Jo’burg CBD. It was just our preferences and though we often tried to convince the other to swap aspirations, we still supported each other’s choices.

I couldn’t help though but wonder how London must be like on your own. With no family to go back home to. No home cooked meals. No soji and mutton briyani on a Friday evening even. That was the part that got me, as I finally rode down our driveway. But for Maahira, she made it look so amazing.

Her Instagram following was close to 10k because London life was a huge draw card. And she really lived the life, I could see from her page.

Plus, she shopped at all these amazing places and people were always drooling over her modest fashion-wear posts. I suppose you had to make the trade off. Family life was nothing compared to all of that, materialistic stuff. When she comes down she promised she was bringing me a whole new wardrobe and I was super psyched.

I opened her message and replied.

Just had some fun times with some work friends. The night is still young.

I put in a winking emoticon and left it at that. I didn’t expect her to reply so fast though.

What happened at work this week?

Hmmm. I wondered if I should tell her about the promotion and offer from the company that everyone was going for. It was exciting but she might tell me not to try too hard for it. She always told me that I was better than some common corporate position and should only settle for the best.

Ah yes, I knew exactly what I could tell her about.

Just the usual craziness with a dose of dramatic office romance. It’s been quite a week!

Again, her reply was quick. Like, didn’t she have anything else to do on a Friday night. Like be out with some cool work friends.

Office romance! Ooh. Do tell!

And so I did. Only, I had forgotten that it was supposed to be a secret. Maahira seemed so far away, and letting her in on what was going on here was barely going to make a difference to her awesome life.

And for all my aversion to drama, What I didn’t realise was that my lack of filtering was probably going to cause a bigger drama than ever…

---

A little longer post than normal. Any thoughts on Mohsina and her way of dealing with things?

Love hearing your thoughts !

Much Love

A x

On that note, Sunnah of the week:

We should remember the famous saying, “If you do not have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all.”
Imam Bukhari and Muslim reported that the Nabi (Sallalahu alaihi wa sallam) said, “Whosoever believes in Allah and the Last Day, let him say good or remain silent.”

An amazing quality to inculcate into our lives…

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

A Glimmer of Hope

Bismihi Ta’ala

N.B. We’ve backtracked slightly, but we will get to the event of Khawlah’s tears in the next post, Insha Allah.

Khawlah

Throughout your life you will find that the events of leaving and losing… of breaking and  falling… of failing and  disappointment… all lead to one thing.

It all points you in One direction. One Purpose. One Allah. That Allah is all you need. He is your Wali. He is your protecting friend. That nothing else but Him will do. That no matter where else you may seek it, your happiness and peace and absolute reliance are for Him, through Him and with Him alone.

And it so happens in life that we are faced with tests in ways that we sometimes don’t understand. But being tested is all a part of this journey… in Allāh’s magnificent plan for us. And in facing these, we can either rise to the challenge, lift ourselves up from the fall and run towards the light… or we can hopelessly crawl along, giving into defeat and losing ourselves to despair.

And then there are some people who come along on your life’s journey, to show to you a better view. A clearer perspective. A broader horizon. They see the light through every darkness. A lining on every cloud. They are people who feel the sunshine, even in the rain.

And sometimes you just need that one thing to hold onto. To wholeheartedly believe in. Because that’s when it all fits together. Yes, what the future held for me at that point was painful, difficult and extremely emotional, but one thing that I had learnt through it all was that every slip or break or fall and was only a means of mercy. It was these challenges along the way that would bring a fresh start… a clean slate for the person who was faced with them and the breaking of a new dawn for those who truly understood how much Allāh had promised to those who pass this magnanimous test…

“I feel like never leaving this place,” Aadam said softly, as he looked back at the building we had just exited, still digesting everything that we saw. “I just want to take all those kids home with me…”

I smiled as I looked at him, quite touched by his emotion that day. I never quite got to see this sensitive side of Aadam.. and witnessing it today was actually quite emotional for me. And although I felt glad that this trip that I was kind of dreading  was over, it wasn’t any escape from the sore reality..

The reality was that there were so many innocent children that no- one wanted… some of them merely a few months old. And no matter how sorry we felt for them… the situation was probably never going to change. And yes, Allah doesn’t promise us justice in this world but He does promise us that every single account will be settled on a day where insurmountable justice will definitely prevail…

”One day, I’d really like to adopt a kid,” he was continuing. “Even we have our own, it doesn’t really matter, yeah? It will just be like an addition.. You know one day I’d like to bring the boys here. Maybe even take them to an old age home too. It will open their eyes, give them some gratitude and we’ll cash in on some rewards…

Hey, are you crying?”

I turned my face slightly and wiped away the stray tear that was rolling down the inner part of my cheek. For some reason unknown to me, I was just feeling really emotional about the whole ordeal.

”I can’t believe this,” he said, sounding awestruck. “The iceberg has melted. It’s a moment in history that we have yet to witness, folks …”

I stretched out my arm to twist his ear, annoyed that he was making fun of me.

”Yikes,” he said, rubbing it vigorously. “Take it easy on the patient, sweets. No sympathy for injured citizens here…”

”Unfortunately your mouth seems to be in perfect working order,” I said heatedly, pouting slightly as he grinned.

”As always. You think you’ll be okay to drive?” He said, his voice softening a bit as I glared at him. “Maybe we can wait a while…”

”No, I’m okay,” I said, swallowing and lifting my gaze to meet his. I knew he was teasing. It was obvious that at the time, he didn’t know how to handle my rare show of emotion.

And yes, since Aadam had been off his feet, I had been learning to drive. Though Ahmed and my father didn’t approve… Allah obviously had a greater plan with a much bigger picture in mind, as Aadam guided me with utmost patience and skill to learn as well.

And of course, the lessons were always exceptionally entertaining, with Aadam’s ridiculous sound effects and silly banter. There were times when I had to pull off the road to stop myself from steering off-course because of it. Driving and giggling uncontrollably didn’t exactly go hand in hand.

