Chasing Sunsets

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 89

I’ve often heard people saying to follow your head over your heart.

But is it not your head, that logically gives you the reasons why someone may be right or wrong for you, and is it not your head, that replays the sweet memories over and over again?

The same brain is what causes those images to flash before you, like a high definition lens, when years later, you’re feeling most nostalgic.
The same brain, will be your sponge, and your storage device, as the precious moments of those beautiful sunsets, the romantic moments, and even your entire life passes by without you realising that you were really and truly making the most beautiful memories…

We don’t ever see each moment for what it is, until we’re forced to open our eyes to its beauty.

I switched my gaze from the canvas I was working on by my cottage window, to my husband who walked in the distance, immediately putting my brush down and watching his confident stride, donned in his working gear, out in the glorious sunshine.

I turned back to my painting, glancing at the little cottage I had single-handedly spent the day cleaning.

I bit the end of my paintbrush, trying to decide what colour to use next. It didn’t quite matter though, because whatever I would choose, nothing here was fixed or set in stone. Unlike life, things on a canvas could be easily changed, tweaked or resolved. When things around me didn’t make sense, I knew that on a blank canvas, I could somehow make it make sense.

I sighed, trying to drown out my thoughts that evaded me.

The picture of the beautiful but fiery sunset over an ocean that made jaws drop, was doing nothing for my peace of mind, but it was good to have something to focus on. I wanted to capture the beauty of something beyond now, and to be able to control the end result. I wanted to capture this beautiful sunset.

One that I’d never really seen. One that I wished that I could, one day, witness. I wanted something for my home- our home- that would stand out. Just a little something that captured all the colours blooming in my heart when I remembered how blessed I was, despite the trials that sometimes broke us.

It didn’t matter how basic our home was. How many chips our tea pot had on it. How patched up our curtains were.

Mohsina had wealth saved for a rainy day, a fancy apartment, multiple helpers and every other luxury she wanted at her disposal, but she couldn’t be with the two people she loved most in the world.

Being here with Zubair was the most treasured thing for me and there weren’t many moments I forgot it nowadays.

And I missed my sister too. Seeing Mohsina on Eid day was something that I thought would appease me, but instead, I just felt more confused after. I should have known better. Mohsina never broke, even through the most stringent circumstances.

Now, she seemed, surprisingly, numb. As if she hadn’t just been through the most heartbreaking kind of ordeal that broke her once beautiful home. Nani had plenty to say about why she was the way she was, but I really didn’t want to think about that right then.

It had been a week since I’d seen her and it was as if she had entered an entirely different phase of her life. The tell-tale signs were all there but till then, I chose to ignore it. I had messaged her earlier that day, hoping for some kind of assurance that things weren’t gone completely south as yet… but it had left me at a loss too.

Mosee, I miss you. When are you coming to visit? Hows my Zaidoo? When will I see him? 

I missed Zaid. So, so much. I wanted to wrap him up, hold him tight and keep him forever.

And I knew that between us and Zaid, she would always choose him and his dimpled thighs. I mean, who would blame her?

Since he started taking formula full- time, he was really bulking up. She saw him every day, without fail, and even though I understood… with every day that passed, I really felt that she was slipping away from us too.

Her reply only came now, hours later.

I saw him earlier. He’s teething so was a bit whiny. At the lawyers now to sort out some paperwork. Will chat later x 

I like how she slipped in the lawyer bit there without really raising any suspicions.

I was sure that she was at the office more than I liked and probably more than Hamzah felt comfortable with. I knew that she had things to sort out, but after knowing what Maahira had said about Faadil, I got the feeling that he had lured her there for his own reasons, and not for her best interests. I had a feeling that she was barely even aware of what he was even doing.

I wanted to ask her if her ex-boss was around. If he had helped to drop charges against her. If she really thought that she would pull herself out of this through the help of people alone. Also, if she had finally called her sister-in-law Saaliha who was waiting for her to chat to her.

Saaliha had even messaged me in the week to tell me that something huge had happened with Rabia and Hamzah, but Mohsina hadn’t bothered to even check what it was. I knew that Rabia had been acting suspicious, but it was as if Mos really just didn’t care anymore, and it made me really concerned.

“Hey angel.”

I dropped my phone and looked up, watching him smile big as he entered our humble abode and came toward me, leaning down to peck my cheek while I grinned back at him, my heart doing all the usual backward and forward flip things it still does when my husband entered the vicinity.

But I didn’t forget. The thoughts were always at the back of my mind. I wanted to ask Zubair. I wanted to ask him if he had any more information on Faadil. If he had verified that Faadil was actually looking to cause problems and was after my sister. Basically, if he had proven anything else that would help to get Mohsina and Hamzah back together. If he wanted some help with making it work….

I just couldn’t seem to understand why he had just given up the way he had, after things went sour between Hamzah and Mos.

But I knew that I had to force myself to play it cool as he moved toward the kettle and switched it on. In time, I will bring up the topic, and get him to tell me everything he knows.

“Fast going okay?” He asked as I nodded, looking at the time as he opened the fridge to take out the dates for our iftaar.

He was amazingly sweet and thoughtful. Because we had been keeping Shawwaal fasts intermittently, Z did the iftaar preparation with the Kajoor and water and was never fussy about what I managed to put together for us afterward.

”Jamz,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as his face gave away signs of slight unease. “Can we chat?”

”Everything okay?”

I hid my emotions well as I turned away from the painting, watching him pull on something more comfy before he looked at me.

He nodded. Then shook his head. Then looked at me with resignation and sighed.

”Is it about my sister?” I asked quietly. “Because she’s been acting really, really strange…”

I had completely forgotten about how out of sorts she was behaving after dropping Zaid off. She had mumbled something about feeling unwell, said she would see us later and then never came back. We hadn’t seen her since and Nani did not let it rest. Every day that she avoided us, meant Nani would have something more outrageous to say about my sisters whereabouts.

”No, sweets,” he murmured, almost looking troubled as I said it. “It’s something else.”

“Is it to do with your father?” I asked him, remembering my other mission. Remembering that I was supposed to somehow be saving him from himself, if I couldn’t save my sisters marriage.

“Listen angel,” Zubair said, straightening, and I could already tell from his face that he didn’t want to. “I know you mean well, but no. It’s actually about you and me. I want to take you somewhere. Anywhere. Just get out of here for a bit… have a break. We haven’t been on any getaway and I think its way overdue.”

”Oh,” I said, liking the sound of a honeymoon too because it would mean I could obsess over him more, but also, I was still thinking about all the things he needs to do here, at home. “Where will we go?”

”An old friend has a house on the west coast, and it’s got all the best hits of nature and fun. Beautiful sunsets too.”

He gestured to my painting as I watched him.

”Okay sure,” I said easily, a plan already popping into my head. I was happy wherever. Whether we were here or in Timbuktu, it didn’t make a difference to me. All I needed was my husband and I would be good. “But I just want you to think about meeting your father before we go.”

Zubair sighed, shaking his head.

“You don’t give up, do you?” He said, rubbing his forehead vigorously, almost as if he was stressed out. “You do know my father probably won’t want to see me?”

”That’s not true!” I shot back, crossing my hands over my chest. “How can you say that? He’s the only parent you had. You said that he loved your mother. Of course he would want to see you.”

He smiled as I said it, and I already felt like a child. For some reason, he always seemed so much wiser. He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, almost as if he was onto me and my scheming ways.

”You are up to something,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Did Nusaybah put you up to this? Is this what it will take for you to come away with me?”

“No and no,” I shot back, wiping my hands on my apron and walking toward him, probably looking like a canvas myself, as I clasped my hands in front of me. “I just want you to sort things out. You’ve done so much to rectify yourself. You’re a changed man. I’m not up to anything. I just have a feeling that this is the missing piece in your life.”

It was true. He reminded me of the Sahabah, who had seen the light of Islam after being lost in the dark for so long. He had come back with a fervour, knowing he had done so much wrong, and wanted to set it just as right.

It reminded me of the story of Wahshi (RA), and about how he had killed the uncle of Nabi (SAW), Hadhrat Hamzah (RA). The guilt of what he had done had eaten him to such an extent that he knew that just as much bad that he had done before Islam changed his life, he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t rectify it all after Islam came to reform him.

Nabi ﷺ had recited the verse, “Say, “O My servants who have wronged their souls, never lose hope of Allah’s mercy. Verily, Allah forgives all sins. Undoubtedly, He is the Most Forgiving, the Most Merciful”” (Qur’an 39:53).

Upon hearing this verse, Wahshi (RA) accepted Islam (recorded in Hayaatus Sahaabah and Tabarani).

After the demise of Nabi ﷺ and in the khilafah of Abu Bakr (RA), a few individuals claimed prophethood. Amongst them was Musaylimah Al-Kaddhab and his wife, Sajah. Abu Bakr (RA) declared war against Musaylimah, which became known as the battle of Yamama. In this battle, Wahshi (RA) killed Musaylimah using the same spear that he killed Hamza (RA) with. He remarked that this is in lieu of that. I had killed a great person and now I have killed the most wretched. I hope Allah will atone that evil deed, through this good deed.

And it was so typical of those great men who had changed their lives for the better. They wanted it to be a permanent change. Something that made an impact. As much evil as they had done wrong, they wanted to rectify it with just as much good.

Ans just like he wanted to help other people, I wanted him to make this right with his fast. I wanted him to be better, to feel better. I just had to use strategy for this case, because he didn’t feel that it was worth his time.

He grinned as I approached him, no regard for the mess I was looking like as he hugged me to his chest, while I tried to give him my doe-eyed face.

“I know you mean well,” he said softly, the green in his one eye a little more prominent today as he looked at me. “But this is not a good idea. There is way too much of history for us to just kiss and make up.”

I pouted, a little more severely this time, evidently not happy with his answer as I pulled away.

“But why?” I asked, my heart feeling pained as he turned away from me too. Like the topic was closed and there was no opening it. “He’s your father. Nusaybah said that he wanted to see you and-“

”Well, I don’t want to see him,” Zubair cut in, his jaw ticking as he walked toward the window and stuffed his hands in his pocket.

I sighed, wondering what his beef was. He refused to tell me, even after over a month of being married, he had barely opened up to me. Okay, I wasn’t being fair. He had told me a lot. But not everything. I was greedy.

I wanted all of Zubair, but what he gave me was just bits and pieces of himself that I was struggling so hard to put together and make whole again.

“Tell me why,” I pressed again. “Why you are so against it?”

“Because,” he said uneasily, still looking out the window.

“Because what?” I asked, throwing my hands up in the air, feeling like I was nagging my head on a wall. “What did he even do?!”

“Because,” he said, turning around again, his face looking like a kid. “He was supposed to shelter me and he threw me to the wolves!”

While we had spoken about everything else, about his mother, about the people who would come home after, about his fathers financial crisis, this was the most he had given me about his father’s relationship with him, and though I was grateful, it just wasn’t enough.

”Explain,” I said softly, taking the opportunity to seat myself in the chair behind me, and picking up the paintbrush once again. I just needed something to do with my hands. If I got closer to him, I would end up comforting him, and then I would get no more information. I really needed him to talk. “Please.”

Zubair looked away, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and I could tell that it brought back memories for him. Bad ones.
Ones that he wasn’t so willing to share. If killed me to have to sit there and watch him relive them.

“You ever wondered why I went to work for my uncle so easily?” He asked, his eyes still not meeting mine. “He obviously had earned himself a reputation.”

“Yes,” I breathed, wanting to know more, considering the circumstances. I thought that he needed the money and that was his motivation. His father was in a deep financial fix for a while before Nusaybah got married. That much, he had told me about. About how he would sometimes work doubles shifts. About how Nusaybah tried to earn money before their father said that she needed to look after him.

”We go way back,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to shake off memories. “He has something of mine. Lots of it. When I was seven, my father would send me to him for a month every summer holiday. His wife was my mother’s sister and she never had kids. She used to beg me and Nusaybah to come. I knew that… in her own way, she loved us. The thing was…. She knew that her husband had violent tendencies, but she never thought that he would ever channel it into a kid. She was wrong.”

I swallowed as he moved away from the window, sitting down in front of me, intertwining his fingers together as he did, and I could already feeling my heart contracting at his evident pain.

“Did he hurt you back then?” I asked softly, leaning forward to touch his hand comfortingly. He ran a hand through his hair as his expression changed. “Physically?”

I knew that his uncle had slapped him around when he was working for him, in the earlier years. But after Zubair got older and taller than his uncle, he stood no chance with him.

“My aunty would work,” he said steadily, not answering my question, his unusual eyes focusing on me. “He would starve me and tell her that I ate two meals during that time. When supper time came, he’d find a reason to send me on some errand. I knew what he was doing. He said I would get a meal when I finished my task.”

I bit back a gasp.

“What were the tasks?” I asked, my voice choking my throat as I wondered about how people could be so horrible.

What a terrible thing to do to a little child. What an absolutely helpless feeling to have, as a little soul, wondering who on earth would save you from this treacherous human whose care you were under.

”He wanted me to fight,” Zubair said, squaring his shoulders boldly as he looked up at me. “And win.”

“And so you did,” I said flatly, feeling like all the wind was knocked out of me. It wasn’t rocket science.

The scars were preoccupied enough. The elongated ones that he was always self conscious about. That’s where they were from.

Tears pricked my eyes as I remembered the first time he had tried to stop me from seeing them. How he had covered up as soon as light entered the room. He didn’t want me to know that this was his past. I hated knowing that he had been hurt the way he had, and the man who had done it was still walking around as if he deserved to.

“When you haven’t had a proper meal in days, you’ll do anything for a promised plate of food,” he said, shrugging, his face giving away tell tale signs of the torture. “You learn to appreciate whatever you have.”

That was so true. Zubair was someone who never wasted a single bit on our plate. He would suck every bone dry. Every grain would be eaten off the dastarkaan, even if it meant him scraping it clean. No matter how horrible my cooking was, according to Nani, every morsel to him, was like he was eating food from some divine source.

“Didn’t you ever try and tell your aunty?” I asked, feeling exceptionally hurt by this revelation. “Or your father?”

“When my aunty didn’t believe me about him not feeding me, I gave up on trying to convince her,” he said simply. “She was easily convinced by him. My uncle was someone who would break someone before they could ever think that he was wrong. It was Nusaybah who had noticed how I looked after that summer I turned nine. She was the one who told my father that there was no way that she was letting me go back. My father was going through his own problems. He didn’t know how to deal with me or keep the family afloat. He was also struggling to keep the house. But I still feel he failed me. He could have checked. He could have cared. Years later, when I went back to my uncle, he didn’t stop me either. He just cut me off.”