I put my emotions aside as Aadam watched me, reversing out and followed his calm instructions on how to get back home. And yes, he was particularly nice that day, putting lots of effort into saying positive things and avoiding his usual road-rage jokes. I think seeing my emotion that day had changed something in him, and only when I looked back at it, even though all I did was shed a few heartfelt tears… for him, it was like an entire firewall had been broken down.

There was much to say that day as I tried to concentrate on the road back home, but little words I could think of to say it. Sometimes when emotions are so deep, it was hard to express what I truly felt, and by now, Aadam understood that. It had been a roller coaster the past few weeks and today was the peak. With exam stress at the onset and Hannah’s case for custody of her daughter now in progress… I felt myself a little overwhelmed with everything going on. I had promised to help her and now I wished that I hadn’t gotten myself involved in the first place.

After all, she was the reason we had gone to the orphanage. Her baby was now going to be placed in foster care because of the custody issue. It made my heart ache to see her there. I could see Hannah looking remorseful too now, after everything had take this turn. Maybe it would be better to rather just give up the fight and agree to visiting rights. The lady who was taking care of her daughter looked lovely…

”Don’t I get a ‘thank you’ for not picking on your driving today?” Aadam said, giving me a small smile as he brushed away another tear.

”Maybe,” I told him, still remembering his words earlier as I narrowed my eyes at him. “You enjoy seeing me a little worked up, don’t you?” 

Aadam was grinning.

”I’m so sorry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I really do.”

I couldn’t resist a teeny smile as I looked back at him.

“Forgive me?” He asked softly. “Will you still come with me tonight?”

Of course, the mention of tonight was already settling weird things in my tummy and it wasn’t for the usual reasons. For one, it was a great escape from the reality that loomed above us that I constantly tried to escape but the thought of seeing unfamiliar people was definitely nerve-wrecking… and secondly, since Nusaybah had heard about the ‘fancy work function‘ that Aadam was taking me to, she had already taken on the great task of being the go-to lifesaver figure who would wave her magical wand and make me hopefully look a little like the after version of Cinderella.

Spending some time with my friend in a non-pressured and book-less environment was something that I really looked forward to and already made me smile.. but I was worried about what she would do to me. I made a decision to let her have her fun, because with everything that had gone down recently, as I left Aadam for those two hours with Rubeena, I kind of needed some wise words from my friend which I’m sure would put things into perspective for me…

“How is the old blood-sucker?” Nusaybah asked jovially, the minute she saw me. “Is his leg healed? I hope you’re taking advantage of the situation, missy, and not assuming the role of an aged citizen. Maybe assuming the role of a caring female doctor or loving nurse will do the trick …”

”Oh goodness Nusaybah,” I said rolling my eyes. “Does your mind only work on one track?”

Of course, at the mention of caring doctor figure, I couldn’t help but remember the encounter at the hospital that kind of shook my core. And yes, it was quite unbelievable that I had met this person who had once played an important role in Aadam’s life, but what was more unsettling was what she had revealed to me thereafter about how her own life had changed.

And I never did reveal it to Aadam… because once I made the decision not to go back there, I knew that bringing her up again would be completely unfair and a reminder of the past that he was trying hard to forget. It was just that what I had learnt was something that literally made me do a double-take… as I processed the strange and amazing ways in which Allah worked. The only concern is as where to go to from here… since the situation was not exactly an ideal one…

Nusaybah was grinning as she opened her bag to take out her 700 piece make up set. My eyes widened as she opened it. It was like one of the most enchanting things I had seen yet.

”Maybe we just need to give our Mr Cullen a small nudge in the right direction,” she said, expertly tapping into the tray of nude foundations and attacking my face with them. I tried to tell her that would probably be the last thing on his mind right now, but Nusaybah had her own ideas.

Sometimes I didn’t know how I put up with her, but I still loved her to bits. And of course, by the end of her master-work and entertaining chatter, when she finally spun me around and revealed what I looked like, I was utterly gobsmacked.

”The guy is going to be knocked off his feet tonight,” she said, with widening eyes. “Sorry, his foot. I forgot the other is temporarily unavailable. But nevermind.”

I grinned as I looked at her, a bit mesmerized by the new me that stared back at me. I was just so glad that I had already made my whudhu. With the layers of expensive make-up that Nusaybah had plastered on my face, washing it off right now seemed pain worthy…

And of course, because my friend was so super-organized and excited, she had killed every worry of mine with her mere presence. Not only did she sort out my hijab, graciously make up my face and provide the most elegantly simple outfit, she had just the right words to say that would put my main concern at ease.

”If anyone asks you anything,” she said as she left. “Just nod and smile.”

Of course. It was genius.

And of course, after her small pep talk, I knew that  meeting strange people there  could barely be as bad as I was fearing.

“Cinderella, are you ready for the ball?” Aadam’s humorous voice called down the passage, as I heard his crutches make their way down. I honestly wasn’t expecting him a whole fifteen minutes earlier, but because Nusaybah was always one step ahead of me and knew his OCD tendencies, she had already made sure I was ready for the unexpected.

I held my breath in anticipation as I called for him to come down, kind of building myself for the momentous occasion that would occur when he’d set eyes on me and be completely blown away. Nusaybah had been comically preparing me for it, and I held my breath with much anticipation, seeing the room door shift along he carpet as he pushed it… but completely not expecting the shrill ring of his phone as he stood in the open doorway with a sheepish look on his handsome face.

I could almost imagine Nusaybah rolling her eyes and smacking her hand to her forehead at the anti-climax of the whole event. Talk about a buzz that killed the buzz.

Instead of my knight in shining kurta gazing at me intently while time supposedly stood still, as my friend had hopefully predicted, all I got was an irritated huff as he switched it to silent, and then looked up at me apologetically.

Talk about the cons of technology. The worst part was, as soon as it stopped, it didn’t even have the audacity to be done. It started ringing again immediately.