I breathed out as he told me about how he walked out the house with a backpack after Nusaybah left for London, expecting his father to  stop him, but he didn’t.

“Im so sorry, Z,” I said quietly, tears streaming down my face as I felt my heart breaking for him. “I wish that I could make it all better.”

Not everyone has life easy. We never appreciate the ease we have… the security and comfort our parents so naturally give us.

Zubair shook his head, his hand cupping my face as his thumbs wiped my tears.

“Don’t cry, angel,” he murmured. “Just you, being here, makes me feel like Allah is healing me, inside out. With all your warmth and your purity, you are so much more than I ever imagined. I love you.”

I smiled, my heart melting slightly, but the grief within was almost unbearable at that point.

I felt as if I wanted to wrap that little boy up and keep him safe from the world. While I was being pampered like a princess, playing with my dollhouses, with parents who spoilt me and my sister who sheltered me relentlessly, 8-year-old Zubair was literally fighting battles to put a meal in his tummy.

“Have you ever told anyone about this?”

I wanted to know. I hated to think that after so many years, I was the only one he had ever confided in.

“I’ve never told someone that I loved them before,” he said, a small smile on his face as he nudged me, causing me to offer him a small smile at least.

I blew him a kiss, knowing that he was skirting away from the topic I was drilling him about, but also feeling a heaviness in my heart at his confession. Despite being honoured, and swooning over his words, it was just so sad that he had never experienced the feeling of loving, and being loved back. It was like he always kept an arms length, even from his closest family.

His story… his past.., It wasn’t just some random thing that had happened. It was something that had shaped him and moulded him into who he is.

“It’s been a long journey,” he said after a few seconds, taking a seat next to me, as I glanced at him, and picked up my paintbrush as he mixed some orange with some red. The sunset needed a little bit of tweaking, and though Zubair was no artist, I wanted to see what he would do with it.

“I know,” I said quietly, leaning my head on his shoulder. “But it’s not over yet.”

”I want to take you to see an actual sunset,” he said into my hair. “Far away from everyone else. From everyone here.”

”But I like our home,” I said, meaning it. “The people here. I don’t mind just staying here and being with you.”

”I know,” he said, a slight urgency in his voice. “But I think we need to go.”

I shifted slightly, trying to watch his expression. His jaw was rigid, and his eyes were darkening with worry.

“Is that a warning?” I asked, my heart beating slightly faster as I worried what could be troubling him so much that he needed to leave the farm. “Does your uncle know where we are?”

He said nothing as he continued to paint, and I continued to watch him. I didn’t need him to answer me to get the message.

“Did he threaten you?” I asked, my voice a little more high pitched than usual. “Zubair, please tell me, if he’s out to get you, we can do what you think is best. Is it to do with Mos and Hamzah? You just have to tell me what’s going on.”

The way that he was so focused on the painting was scaring me.

It took him a few seconds, before he put the brush down, and looked at me.

“You think I’m worried about me?” He said quietly, tipping my chin up slightly as he met my gaze.

I shook my head, then nodded, feeling like I was in a daze as he made me look up at him.

“Jameela, I don’t care what he does to me,” he said, his eyes fixed on me as he spoke. “He can hang me by a butcher hook and chop off all my body parts, for all I care. I won’t put it past him.”

The thought made me sick with disgust. Why did he have to be so bloody graphic?

“Zubair, no, please don’t say those things,” I said, shaking my head.

”I told you it doesn’t matter what he does to me,” Zubair said, his expression dead serious. “But Jameela, he didn’t threaten my life. That’s why we need to pack and leave.”

I looked at my husband, completely confused, and then looked at the painting in front of us, taking in the colours that had been blended so perfectly together, to present the perfect blaze of a bloody sunset.

And that’s when he finally uttered the obvious part, that I had been missing all along.

”Jameela, he wants to get me where it will hurt most,” he murmured, his voice breaking with every word he spoke.

The next sentence was almost a whisper.

“He threatened to kill you.”

---

Mission Sunnah revival: Sunnah of Duaa

Along with our Shawwaal fasts, lets try and keep to the Sunnah of duaa, even after Ramadhan. 🤍

Begin your dua first with praising Allah and then by sending peace and blessings upon His messenger ﷺ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Advertisement

Moments of Vulnerability

Bismihi Ta’ala

Zubair

Part 80

The world at large, but more specifically our menial lives, revolve around an information overload where the accounts and stories of awe-inspiring bravery have ceased to feature.

Whilst we get off on dopamine hits induced by arrays of pointless pictures on our Instagram feeds, we are starved of the splendour that once filled the pages of history.

The desire and restlessness that once raged within the hearts of the Sahabah have become text book incidents to us. We are foreign to a concept that entails extinguishing personal desire for lighting a longing for everlasting pleasure.

Martyrdom has, and always will be, the masterpiece of all man’s greatness. Their agonising and heartbreaking stories are a light amidst the darkness of this world. Meeting Hamzah for me, brought this alive. His spirit brought out something in me that stemmed from a selfless courage… something that I had forgotten about over the past few months.

And whilst every martyr attains unmeasurable closeness to Allah Ta’ala, the honourable title of Sayyidus Shuhadaa (RA) was awarded by Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) only to the highest and most honoured of all of them… Sayyidina Hamzah (RA). There was something about meeting my real life Hamzah, that kindled a flame within me once again… a flame that would serve to rage on, to face everything head on, fearlessly, like the men I’d read about and always admired.

Despite the monster I had once been, I knew and lived the rule that nothing is as more important but the pleasure of Allah… and now, I was done with being scared, slinking away and hiding from the past.

I pulled out the dagger I kept with the saying that filled me with vigour and determination, placing it on the bed next to me to remind me that like the blessed heart of Nabi (sallahu alaihi wa Sallam) was uneasy with a desire and craving for martyrdom, so too should mine. Nothing should scare me.

It was a risky step I was scared to take before this, because if my uncle had to get wind of it, it could be dangerous. Yes, I felt scared and vulnerable right then but I needed to overcome it.

How long was I going to continue being scared for? Taking this step with my future wife, going all out to embrace what would be half my Deen, should never make me feel more fearful. In fact, it gave me that much more strength to do the right thing.

“Joe,” I said roughly into the phone, pulling on my best jeans and watching myself in my sisters room mirror cynically as I got ready. I looked so unlike the man I felt like inside. I could practically feel my heart pounding as I thought of what today would hold. “I need your help and you can’t say no.”

I had been at my sisters apartment from the morning because she insisted, and I couldn’t say no when she asked. She wanted to spend my final moments before marriage with me, but she was so busy fussing over wedding things that she was barely present.

”Your uncle says you’re not with him anymore.”

It was a simple sentence from the guy at the end of the line, but just hearing it from him made me angry.

So angry, despite knowing that I would hear that and trying to kill that very anger that would come up every time I heard of of my uncle meddling in my life.

What right did my uncle have to interfere in my relationships? Yes, we used Joe often for his contacts and to sort out paperwork we would need to figure out who the rats in our networks were, but I was the one who introduced Joe to him to do that for us. Joe and I were school friends before we did business together. We go way back.

It wasn’t that I admired my past, but it was what it was and every person I had met along the way had helped shape me into the person I was.

”Does it matter?” I muttered, plopping on the bed as I put the phone on speaker and pulled on the new pair of spotty socks Nusaybah bought me to wear with my new Kurta.