He tossed the phone aside as I glimpsed the caller ID. It said ‘Siraj’.

“I’m so sorry,” he said awkwardly, biting his lip. “These things don’t exactly have an ‘awkward timing’ alert…”

”Shouldn’t you be taking that?” I asked, with a small smile, thinking of how Nusaybah would crack up when she heard about the non-event. Ah well.

”I’ll call him later,” he said, trying to sound indifferent. “Let’s not worry about that now… these are supposed to be game-changing moments… I’m so sorry…”

He winked at me but I wasn’t convinced by his ease. Why did I have a feeling that Aadam wasn’t being completely transparent?

“I can see you’re stressing,” he said calmly. “But Siraj is not only a doctor. He’s my uncle too. So can you stop fretting about the medical bits for once and just be you for tonight?”

He was right. I was reading into things too much, but Aadam was barely even bothered. Of course that must mean something. But still…

“I’m just worried,” I said with a frown. “What if it’s something urgent?”

Aadam’s eyes were fixed into mine as he lent on one of his crutches, giving me that infamous look of his, with one eyebrow raised, that undeniably said that he had it all under control.

”What’s your worst fear?” He said, raising his eyebrows humourously. “I’m right here. I’ve broken my leg and I’m already feeling like the war-torn knight whose come for his princess. What else could go wrong?”

”Aadam,” I said, swallowing hard and ignoring his humor, because I was nervous about what the phone call could have meant. My worst fear. My worst fear was that I’d lose guy that had become the love of my life… and Aadam knew it.

There was still so much we didn’t understand. The pain. The tiredness. The lack of energy…

“Khawlah,” he said softly.  “Don’t you trust Allah?”

“Of course I do,” I said, without an inkling of hesitation. I did.

“Then trust me,” he said simply, holding my gaze and raising his one eyebrow in true Aadam style. “Because I’ve handed everything over to Him, and I truly believe that whatever it is that He’s placed in our path… We’re going to get through it. Doesn’t he say that His help is near? It’s not a matter of medicine or science or whatever other theories the doctors or the experts say. This is about what Allah has planned for me, and I promise you, sweets, when you place your trust entirely in Him, there’s nothing in this world that can shake it. It it wasn’t for Him, I would never be where I am today… I’m tuned and moulded and completely convinced that when I submit to His every decree, I’ll never despair of His mercy.’

I looked at Aadam with as he sat there, completely unwavering in his stance.

Ah, this guy. Why was he always rendering me speechless?

“I love you and I appreciate your concern, love, but you really need to just believe,” he continued as he edged closer. “Stop worrying about Hannah. Stop worrying about me. Believe, sweets. Believe, yeah? You weren’t assigned to carry this mountain that you’re bearing. Only Allah can move it. He can change any situation. You have to believe it. Believe that good things happen, and bad things happen, and whatever it is, Allah is bigger than it all. I promise you, all you need to do is trust in Allah and let Him carry you.. let Him handle all the things that you don’t understand…’

And that was Aadam. So carefree. Unburdened. Unaffected. There was nothing that could bother him, and even less that shook his resolve.

I  nodded slowly, as I let it digest. I could never argue his points.

”Can we go now, gorgeous?” Aadam finally said, smiling at as he looked up. “Because right now what I do understand is I have a stunning date staring at me and I’m not too sure how much longer she’s prepared to wait…”

And because Aadam was so unbelievably easy on himself as he reminded me of the best when all I could picture was the worst… His words came with and immediate calmness that descended on me, as he spoke. He was always so contented and amazingly carefree, that I couldn’t help but think of how Allah sent him into my world when I needed him the most.

I supposed that some moments are just made to lift you up.. to raise you… to remind you of everything that’s important to you whilst it’s still there. Those are the moments that stand out for you when you look back, that are your mettle and your foundation and your reason that you continued to believe. There were many, many things that I didn’t remember as the years went by but these were the very moments that I did.

There are some people who walk through life, with their shoulders bearing the heaviest of weights, yet when you glimpse at them, their faces have the broadest of smiles. They push through even the gloom. They see a beauty in pain. They don’t see the tests as burdens. What they see that there is a loving and a caring Lord who is above us, waiting to answer our call. They see and they truly believe that He is aware of our every need…

Sometimes we all need a little hope. No matter how gloomy the days may look, we all need some sunshine. Something to hold onto, to keep us going.

And for that little while.. as I grasped Aadam’s hand and stepped out into the night, I was almost certain that somewhere along the fading horizon I could see a sterling glimmer of hope that twinkled right back at us…

---

Dearest Readers,

Apologies again for the wait. I’m so sorry. My year ends are a bit crazy, and this one’s been more hectic than anticipated. 

I just wanted to provide a little hope as I know the readers are getting a little worried.. although its just a blog I feel even when we go through these tests in life as well, we always need a little hope.. belief, faith.. Yaqeen.. Whatever you want to call it.

May Allah make us of those who are always have trust in His Divine Plan.

Much Love 

A xx

Sit down before drinking water. No matter you are in hurry for something, but that should not stop you from taking a moment to sit down and drink water in a healthy way. Our beloved Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said: “Sit down and drink” (Muslim). Science also proved that drinking water whilst standing or walking can cause Gastrointestinal Tract (GIT) damage, kidney damage, arthritis, nerve tension, and other disorders.

FB: The Journeying Muslimah

Ig: thejourneyingmuslimah 

#revivetheSunnahofDrinkingWater 

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak 

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq 

#revivetheSunnahofKinship

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

Twitter: @ajourneyjournal

 

 

Damaged

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

A reminder from Islamic teachings: Abdullah ibn Mas’ud reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “The believer does not insult others, he does not curse others, he is not vulgar, and he is not shameless.”

Source: Sunan al-Tirmidhī 1977

Hannah

I honestly think that there should be some sort of test that parents take before they are allowed to have a child. Something that gives them a permit to introduce little humans into this world. I don’t know about you, but from my experience, there are are few people in this world who can honestly say that they were never damaged. The fact is, we all leave the nest with a few dents and scratches. Some parents smudge, some parents crack, and then you get the ones who mess you up so badly, that it’s like you’ve been shattered into millions of tiny jagged pieces, that are beyond any sort of repair.

“Hannah!”

I jumped as I heard the sharpness of my mother’s voice, and then her usual cuss at me, breaking though my placid thoughts. I blinked in shock, almost terrified for what she may do to me. How long had she been standing there for?

I was already expecting the blow to come from either side, but my mother always found a way to surprise me, even when she was inflicting pain. All I could feel was her hand yanking my head back at my hair roots with such a force that I fell back, tumbling off the chair that I was standing on. Ouch.

“What the hell are you doing there?” She snarled, ignoring my whimper of pain as I  tried to get back on my feet. She stepped over me and pressed her own face close to the window, just as I had been looking out, as she peered out too.

I had been standing on the little oak stool upstairs that was stationed under the window, looking out enviously at the other kids who were playing outside.

“Ugh,” my mother said, shaking her head and scrunching up her perfectly made-up face. “What filthy children. And that boy. So rough and uncultured. I can’t deal with these rude little children anymore. Their father will hear about this.”

She was visibly disgusted. At what, I wasn’t too sure.

Why didn’t they ever ask me to come and play? Why couldn’t I have some outdoor fun once in a while? Maybe it was fun being rough and uncultured.

I stuck out my bottom lip she glared at me for even daring to envy them, and then she tossed her hair back and lifted me roughly off the ground.

“Real ladies,” she said sharply, wagging her finger at me as her eyes bored into mine. “Don’t play outside. We are refined. We buy nice things so we can look good and find men who will look after us. Real men don’t like girls who act like them.”

I frowned as my mother pointed outside for emphasis, straightened her dress, and then turned around to leave.

I was only eight. What did I really understand about real men? I mean, I had seen things on TV about men and women… and I did know more than other girls my age, but I wasn’t exactly sure what my mother expected of me. I was too young to even know what having a boyfriend really meant.

I went back to my room, finding a little comfort in counting my money and putting in back in my stowage. I supposed it was kind of an obsession. A form of security, that made feel that one day… maybe one day I would have enough money to leave my mother’s clutches and just get out of there. Money was what the made the world go round, of course. It would be my salvation.

Of course, if I had my own savings, then there’d be no more fights about Mum overspending. She always used me as an excuse. Thank Goodness, when I grew up, I would have my own money and all that wouldn’t matter any more. The only problem was that… since the last time, there definitely seemed to be less money that I had counted. I shook my head to myself, thinking that maybe I had counted wrong. Mum was the only one who knew where my money was. I knew that she sometimes ran short, even when uncle Nazir was giving her so much.

I shook my head, already annoyed at my mother. From depriving me of the simple things that a child looked forward to, my mother took the prize when it came to manipulating her own child.

And so the cycle went on. By nine years old, I already knew that everyone out there was jealous of me. Jealous because I was pretty. Jealous because we had money. Jealous because… well, people were just jealous. It was the explanation for anything that people said.

Mum had explained it to me it on different occasions, especially when I would face opposition from a kid who had values that were daringly opposed to mine. We had, of course, got everything of the best. Mum made sure that her new husband would give us over and above whatever he had promised.

She had basically drained most of his savings in under a year, with demands for a new house and her other luxury expenses. Catching my mother injecting herself or popping some random pill happened much too often to even think it was abnormal. There were times, at the end of the month, when she would exhaust Uncle Nazir’s savings, and then, in her desperation, she would basically take anything she could get hold of. The poor man would come to our new house less and less, and the look on his face would just give it all away. I only knew the half of it.

Secretly, I felt sorry for him. I liked him, in a completely unromantic way. It was surprising, because with Mum always either putting men down, or looking for the next one who she could get something out of, I didn’t expect it. But the truth was, he was a decent man. Different from the other two men who Mum had made me meet on previous occasions, who always had ulterior motives. He had a softer side to him that made me feel like I actually had a real father. And then my mother, as always, would turn the whole situation around to get me on her side once again. She couldn’t risk me finding comfort in anyone else but her.

“All men are the same,” she would mutter, her face purposely distorted to show her disapproval. “It’s just you and me, Hannah. You and me. I know that no matter what, you’ll look after me, just like I’m taking care of you.”

I looked at her blankly. I didn’t want to make any promises, at that impressionable age. I still had my dwindling savings. I had found another place for it, just to make sure no-one got hold of them.

“See what I’ve done for you?” She gestured around her. “Just look. All this is for you, baby. This house. This life. These clothes. All this, I did for you.”

She was waiting for praise. For a ‘thank you’, maybe. The luxuries she had attained for us were all attributed to her own doings. For a moment, all I could think was that it was the biggest load of hogwash that I had ever heard.

It was a brief moment of realization that suddenly dawned on me. I had heard Khawlah talking once to her friend. Khawlah. I didn’t understand her, and neither did I like her… but it didn’t stop me from spying on her. They had these intriguing ideas about life that Khalid’s father had told him. It seemed like they lived in a different realm to us, with so much of gratitude and emphasis on thanking Allah.

My mum, on the other hand, never prayed nor showed any gratitude. She was relentless in her pursuit for the finer things in life. All along, as I had been watching the little girl from afar, I had learnt a thing or two. I just wanted some close up views. I wanted a glimpse into her life. I wanted to see a bit of the other side.

And of course, as expected, I watched her and her friend chatter incessantly about something so profound that I wished I could hear. I wished I could be there. And of course, I wished I was her. It was as if she had no worry in the world. At that time, I wanted to be just like her.

But it was only a fleeting moment of checking into her reality, and then it was gone. Because one moment can’t erase the past. One drop of purity in a toxic solution can never remove the poison. It doesn’t take a moment to eradicate the venom of the past.