”I’ll call you back,” he said after a few seconds, and I wanted to give him a mouthful about shoving me off, but I knew I shouldn’t.

“You’d better,” I threatened mildly, knowing that Joe didn’t say things that he didn’t usually mean.

And it was just as well that I was in good mood that day, because I might have taken the half hour drive to his place to shake him up instead.

But today… I had more important things to do… and I couldn’t believe that this day had come.

That I was actually marrying her. The girl that I had been trying so hard not to freak out by ogling her as she would be sitting at the garden bench reading, or tending to her new plants, or working diligently in the coffee shop kitchen as if he life actually depended on it. I had spent months pretending to be ignoring her, when all I wanted to do was go up to her and ask her if their was ever a possibility of this day ever coming.

And here it was. I had told her that I was striving to be better, but I was having to dig up pieces of my past to do so.

I breathed in, knowing that I had to be forceful in my tactics now, even when I hated it. I hated this side of me that was all hard and rigid and rooting for a fight, but I hated the other side more. I hated knowing that now, I would have more than just myself at risk. Knowing that I couldn’t always control things and other people close to me made me feel vulnerable like never before.

I splashed the water in my face and made my whudhu, hoping to calm my fiery spirits with it. It went without saying that I was a little edgy. I needed to resort to my Lord… to sit on that Musalla and pray to Him, the Most High, because come what may, He was the only One who held a solution. This was a big step but it was what I wanted.

I prayed with an aching fervency because I wanted this to all be okay. I wanted to tame the wild beast in me, to calm my spirits to someone who could actually be worthy of this new role that I was going to take in life. I wanted the people who were going to become my family to always stay safe and protected form what haunted me.

I wanted to change my old ways, and turn a new page in my life. I wanted to be worthy of a husband. Of a father, hopefully, someday too. A resolution that was way more than I ever imagined, but the aching need in me was persistent.

I wanted to be a sterling example, like Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was and forever will be. I wanted to be such that even when I face my uncle who had done unmentionable things to me, I wanted to be so good to him that he would be moved by my character alone. This was the journey that I was willing to take for my own betterment.

This family had inspired me. Jameela had made me want to change. She made me want to be better. It was by her acceptance of me that made me want to strive for even more now.

Character. It was the only thing that would define me now, and that’s what had been the trump card in her eyes.

My phone rang at that point, snapping me out of my thoughts and bringing me back to the present.

I needed to leave for the Nikah- my Nikah- in ten minutes, but I knew that every minute was precious.

Hamzah was trying not to disturb me this week but I knew that if I didn’t confirm that final thread of information that had just occurred to me that morning, all that I’ve been helping him with would be futile.

None of it seemed worth it if by the end of this, Hamzah and his wife didn’t work things out. There was no way that I could rest if I knew that there was something I could do to save their marriage, and didn’t.

I breathed our with relief as Joe agreed to my favour, and I tried convincing him that what I was onto was going to change someone’s life. Judging from the first time I saw Faadil, all those months back outside his apartment building, I could tell that he was up to something. The way my uncle spoke to Faadil, made me realise that that Porsche that caused the incident to erupt out of control was going to lead to much more than that.

And despite knowing that Faadil and my uncle had been in contact over the few months, I never really knew what the relationship was. I knew that my uncle worked with him to uncover money. When I cut myself off of him, I didn’t want to find out. But now, from everything I had found out, I had an idea that Faadil had framed himself to get back at Mohsina, and I just needed the final thread to prove it.

“I’ve tried asking around,” I said in a level tone, thinking of the conversation I had with Nusaybah’s best friends brother. “Ahmed can’t help. He would if he could but he doesn’t do this anymore because of his family commitments. I know it’s risky but you’re my last hope, Joe. I need to know how the evidence came to the knowledge of the company. I want to know if Faadil framed himself.”

If was the only thing that made sense. Yes, Faadils reputation would be at stake if he framed himself but if he dragged Mohsina’s name in it with him, it may be a completely different motive. If may either mean that he would try to shove all blame on to her, or it could be that they’ll go down together, which would help him to earn her trust and then rebound again.

The latter seemed more plausible right then and I knew that I had to tell Hamzah but there was barely any time left and I was going to be late for my own Nikah if I didn’t hurry the hell up.

I told Joe that Hamzah would pay anything for clearance of his wife’s name, and money wasn’t an issue. It seemed to do the trick.

We settled on a price and that’s how I found myself walking out to my brother-in-law Faheem’s car, after Nusaybah clung to me for at least 2 entire minutes for dear life, my mind trying to focus on what exactly was going down that day. She finally let me go with tears swimming in her dark eyes, and my niece tugging restlessly on her cloak.

”Smelling good,” Faheem commented in his swanky British accent as I finally entered the car. “You ready?”

Faheems voice was light but clear, almost jolting me out of my train of thought as he watched me from the corner of his eye. Him and my sister being here was more than I could ever ask for. I knew that my father wouldn’t come but I still hoped. I really wanted him to make an appearance. I had stopped by his place in the week and left an invite in the postbox. I knew he got it because I waited behind the next house wall to how long after he would come and take the mail I left every day.

I nodded as I watched him drive on, not really wanting to talk yet. After the Nikah, things would feel more relaxed. It was a low key affair. I asked for it to be as private as possible, because of how many enemies I had made along the way. My uncle had been trying to get hold of me and I knew that he had more work for me with promising financial incentives, but I was refusing to relent.

I wanted to leave that life completely, and start afresh with a purer intent in mind.

More than anything, I wanted this to stay out of my uncles knowledge, so I wouldn’t have to worry about protecting Jameela before we got married.

After marriage, I was sure to do anything to keep her safe from my history.

I breathed in as I looked ahead, drumming my fingers together as I tried to control my nerves. Faheem wasn’t much of a talker, which made sense, because my sister spoke enough for the both of them. I looked out the window, watching the cars pulling up for Asr salaah, feeling a pit in the bottom of my stomach, but not because of what lay ahead. I was worried. Scared that something may go wrong.

“Stop looking so aggro.”

Aggro. It was Nusaybah’s word that I never quite understood the meaning of.

I glanced at Faheem as he turned off the ignition, closing my eyes briefly as I tried to recollect my thoughts. There was so much going on in my mind. I needed to switch it off.

“I’m not,” I said, pushing the door open and meeting my brother-in-laws eye. “I’m just worried that things may not all go that smoothly. I have a reputation for inviting trouble. You know that.”

We were walking toward the mosque, and even with a handgun strapped to my ankle, I knew that I was always at risk.

And don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t that I was afraid of dying. Not in the way most people were.

I had faced it head on, seen it way too many times to be afraid that way. What I was scared of was what would come after. I was scared of how my Lord would deal with me, after everything I had done. I was scared that my repentance wasn’t good enough, or sincere enough. But in the same breath, I lived with the blossoming hope that in death, it was the only place that I would find complete freedom from the life I had lived in this deranged world.

“They’re just people, you know,” Faheem said quietly, his accent a little less pronounced as he lowered his voice. “People who have power in this world maybe, but don’t forget that Allah is in control of everything else and He sees you. He sees you, bro. He sees that you’ve changed and you’re trying to be better. You think he’s not going to take care of you when you’re taking one of the biggest steps to make it all right?”