And as I fixated on what Khawlah had, I forgot about being grateful, and the jealousy made a show. Of course, it was bound to come. And even as Mum told me all the things that I knew were probably the hugest lies a mother could tell her child, somehow, I couldn’t say what I knew was the truth.  I wanted it to be us against the horrible world. I wanted to believe that she had really done all this for me, and not to satisfy her own extravagant desires.

I smiled at her as she squeezed my shoulder, almost to assure me that she was for real. That was the moment that it all changed. A moment that transformed the innocent little girl into a manipulating young girl. The moment where I chose wrong over right. Darkness over light. The moment when I ignored what was so evidently pure and true, and opted for the skewed version that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

I was her daughter, after all, right? Her own blood. She never would do anything to hurt me.

Even when she left me alone with a man who she knew, just so she could get out to have her fix, she had still convinced me of too. It would make me stronger, she argued. It would build my confidence. She said it would get me to realize how unreliable men really were, when all I achieved in those torturous moments were more damage. More damage and more destruction.

Afterwards, she cried. When she finally came down, she cried and cried. She apologized. She said she would never do it again, as she clung onto me for dear life, begging me to forgive her. But it was too late. I was already broken inside. I stared back at her with an empty hopelessness, because we both already knew that the damage was done.

The years kind of passed by in a blur, and arguments, whispers and strained conversations had become a part of my life. I barely saw my father. Mama had convinced me that he hated me too.  I pretended not to care. Again, when Uncle Nazir divorced my mother, the bitterness I felt was indescribable.

There we were, once again, rejected and literally out on the street, because some man had decided that we weren’t good enough for him. My mother had, once again, proven to me that there was no-one else I could trust but her. It was never her fault. In her own torrent of drugs and rage, she made it clear that we would never depend on a man again. Talk was cheap.

And that was the precise time when ‘boys’ became interesting to me. Looking for the comfort I never got, I sought it. For some reason, she didn’t care about the guys I would meet. She didn’t ask where I had met them either. They were merely experiments for me. Learning from my mother, I had learnt to push a man to the limits, to get what I wanted. I didn’t hold back of myself, but my emotions, on the other hand, were always in check. I would never love a man, I convinced myself. To say I had trust issues was an understatement. I would never put myself through that.

And then, of course, in the most unexpected way, I was taken by surprise.

Seeing Khawlah again after so many years brought back so many memories. Some of them were good and some were just… dark. Really dark. Life hadn’t improved much since then. Numerous boyfriends had promised me the world, but I would bail on all of them at some point, never convinced of their empty promises. As usual, Khawlah had the best of friends and always got long with everyone perfectly. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had the perfect boyfriend too. Life was just unfair like that.

Being put in a school where most people were pretty normal, however, was good for me. I strove to fit in. I needed extra money too, and when I heard through a friend’s friend that someone wanted help looking after their kids, I thought it would be easy money. All I had to do was entertain kids for a few hours and I would get paid. It didn’t get much easier than that.

But there’s always a catch. I found out pretty soon that Khawlah had worked there too. That news broke my confidence as I witnessed her effect. That carefree happiness that she had… I could see it in those kids. They would not stop talking about her, and the amazing things she did with them. Here she was again, stealing what supposed to be my show. I was honestly sick of hearing about her, but I gritted my teeth and stuck it out, because I needed the money.

As for the lady I worked for, she was just freaking annoying. She acted like the entire world was about her stupid schedule. Obviously, I never showed her how stupid I thought she was. I was an expert at putting on a facade by then. I smiled and encouraged her to get herself on top of things, because I knew that more time would mean more pay.  I offered to look after her kids till late at night, if she had an extra class or a date night with her friends. I told her she needed to look good. I told her that everything would be all right when she got home, because I was there. I was good at convincing people. I was just as good at playing the good girl role, that I knew Rubeena wanted. It was just that matter how much I tried, she made it obvious that Khawlah was her favorite. And that was the moment that I finally cracked.

I didn’t anticipate it happening, until it actually did.

“Hello.”

I blinked as I snapped out of my thoughts, a little annoyed that I had been disturbed. The kids were busy with their evening shows and I was catching up with social media feeds as I kept an eye on them. Well, kind of. The two bigger ones were jumping on the couch, but they didn’t listen to me when I told them not to anyway. I had just started working on the evenings two weeks ago, so the evening behaviour was a little strange to me.

I looked at the stranger who had walked in,  and I tossed my hair back and smiled. It was what I always did when there was a male in vicinity, and if I wasn’t mistaken, this particular one wore a Rolex. That definitely meant something to me.

At that stage, I wasn’t sure who he was exactly. Maybe the boy’s father. Maybe another relative. He smiled back at me, as he watched the kids jumping around.

“Looks like they tired,” he said, raising his eyebrows and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

I shrugged, indifferently.

“Their mother makes them sleep,” I said, not prepared to go down that road. It definitely wasn’t in my job description. There were limits to how far I would go to make money. Or were there?

He nodded, and for the first time, looked at me with something a little unrecognisable in his eye.

Was it interest?

Of course. I knew that look.

“I didn’t get your name, sorry,” he said, still looking at me intently. “Which one are you again?”

I blinked, somewhat taken aback by his question. Which one?

That probably meant that he hadn’t met Khawlah as yet. Khawlah, who the kids wouldn’t cease to bore me with details about their exquisite adventures. Khawlah, who had reached such an amazing height of recognition for them, that even after she had gone, they didn’t forget her. Khawlah, who I had lived for so many years trying to chase her shadow, and discover, by some miracle, the things that made her so unique.

There was no need to be subtle about it. After all, the damage was already done.

“I’m sure you’ve heard all about me,” I said, with the most innocent smile I could muster. “I’m Khawlah.”