I glanced at him as we entered the building, emotion welling up in my eyes as I shook my head, my heart now beating a little more steadily as I approached the place where I would read Salaah. I didn’t want to believe that I was worthy of anything good. I didn’t want to let myself believe that it would all be okay. For me, I rather expect the worst and then get surprised at the best…

And oh yes, I wished for the best. In every way, and my heart was filled with anticipation for what lay ahead as the Salaah commenced.

The Nikah was scheduled to be after Asr and as crowds came in for the prayer, and then left again, giving me a clear sight of Maulana Khalid as he spoke to someone ahead, I knew that the time for me to pull up my socks and get to the front was right then. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. People were mulling out steadily, and as I gazed at my shaky hands, I felt as if time had stood still.

And though I knew Maulana from when I was younger, he was well aware of my past and where it had led me, and now, he accepted me wholeheartedly without any judgement.

I could see Muhammed Husayn around the outskirts, and Jameela’s father approaching the front with two other men. Eyes were on me as I slowly walked up to the small crowd, knowing that this was going to be one of the most defining moments of my life.

I breathed in as I offered a greeting to them all, staying silent as Maulana Khalid introduced himself and then looked at me as if to check if I was ready.

And it was one of those moments when I seriously felt like throwing in the towel and running out of there, not because of what lay ahead for me, but because it only then when reality came crashing down on me like never before.

There was no one who deserved this less than I. My father wasn’t there, although I had hoped he would be. It was just a reminder that I would never be good enough. The truth was glaring at me as I watched Maulana hug my brother-in-law, who was also his cousin-in-law, and then turn to my future father-in-law with praises for me.

I couldn’t quite believe that I was hearing all these complimentary things coming from his mouth, where he spoke as if I was someone great. Hamzah was grinning stupidly as he said it, but I believed none of it when he pulled me to him, telling me that I was such an amazing kind of human for changing my life around the way I had.

All I knew was that this was all just for now, and when they found out what I was really like, they would quickly learn the truth about me. I didn’t know that they would look at me, as the Nikah started, with all this joy and expectation, and the only thing that kept me rooted to the spot was the thought of having a wife like Jameela who would somehow make this all make sense once again.

I wasn’t even sure how I got through the proceedings. I mean, I remembered the shivery nerves and the Maulana asking all the relevant questions. I had agreed, and I had said the binding words with a certainty that would define my life, but it didn’t change the fact that throughout it all, I still felt like I was floating.

I could feel my phone buzzing in my pocket as the small crowd came forward to greet me. I forgot about everything else for that time, living in the moment as everyone hugged and congratulated me as if this great achievement was all due to my own doing. The gratitude in my heart at that moment was insurmountable.

All I knew was that Allah Ta’ala had come through for us in a way that I never imagined. I was filled to the brim with amazement and my heart was literally bursting with pride as I found myself being guided out by my new brother-in-law, who was having a field day with Faheem at my expense.

”He’s ours now, bru,” Hamzah said with a smile as he slung his hand over my shoulder. I couldnt help but wonder how he was still smiling, despite knowing what would be the result of his own marriage very soon. “We’ll take over from here.”

Faheem grinned back, slapped my back and nodded his head.

”My wife says you’re welcome to him,” he said with a wink, looking at his phone. “No returns or exchanges.”

I knew they were joking but the tightness in my chest was still very evident. What if Jameela regretted this? What if the family realised that letting me into their little unit was the worst mistake of their lives?

The banter continued as we drove the short distance to the farm, me trying to keep my nerves at bay as we entered the farm driveway that had become home to me.

There were a few cars parked in the driveway, but knowing that this was going to be a small, private affair, I didn’t think too much of it. Winning Jameela’s Nani over was going to be a challenge, but I was going to do what it took. I could already see her from where we parked, and I couldn’t help but feel a wave of uncertainty overcome me as my father in law, Hamzah and Muhammad Husayn hopped off the car, and waited for  me to join. I already felt like part of the family and I didn’t deserve it.

I shook my head as I tried to dispel all negative emotions, doing the usual meeting and greeting with a few other family men who had just come in from the mosque.

Guided by Hamzah, I could feel his hand on my back as we waded through the people, making our way to Jameela’s family for a quick greeting, before Mohsina appeared from the passage behind the kitchen. I could barely remember who I saw, because I could think of nothing else besides the woman who I had been waiting for months to be alone with.

I wasn’t the type to get all flustered and tongue-tied. I’d seen way too much in life to let myself be swayed by such elementary thoughts.

After so long, it felt like my resolve was finally going to be diminished, and I was quite sure that once I saw her, all noble intentions of easing her into this new relationship would be dissolved.

Mohsina had already gestured to us to meet them down the passage, and as Hamzah gave me the go-ahead to pass through, it felt as if my legs were transporting me all by themselves. Somehow, being here, closer to Jameela, was giving me a courage I never knew I had. Without even realising how, I found myself in front of a room door, hearing about three female voices behind it, and knowing that I would probably have to wait a few minutes before they were entirely ready.

I knew women and their obsession with everything being perfect. After all, I had Nusaybah as a sister and semi-mother. I smiled as I heard a few hushed words and then a sudden screech, before muffled voices came closer to the door.

They were still dilly-dallying around the entrance of the room, and as I remembered my phone in my pocket, and the call I had made just before I went to the masjid.

The last thing I wanted right now in this moment was to be worrying, but Hamzah had done so much for me, and I couldn’t let him down. I knew that I had to be less selfish. I’d have to speak to him properly, to let him know about the latest developments, but as I slid my phone out of my pocket, all thoughts about Hamzah were already sidelined.

The messages were just a few, and besides Nusaybah’s emotional words that took me a full thirty seconds to scroll through, and a few other uneventful updates from Joe, my eyes immediately fell on the message from the unknown number.

I didn’t even have to slide it open to see it, and I could already feel my heart rate escalating. It was short, but it had the desired effect.

Congratulations son. 

I always hated when my uncle called me son. I wasn’t his son, and I would never be.
He never treated me like one, and this time, I needed to show him that I wasn’t that young boy that he used to lock up and control, to make himself feel strong.

It was at the point of my increasing fury that the door opened, and light immediately streamed into the passage my senses as I glanced up at the two females with Mohsina who were making their way out, stepping back and looking down again so they could pass.

I slid my phone back into my pocket, in anticipation for who I would be seeing next, but my consumed mind was still on the remainder of the unsettling message that I had glimpsed just moments before.

It was evident that it was a threat.

Heard that you are a married man now.
Enjoy it while it lasts.

---

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

Pieces of the Past

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 69

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

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

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

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

What he was, was something worse.

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

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

Clichéd caption:

Morning goals! *smoothie emoji*

And then the hashtags.

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

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

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

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

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

Not without looking as psycho as she was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. No. He didn’t.

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

How dare he? How dare he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like I would lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t done though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And reaching the house felt like how it always did.

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Must I open it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holding up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Source: Musnad Aḥmad 15191

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I really wanted to hear what he had to say.

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

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

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

And he did.

---

Dearest readers

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

Shukran to all for reading, loving all the comments.

Much Love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Wistful Waterfalls

 

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 56

When Hamzah had mentioned the word adventure…. Well, let me just tell you, I wasn’t quite prepared for the kind that he had in mind.

It was the barely even what a sane person would call ‘morning’, of the day we were scheduled to leave the farm, when he had woken me up at an insanely early part, and actually expected me to get out of bed.