---

Dearest Readers,

A bit of a darker side to achancetochange. I sincerely hope that I have not been explicit in any detail in striving to bring in a few lessons before we end of these chapters that are also a part of Khawlah’s story. Please make Maaf for any shortcomings. I am always open to criticism. I will be highlighting the harms of free intermingling, and we can very evidently see them above. As parents too, we have so many responsibilities to bring our kids up with a good balance of confidence and modesty as well.

May Allah save us all from the fitan that has gripped our community. May Allah grant us sublime contentment.

In preparation for Ramadhaan, this week, Insha Allah, let’s try and bring in a little about the Sunnah of eating, as touched on in the previous posts. I will try to keep it short, simple and effective🌸

Eat in Three Parts

Nabi SAW taught his Ummah something to protect them from diseases caused by eating and drinking. He said, “The son of Aadam does not fill any vessel worse than his stomach. It is sufficient for the son of Aadam to eat a few mouthfuls, to keep him going. If he must do that (fill his stomach), then let him fill one third with food, one third with drink and one third with air.” [15]

How easy to practise!

 

#missionsunnahrevival 

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#revivetheSunnahofeating

Follow us on ig: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Twitter @ajourneyjournal

 

 

 

Destined Encounters

 

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

Zuleikha

The ties that bind us are impossible to explain. Some ties, were just meant to be. They defy time, space or logic. There’s no explaining it, until you understand the deeper meaning of  faith.

Because amidst a world that was parallel to ours… there were some souls that were chosen. Chosen to be special. Chosen to exert change. Chosen to just stand out.

It wasn’t a foreign notion, neither was it unheard of.

Sometimes, a person happens to meet someone whom he or she immediately loves and spontaneously develops some sort of affinity with. 

Basically, this means that Allah created souls and gave them their qualities. Those of similar qualities will easily be friends when they meet in this life, while those who have different natures are likely to be in conflict. This, in fact, accounts for endless cases of people getting along together when their apparent circumstances should have kept them well apart.

I smiled, thinking about my new friend as I switched the kettle on to make another bottle to feed my ever-hungry child.

”You’re looking better today,” Jameels voice said as he came into the kitchen, eyeing me out, just a little cynically. 

I blinked, slightly surprised at his perception. 

I didn’t think that Jameel was so tuned in to my feelings. Most of the time he seemed to focus on himself, and that’s what I had become accustomed to. I wasn’t used to him being all… considerate. 

I merely nodded. 

“You know I love you, right?”

Jameels voice was softer than usual as he sidled up to me. The sleeves of his shirt were folded up to his elbow and his hair was looking a little ruffled. I knew he had probably had a long day. 

I nodded again, swallowing hard. 

As one could imagine, things between us had become a little strained. I didn’t want to focus on it too much, and neither did I have the energy to. I kept my gaze on the markings on the bottle, making sure I was filling it right. 

“Leikha?” He said, and I could tell that he wasn’t going to rest it until he got a response. 

I turned slowly to face him, looking at my husband with an openness that I hadn’t attempted in months. 

“Where’s my brother, Jameel?” I said blatantly, not wanting to beat around the bush, and knowing that I had to ask.

It was the one huge thing that stood between us, and I hadn’t stopped thinking of it since the day Ahmed had disappeared. I knew that Ahmed knew more than he was supposed to, and that, for Jameel was a major threat. 

Jameel shifted uncomfortably, and then he frowned. 

“I swear, Leikha” he said openly, shaking his head. “I don’t know! I don’t know where he went to.”

”So you haven’t seen him?!” I challenged, my voice rising. “You haven’t even tried to track him down since that day?!” 

That day. That fateful day when everything just sort of crumbled. 

Jameels expression hardened as he narrowed his eyes. 

“The guy shot me,” he said, still sounding bitter. “He shot me, point blank. Of course I looked for him. I tried to track him down hundreds of times. I came so close, but he seems to be one up on me.”

Now it was my turn to narrow my eyes. 

I wasn’t sure if I believed him. 

“You don’t believe me?!” Jameel asked, raising his eyebrows. “Look here, let me show you.”

He was determined to get me on his side and I knew that he would go to great lengths to. He hastily opened the top button of his shirt, and subsequently, unbuttoned the next three. I wasn’t sure what it was about at that point, but as he slowly moved the shirt aside to reveal multiple red scalds right from his collar bone down to the bottom of his chest, I gasped. It looked pretty rough. 

“That was him,” he said heatedly, his eyes flashing. “He’s an animal. Can you imagine? A hot iron rod. Crazy!”

I knew Ahmed. Of course I did. I never did approve of his constant fight for power in our old neighbourhood. He had somehow earned a reputation for himself, and it seemed like he actually really could fend for himself. Despite thinking that Jameel had maybe found him and sorted him out by now, I was now a bit worried about my husband.

Ahmed was definitely tougher than I had thought. 

“Now do you believe me?!” He asked bluntly, watching me as I watched him. 

I blinked up and looked at his face, whilst he buttoned his shirt up again. It explained the high collars and button down shirts. Loose so they wouldn’t rub against the wounds. I didn’t ask him when or why. I didn’t want to delve into in more. I know it was a little selfish, but I was just glad that Ahmed was okay. 

“Are you still going to look for him?” I asked now, wanting to understand his reason for trying to find Ahmed. I wasn’t sure if it was for his own ego or not. Jameel didn’t often let people get away with things. He played hard. 

Jameel shook his head. 

“I wanted to find him,” he said, and he met my eye as he spoke. “I wanted to finish him. He got me down when I was at a low. But Leikha… you have to believe me. I don’t care anymore. I just care about you and my son. Really. I just want to make it all okay. I’m so sorry…”

His voice broke at that point, and I could feel myself losing my resolve. I didn’t want to stay angry. I didn’t want our marriage to have this huge rift that was becoming impossible to fill. I wanted to at least make it work. I wanted to try… and I wanted Jameel to try too. I wanted our lives to be different. 

My thoughts instantly went back to earlier that day, remembering the new friend I had found. It was no coincidence. I mean, it isn’t often that you meet random people at random places and you just hit it off.