And of course, I had pulled Zaid off of me, squinted at him like he was crazy, and rolled over again. But that was the thing with Hamzah. He was so good at convincing me that it was going to be worth it, that I could do nothing more than pull on some lazy track pants and a long sleeve modest top.

“No need for the Abaya,” he said with a wink, after I’d prayed my Fajr Salaah, and I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering where we were going. “It’s just going to be us. You and me. Young, wild and free.”

Euw. Cheesy was not the word. I was so perturbed that I didn’t even take the hint that was being offered.

I made a puke face and pulled on a sports hijab, because I could already see him tying his laces and I kind of figured this was going to be some sort of wilderness expedition. Not that I was the sporty type, but I mean; sportswear was still trendy and I was just happy that I had brought my brand new modest activewear set with me.

And I wasn’t even sure how it happened but somehow, an hour later, there I was, the usually city-inclined  @mostlymohsina, at an unmentionable time of the morning, trudging through the thicket behind Hamzah through some random bush, with really no true sense of direction or information of what was to come.

The thing was, this wasn’t on the itinerary. I wasn’t really prepared for actual trekking through hiking trails and unstable grounds. I wasn’t even mentally prepped for creepy crawlies and weird spikey-like caterpillar thingums that we saw on bushes. I had already shocked Hamzah senseless with a few high pitched screams, to the point where he probably was tirelessly immune to the drama.

Besides that, I was literally just trying to maneuver myself through carnivore-territory without trying to freak out to much about getting murdered or killed, while I avoided cliff like edges that I could fall off and tried to just focus once again on Hamzah’s retreating back, that was now about a metre ahead of me.

“Where are we even going?” I nagged impatiently, poking him in the spot behind his shoulder blades with a stick that I had picked up along the way. It was the third time I had asked and it wasn’t as if I was the easiest person to deal with otherwise, pokes and all. “And how much longer?”

“Stop being such a control freak,” he muttered now, shaking his head at my impatience. I honestly could not stand suspense. It was the worst part of this whole trip.

I mean, it wasn’t all bad. The smell of nature had actually become strangely pleasant to me, and the sound of nothing but my rapid breathing was unusually calming. The intensity of the suns rays had been brazenly shining down on me for about half an hour now, and as the thickness of the greenery lifted, I shielded my eyes as I watched how focused Hamzah was.

And okay… maybe I was being a bit of a grouch, but gosh, he seemed to love this kind of stuff.

And as we found ourselves on a slightly more elevated point, when the sound of flowing water awakened my senses with the parting of the thicket, the sight below us revealed a most breathtaking lush valley that literally made me stop in my tracks. It was beauty upon beauty and beyond that all… all we could witness was the unveiling of the extraordinary mountainous skies that Allah Ta’ala had once again brought alive through every beginning of day. And as I gazed downwards, the untainted vision of blue waters in the sunken valley was a soothing salve to my senses…

My word, it was enchanting.

The gorgeous stream below us was slowly revealing itself through the thicket, and as I peeped through to get a better view, Hamzah had paused for a minute, almost as if he was recalling something, when I heard his phone ring in his pocket.

Signal! Oh my goodness. It was a miracle!

And there was nothing quite like it to defer my attention. Finally, I could check on Zaid. And messages. And life, as I knew it. Civilians were accessible! Also, though Saaliha was very confident that Zaid would be perfectly fine, my own heart had been so uncertain about leaving him for the entire three hours Hamzah had predicted we would take…

My aspirational husband had already taken out his iPhone, glanced at it with a certain flicker of emotion on his eye, and then put it back in his pocket. It was almost as if he don’t want to bother with the matter that was at hand then, and instinctively, my hand delved into my own pocket, but before I could even slide it upwards to unlock, Hamzah’s hand had already grabbed my phone, hastily tossing it onto the thickened floor of a nearby bush .

”Oh no, you didn’t,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes and looking at Hamzah as a sly smile crept onto his face.

He was smirking at me, as the filtered sun shone on his brown hair, with not an ounce of remorse on his striking face.

“No technology,” he said blandly, looking at me, his eyes stagnant, as if to challenge me.

Damn. I was itching to to take some pictures too. This spot was simply spectacular. It had been an hour of intense hiking to get to this point. I had to have something to show for it.

“But I need to take some snaps!” I whined, looking absolutely distraught as he threw his own phone into the another cushioned part of the bush.

He was pulling off his backpack and his cap, and a little Elfbar gadget he used to smoke when lighting a cigarette became too tedious. He had pulled out some snacks that we had packed, tossing a packet to where I was, before he sat down, facing the other way and puffed away.

“To hell with snaps,” he said smoothly, sitting closer to the edge as I took a step back while smoke clouded the air. “You took enough. And I’m warning you… Reach for it, and there will be consequences.”

And of course, I was barely the type to care about consequences. Especially from Hamzah. I mean, honestly, what could he really do?

I needed those pictures. It was like something was summoning me. All that effort. How could I not have something to show for it?

And as I stepped backward again, turning around exceptionally slowly while creeping silently toward the corner where my phone had been stashed, as Hamzah puffed away incessantly, I barely even heard a single scrunch of leaves behind me. In an instant, hands had already grasped me by the waist as I let out a startled shriek, as Hamzah literally air-lifted me off the ground to drag me back to where we had just been.

”Hey, man!” I yelled at him, struggling vehemently while trying to ease his unyielding grip on me.

“I told you there would be consequences, woman,” he warned aptly as I squealed again, but I could hear the humour in his voice as I wiggled around, now feeling just a little intimidated by his threats.

My wiggling was all in vain, due to his steely grip. He was barely even budging.

And okay. Maybe he was serious. Maybe I should just apologise.

”I’m sorry,” I said, putting on a pleading voice and hoping with every ounce within me that he wasn’t going to do what I thought he was.

No. Of course he wouldn’t throw me into the lurking waters below. He would never.

We were only standing at the edge of the bank of one of the most intimidatingly lakes I had ever seen. As I yanked myself backwards to try and escape him, his grip on my hand had tightened even more, while he stepped forward, toward the edge, and gave me a cheeky grin.

”You’re insane!” I almost shouted, struggling even more as I recognized that defiant look in his eye that signaled that he was about to do something crazy.

I did not know that I married a complete psychopath.

And okay, I wouldn’t have minded if he fulfilled his own deranged ideas, but why on Earth was he dragging me into it?!

I still couldn’t believe that he was actually thinking of that, but from the way he was focusing on it, I knew that he was absolutely serious. I wasn’t even sure if the water was deep enough for the height we were at, or if he had done this before…

”Hamzah, no!” I cried, honestly terrified, looking down at the torrents of water and pulling back with all the might I could muster, but he was too strong for me. “This is not funny anymore! Stop messing around!”

“Messing around?!” He said with a smirk. “Come on, City Girl from the Farm. Learn to live.”

”No no no!” I screeched, knowing what was going to happen but trying to stall him. “Not now!”

”If not now, then when?!”

It was all he said, and with that and a massive tug of strength that felt like my knees being buckled from behind me, a few milliseconds of gut-wrenching free fall ensued just before foamy, icy waters surrounded and drenched me to the bone.

For a minute, the air was completely knocked out of me as I pushed my head above the current, barely able to formulate a response for what he had just done.

Oh my goodness. He had actually done it. We had actually fell into the bloody water. What was wrong with him?!

I literally wanted to kill him. Right here in these waters, and leave him here to get devoured by the crocodiles.