She had given me a brief run down on her past and then tut-tutted for boring me with her medical history, as she took out her tasbeeh. I wanted to giggle. I could have said the same thing. I felt like spilling out my entire history to her too. She was actually such a lovely personality. So real… and slightly comical too.

And goodness. Why did I get them feeling that I’d met her before when I knew I haven’t?

“It was so lovely to meet you,” she had said, and I could practically see the sincerity in her expression. People like that, I knew, I didn’t meet often on this side of the world. She obviously was not from here.

I was outside the practice, waiting for my car to arrive, and she was leaving too. There was a single car waiting in the parking lot and I’m sure it must have been hers. 

I could see someone come up the steps, but they held back as she spoke to me. It was a simple case of pardah, that I knew he would never come forward. 

She paused, and I smiled back at her. I couldn’t express to her how grateful I was that I met her too. I was just sad that she had to go so soon.

The person who had been waiting for her slowly came up as she moved along, taking her bags. He was dressed in Sunnah attire, and it was so long that I had seen that kind of dress, that it actually felt strange. I assumed it was her husband. They had a small exchange as he gently took the baby, and I turned my gaze away, not wanting to pry. 

“Is everything okay?” I asked her, a bit concerned as I saw her hearing back my way. 

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I just…”

She trailed off as she looked at me with that openness that I had felt when I had just arrived. Like she knew me too.

“My husband keeps on saying that I shouldn’t do this,” she said, rolling her eyes, and I could see her smiling again. She shook her head, almost at herself.  “And I know he’s right. I promise I don’t do this to everyone, but I would love to see you again and this is the perfect opportunity…”

I was curious. She continued.

“I know this is so random and it’s not everyone’s thing,” she started, somewhat hesitantly. “But since you do stay in this area… will you be open to attending the Taaleem?”

The last part she said in a crazy rush, and although she wanted me to, she didn’t really think I’d agree.

Taaleem. A gathering of peace where I knew I would probably benefit. It was foreign to me at this stage of my life. I wasn’t sure if I even remembered what it entailed.

I hadn’t been in years. Last was with Foi Nani, way before I got married. Mama used to go almost every week before she got sick. It was part of the reason her and Aunty Radiyyah were such good friends. That was where they first met.

The doubts were plaguing my mind.

I’m not that nearly that calibre. I wasn’t the Taaleem type. I’ve sinned so much. I can’t do that as yet. Maybe when my baby was a bit bigger…

Excuses. More and more excuses. I could think of so many. I was inspired with every type of motivation to not attend.

But there was something about the way she was looking at me, with so much of expectation. It was like she saw something in me that I didn’t.

And of course, I didn’t really think I was ready to take that step and start attending Taaleem. I mean, who does?

I didn’t know what  I was even waiting for.  I had a feeling that Zaynah probably had the amazing ability to make people agree to things that wouldn’t have dared to… in their wildest dreams. Some people were just from another dimension, that they planted themselves within your inner being and just became a part of your conscience. 

And maybe she had a point. She didn’t know it, but maybe I just needed some weekly reminders to get my mind focused again. I wasn’t sure how she knew or what inspired her, but this was no coincidence.

I found myself nodding without even knowing it, and she hastily gave me an address that was her uncle’s house and said she would leave her contact number with Yusrah if I needed it. Yusrah, who worked at the practice. 

The name sounded familiar but I didn’t dwell on it as turned my attention back to Zaynah as she clasped my hands in her one free one, saying again how glad she was that she had met me, and then, just as suddenly as I had seen her, she was gone. Like a refreshing summer breeze, it felt so stagnant without her. Some people just had that inherent ability to change everything around them. 

I wanted that. I remembered her smile as she looked out and saw her husband waiting for her. She spoke with pure emotion. There were no reservations. No hidden feelings. Nothing that she kept bottled up, waiting to erupt. 

I wanted to make it right, as I looked at Jameel.  This new light that was shining from somewhere beyond the horizon was so bright that it illuminated my entire world. 

And sometimes it just takes a smile. Sometimes, it just takes a little forgiveness. Sometimes, you have to just put your own selfish feelings aside and take that little step to mend it. 

Everyone goes through tough times. Every marriage has its trials. Sometimes you feel like you are just going through the daily motions as a means to an end. Sometimes you are just waiting for your partner to pull the trigger and call it quits on the sacred bond.

But sometimes, you have to put your own issues and feelings aside and make it work. 

So I took the first step to break those barriers that had so methodically found a way into our lives. I looked at him with sincerity, hoping my smile would do its magic and give us another chance. And of course, when he returned it, I just knew that there was still a little light that was battling to stay on, somewhere within the troughs of our strained relationship. I knew that there was still a little hope. 

And of course, that wasn’t the end of the mission I had embarked on to change my li and work on my marriage. I wanted to do some introspection. To find myself. To seek Allah.

So I figured I’d attend the Taaleem, and that it would be okay to take the baby with.  After convincing Jameel a few days later that its part of a recommendation I got at therapy (which wasn’t exactly a lie), my possessive husband agreed.

The drive to the place Zaynah had given me the address for was closer than I expected, and I gingerly got off the car with baby in hand, feeling strangely nervous.

I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was meeting strange people. Maybe it was going back to the places where Mama’s presence always lingered. Maybe it was just hesitation.

I couldn’t place the feeling but I knew that there was no going back now. I didn’t want to feel awkward, so I adorned a plain black abaya set that I hadn’t worn in years, and I was glad I did. Simplicity was always the key.

I was glad that I wasn’t late, glad to have the chance to settle into a corner where Muhammed wouldn’t disturb anyone. I prayed silently that he wouldn’t have any outbursts from him, half-wishing that I had left him at home. I had just sat down in an invisible corner, when I felt a light hand on my shoulder, prompting me to turn around.