And as I gasped for air, spluttering and spitting incoherent venom at him in an attempt to reprimand him, his expression was completely unbothered as he continued wading through the waters expertly against the current to the middle of the lake.

Somehow, he had known exactly where we had to jump, to get the perfect landing… and the thought that this was all planned made me even more infuriated.

I was already out of breath and focusing on keeping myself anchored, and as he surfaced again, his face glimmering irritatingly with water droplets, I lunged forward to attack him. Hamzah, obviously exceptionally more capable in the water than I ever imagined, dodged me effortlessly.

“I c-can’t believe you!” I screamed, my face right in front of his now, still in shock as I flailed my one free hand around in the water. “Let go of me! I want to g-get out!”

I was livid. Raging with anger and completely unimpressed. I could see a mocking humour in his eyes, and it just infuriated me more.

“Relax,” he said calmly, but still not letting go. “Stop acting like such a girl. Why do you always have to be in control?”

“C-Control?!” I said incredulously, still slightly shivery although I was trying to warm myself up. “This is n-not about control! It’s about c-crazy men who throw women off cliffs!”

He laughed, finding the entire thing extremely amusing. I still wanted to hurt him.

I was still struggling to get my other hand free, but his grip was way too tight to even try. I was angry and frustrated and now irrevocably soaked. I honestly wanted to cry.

”I can’t believe that you did that!” I shrieked, hating every second. I hated swimming. I hated water. I hated feeling cold.

I still could not believe that Hamzah was such an obnoxious piece of crap.

“Can you just stop screaming?” He said, his eyes darkening now as he pulled me towards the centre of the lake. “People will think I’m murdering you.”

”You probably are, you psychopath,” I shot back, still angry and but feeling myself calming down, without even realising.

“Why would I even want to kill you,” he said abruptly, as if it was self-explanatory. “I don’t even have a motive. It’s not like you have any money I can even-“

He was cut off by the proximity of my hand to his face as he said it, but he was so good in the water that he had now grasped both my hands by the wrists to annoy me further.

He thought he was funny. This man had a cheek.

“You’re evil!” I screeched, my face thunderous now as he gave me a smirk. “How do you know I can even swim?”

“That’s why I’m here, Instagram diva,” he said obviously, not even turning to look at me as he floated along now, me in tow.

“Just trust me, and relax, aight?” He replied, squeezing my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me.

”You must be kidding me,” I said with a fake laugh, shaking my head at the idea of even trusting him after this.

And although I was fighting it, against my will, the cool waters were doing their thing with me. I attempted to ease myself through them with Hamzah’s guidance, and I couldn’t help but feel soothed by the white noise as the water current crashed against me as we moved along, and for a moment, I began to enjoy the feeling of water surrounding me.

There was no way I would admit it. I continued to struggle but it was to no avail. I still wanted a way out, but instead, we were just moving deeper and deeper in.

And just as I was about to ask Hamzah where on Earth he was going, all of a sudden, we stopped, and as I turned,  the cascading sound of a waterfall filled my ears, as I turned to look. Torrents of water were just ahead of us, falling from a height of about fifty meters, and sight of it – like a hue of paradise- immediately made me freeze in awe. I didn’t even struggle anymore, as we edged closer, my gaze fixed on the spectacular view ahead, as Hamzah also looked almost longingly at the glorious drop of water that towered ahead of us.

It was something like I had never set my sights on before. For a minute… just a crazy minute… I wondered how it would feel to be underneath there. For a crazy minute, I actually wished that Hamzah had pulled me right under, to feel the weight of that pounding water from the top of my head.

Goodness. Hamzah’s wild streak was rubbing off on me.

And then, just as quick as the thought entered, I berated myself for thinking of such insane things because there was no doubt that he would probably just do that…

I glanced at Hamza, knowing that was exactly on his mind when I saw the raw emotion in his eyes… but it was only when he spoke, that I knew exactly why.

”I was only ten when I came here for the first time,” his voice said in my ear, as I pulled myself far enough to create a distance between us, and close enough to feel safe.

Ten years old? Seems like the guy was always crazy.

The sound of the waterfall was now even louder than before as we approached it.

“It was with Liyaket,” he continued, and I looked at him as he said it, and my heart softened. “After Hifdh class one day, we stood there, where we were, and jumped in for the first time. Imraan warned us not to. He told my parents after and my mother almost killed us both. No regrets, though. It’s the best feeling in the world… and since then, well… every year it was our thing…  and we would make this our trademark.”

“Once crazy, always crazy,” I said, shaking my head as I glanced at him.

He smiled faintly, but continued.

“Want to know something?” He said, still now, as he watched the pounding of water ahead of us. “The last time we came was… well… we came just before Zaid was born. It was like two weeks before he passed away… that he told me he wanted to come back here…”

I was quiet now, as I heard Hamzah, not even daring to look at him. I was still a tad bit angry at him, but also… well… I was kind of touched that he had brought me here.

And why wouldn’t I be?

The beauty before me was absolutely breathtaking. There were no words I could use to describe a wonder so magnificent. I had never been to a place like this before. I always shied away from nature, engaging myself in worlds that were so far from real… when it had so much to offer me. I could not believe that I had lived my whole life without seeing this before.

There were no phones, no Instagram posts and no means for diversions, but for the first time in years, I felt inspired and awakened by the setting before me, with no need to filter or replay… and I could not attribute its greatness to anything but Allah Ta’alas magnificence.

“He told me that he had a dream,” he said quietly, as he inched a little closer. “And I didn’t even think anything of it. He had seen in it that he was swimming in blue waters and there were unusual white birds flying above him. I laughed it off, you know. Told him that the only birds we’ll get flying above him here were Mynahs and they would probably give him some blessings on his head…”

I swallowed, surprised at how emotional I was getting while he said it. What an awesome dream…

“You know what I imagine him doing right now?” He said quietly, coming a little closer and for the first time in the waters, I felt completely at ease. Even though I was holding on for dear life due to the strong current, at that moment, nothing felt more safe than being right there.

I turned to look at him, because the sound of the waterfall was getting even louder now. We were approaching it from the side and he paused for a moment, droplets of water glistening on his beard, before he spoke again.

“Every time I read that ayah, it’s only he who comes to mind:

…As for those who believe and do good, We certainly never deny the reward of those who are best in deeds.

أُو۟لَـٰٓئِكَ لَهُمْ جَنَّـٰتُ عَدْنٍۢ تَجْرِى مِن تَحْتِهِمُ ٱلْأَنْهَـٰرُ يُحَلَّوْنَ فِيهَا مِنْ أَسَاوِرَ مِن ذَهَبٍۢ وَيَلْبَسُونَ ثِيَابًا خُضْرًۭا مِّن سُندُسٍۢ وَإِسْتَبْرَقٍۢ مُّتَّكِـِٔينَ فِيهَا عَلَى ٱلْأَرَآئِكِ ۚ نِعْمَ ٱلثَّوَابُ وَحَسُنَتْ مُرْتَفَقًۭا
It is they who will have the Gardens of Eternity, with rivers flowing under their feet .They will be adorned therein with bracelets of gold and will wear green garments of fine silk and brocade, reclining therein on adorned couches. Excellent is the reward, and good is the resting place.