Of course, since I didn’t know anyone else here, the sweet little boy with his wide eyes was a dead give-away. His cute little gurgles today made me smile.

”You came,” Zaynah mouthed, because the first part of the Taaleem was already about to commence.

Zaynah was, in actual fact, lovelier than I had thought. I was seeing her for the first time, and I noted that she looked young. Maybe my age or just slightly older. She had beautiful features and a distinctive aura surrounded her. Peace. Peaceful peace. 

Honestly, although I always felt weird around them with their air of aesthetic arrogance, I wasn’t sure if any of Jameel’s family members could even compare to her.

And of course, I realised the triumphing factor here. It wasn’t just about looks or how physically beautiful someone was. There was a certain depth that shone from within, and that was where the root of true beauty lay. The beauty that came with a clean heart and deep knowledge of Deen was unique. That’s precisely what I had never understood before. It was just… light. Beautiful and awesome light.

I listened in silence as she spoke, so relieved when Muhammed nodded off. I relaxed a bit and actually listened. I took the time to dissect every word that was said, because it felt like they were aimed exactly at me.

I honestly didn’t know that Zaynah was so knowledgeable. I had no idea that she spoke so beautifully. That was the thing about coming here when you had reached rock bottom, and I was so glad. The advices were golden and the Ahadith that were read were so apt. And it was like the other lady said. We didn’t understand the life of our Nabi SAW. We didn’t understand just how special his life was. We didn’t understand the sacrifice that the Sahabah made to bring Deen to us.

Because although they left their homes, families and everything they had know their entire lives to spread the Deen, they had made the ultimate sacrifice. I never thought of it this way until the lady mentioned it, so beautifully and with so much of love.

Imagine, after meeting and spending time with the last Prophet SAW, realizing his awesome worth and being in his glorious company, they then had to make the ultimate sacrifice. They than had to make a life-changing decision. To leave their life as they knew it and spread the one true Deen, or to be selfish and keep it to themselves. To stay in the Prophet SAW and enjoy his Mubarak company for as long as they could. As long as he was alive. They not only made the choice and left everything they knew, including their property and families… but they had to leave him. They had to leave Nabi SAW.

With heavy hearts,  they had to walk away, with the sole ambition  of spreading Islam, and bringing it to unworthy people like us. People like me.

I couldn’t imagine that. I couldn’t stomach that sacrifice. I made intention. I was going to try. What better way to recognize and pay tribute to Nabi SAW than to revive his Sunnah? I had to make an effort, even if its just on one. 

I let out the breath I had been holding as the last part of the Taaleem concluded, and the hustle and bustle started. I took a few moments to collect my thoughts, trying to understand how this gathering should impact on my life , and reflect on what I can change. It was simple. I just needed to take small steps. I just needed to show Allāh that I really wanted to change.

And then there was the beautiful part which Zaynah took on to speak , and honestly, it just hit home for me. It was so simple, but honestly, I felt like it was meant just for me. I wanted to ask her … how did she know?

I mean, I knew all of it. I knew the beauty that Allah promised. I knew what Allāh was. I knew what HE offered. He owns the entire universe…. The heavens and the earth. Everything between the heavens and the earth. Everything beneath the heavens and the earth. Every cell in our body.

Everything belongs to Allah. Everything, Allāh brought into existence. It is existing, solely on His orders. Once it is in existence, it cannot be more than what HE wills. When it is still, it cannot move. When it is moving, it cannot be still.

And we know everything is in the hands of Allah… But do we recognise it? Allah guide whom He wills, and Allah deviates whom He wills. Everything is in His power… despite intelligence, despite affluence…. Despite wealth and despite power.  There’s just One Controller.

The thoughts were bewildering to my own mind. I was inundated with the amazement of it all.

Allah guides whom He wills. Allah guides who HE wills. Guidance has no other condition. No preference to wealth. No priority to status. No other controller, besides Him.

One Controller. One Maker. One Breaker. One Power. And He brought me here, right now. Right now, He chose me to be here, and He brought me to this gathering of nobility so I may find Him.

I could not swallow it. I could not even fathom it. The feeling was so euphoric that I could feel my palms getting clammy and my heart beating like never before.

Zaynah was busy offering kajoor (dates) to the ladies who had come, before they left, and I too got up as Muhammed starting wiggling, trying to control my own emotions as I moved away from the crowd.

I hastily started making my way to the door, hoping not to catch Zaynah’s eye as I left. I wanted to leave unnoticed. I wanted to just take it all in. To let it settle, and get it further under my skin. How did I explain to her what kind of life I was coming from? How was I going to make it right?

And just like that, when I felt that inclination to change my life and set everything right again, I knew that my Duaas would already come true. I knew that my wishes would be answered.

Because as I moved away from the crowd of ladies to gather my things and take a breath before I moved on, I didn’t expect what awaited me. I knew that I had to first take the step to change,and everything else would follow suit.

I just didn’t expect it all to start so soon.. I just didn’t expect the surprise that was waiting for me as I literally stepped out the door.

Right there, as I finally lifted my gaze to search for the car that was going to take me home, stood the person who I had been aching to see for the past few months. The guilt had been torturing me since he had gone. The emptiness in that corner of my bruised heart was still palpable.

I sucked in my breath, as my gaze steadily settled on my this soldier who I never thought I’d see again. Although he looked like a different man, and his entire appearance had changed, drastically, I would have recognized him from miles away….

After all this time… there were so many questions that needed to be asked, and so many answers we needed to know.

The pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and although we still had a long way to go, somehow…

I had a feeling that it might actually all turn out okay. 

---

Authors note: 

Dear readers, 

A little bit of a reminder for us all, especially myself. Whilst writing this post, I couldn’t help but remember the Sunnah revival Mission that was part of the past blogs. It definitely impacted my life, and I had an idea that it may not be completely futile to start it off again. With Ramadhaan around the corner, may be beneficial as a reminder. Any thoughts?!

Always appreciate the feedback. 

Much love, 

A