(Al-Kahf 30-31)

It was a beautiful ayah, SubhaanAllah… that so astoundingly described the most unfiltered parts of Jannah…

“And I can almost still picture him right there,” Hamzah murmured as he moved forward, pointing toward the drop of water that was plummeting down, his chest now against my back and I could see the smile on his face while he probably held the vision in his mind. “And I only hope that he will get the most amazing kinds of waterfalls… In rivers of eternal bliss… with the most unusual birds of Jannah really flying above him… Having the time of his eternal life.
Imagine what types of rivers and falls are there, Mos… and he’s just free, in a place where there is no pain and no grief. He had so much that tied him up, so many difficulties… and yet he never complained. On the other hand, I had so much of opportunity and so much of ease… and I had gone so off track. How does it always happen that way? And after he changed his life, you know, he always said that he didn’t know how he would make up for it… but yet he did so much to fix himself. His Salaah was paramount in his life. His Dhor was flawless. He took everything to extreme levels. Lived a pure, honest life. No nonsense. No interest. No loans. He was such an example and I don’t even know how I was blessed with his friendship…”

Hamzah sighed and I didn’t even know what to say to that. I had just silent, listening in total awe…

”The thing is,” he said, glancing at me momentarily. “I think Liyaket would have liked that I brought you here. To our spot.

Their spot. I could literally see Hamzah’s mind recalling the vivid memories.

“I think he would have liked that.”

By then, my anger had already dissipated. And that was a sweet thing to say. I was already fully drenched, so why shouldn’t I just let myself enjoy the moment?

“It was the only time I saw Liyaket with no other care in the world. Free. Completely at ease,” he said softly. “I just want you to share that too, you know?”

“I know,” I said quietly, feeling exactly like Hamzah had described. Free. Not a care in this earthly existence.

“But man, Mos,” he said, almost as if it was a second thought, his honey-brown eyes twinkling even more in the sunlight as he gazed at me. “You’re a fighter.”

“No,” I said, with a wistful smile. “I’m a whole army.”

He grinned and even though I absolutely hated him just a few minutes ago, he was such a con-artist at swindling my heart, and as he came forward, his nose against my forehead as he pecked my nose gently, I knew that I couldn’t bail out now.

I mean; a few months ago, well… I would have never imagined this. In my heart… I was always a city girl. I would have never, in my wildest dreams, imagined Hamzah and I ever being out in the wildest of wilderness… in the depths of silent beauty that spoke right to my soul… having a heartfelt conversation about rivers and waterfalls of ethereal beauty, gardens of eternal bliss, unlike any others in our wildest dreams… And it was such a profound moment, in the most extraordinary setting that had awoken me, inspired me and made me see things in a completely new light…

And oh yes, the kind of world that was Hamzah’s was something like I’d never known before.

And that is when I truly realised the meaning of:

Death is a gift for a believer (Bayhaqi). 

Because for the one who truly believes, it is through the gateway of death that he finds the door to eternal contentment and happiness…

And because of Liyaket, being here was something that was really important to him, and I had understood that. All these months… so much had pained him and grieved him and just being here for now had already brought him so much of joy… the thoughts of Jannah and the Aakhirah and everything that was still to come had evidently already lifted our spirits… 

And though it didn’t lessen the heartache in any way, and the pain of loss was all fresh and devastating once again, all I could think of was how all this had come to show me a completely different sort of life… how it got us to focus on a different path and how our entire perspective had changed through the tragedy had  we both felt so deeply.

It made me ponder. I mean, we all wanted Jannah. The amazement and the splendor … the milky rivers and the most sublime kind of gifts…we all wanted that kind of abode where the purest of Malaaikah would greet us … where there is nothing but ultimate perfection to encompass for eternity…

But the thing is, were we really earning it? What was I really going to secure my final abode?

I had been so caught up in the world and it’s ornaments… so consumed by everything it had to offer… that very often, we even forget our ultimate destination.

And that’s when it came to me, and I realised that even the most trying situations come with their own goodness. That though there was much pain and strife, through Hamzah coming into my life, a whole new world had suddenly opened for me. Perhaps the sole purpose of this entire thing was not for Zaid at all. Perhaps everything that had happened till then has no relation to what it’s true purpose was. Perhaps Allah Ta’ala, through his mercy, had wanted me to come to a realisation of Him, that would change my entire world.

All my life, all I ever worried about was me. My career. My job. My life. My problems. And then this happened, and everything changed.

And I’m not saying that this thing with Hamzah was always mind blowing and mesmerising… but what I did know was that somehow, the office-loving Chartered Accountant was slowly but surely morphing into an unyielding, adventure-seeking cow-girl, and I wasn’t even resisting it. Such beauty and splendour could not possibly fall on a heart and bring forth no effect…

It was a mixture of ultimate surrender, as I felt myself lose the desire to be in control, just for that moment. It was an acceptance of such grandeur and amazement and as we both stood there, for the first time in years for me, I could barely believe how absolutely unlike anything else in the world this feeling felt.

Everyone needs a spot sometimes, a place where the world grows quiet and solace can be found in the fact that a tree is just… well, a tree. Everyone needs a moment to breathe in the magnificence of the natural beauty that was before us, gifted by the Lord of the Worlds. Sometimes it’s only in the stillness of nature, combined with the soothing scent of towering trees and wistful waterfalls, one finds a purifying bliss… and being with Hamzah, well, I hadn’t realised it before but this is what it took for me to understand who was the centre of the ultimate kind of wealth…

And that was the thing with life, in this day and age, isn’t it? We are so caught up in  emails and WhatsApp messages that we forget that there are meant to be real things that we also take much joy in. We forget those moments we could spend obsessing over the perfection of Allah in the curves of a tree’s branches, or watching a spider gracefully spin it’s web. We are blind to the beauty of a blue-bird taking flight or the crusted colours of the leaves in autumn, as they begin to morph. We forget the little things like cascading waterfalls and gorgeously bloody sunsets, capturing the heart of the one you love. We are unaware of the feeling of falling, completely and effortlessly, as those explosions that crackle away like fireworks explode within our souls, allowing ourselves a chance to love so wholeheartedly that we lose the desire to always want to be in control.

And that was just one minuscule part of it… but among the other lessons we may learn along this path— after a long road of falling, tripping, losing, failure, winning and so many mistakes—is that there will be some people you love because of what they give you and the way they make you feel. It will be for it your Nafs, and it will always be about how you feel. So if you’re chasing a feeling, you’ll always be chasing.

But, once in a while, there is another love that can exist.

This love… is not a selfish love and is the rarest type. And if it is pure, and not competing with, the love of Allah Ta’ala Himself, it will also bring about the most joy. To love in any other way is to be needy, to be dependent, to have expectations—all the ingredients for misery and disappointment.

And this is a love that you will give to the creation—not for what you can get in return from them. You will love and you will give, but you will be sufficed from Him. And the one who is sufficed by the Rabb Himself, is the richest and most generous of all lovers.

Your love will be by Him, for Him, and because of Him. That is the liberation of the self from serving any encapsulated thing. And that is freedom. That is happiness.

That is love.

---

Dearest Readers 

Sincerely hope everyone is well. Abit of a longer nature-inspired post that I did quite enjoy writing…

May Allah Ta’ala enable us to truly appreciate his magnificence when we see it… 

Please take note of our very important Sunnah reminders. 

much love
A xx

Sunnah of (Digital) Company:

We live in a world where digital media surrounds us. We mindlessly forget that we are what we feed, and these WhatsApp, instagram and twitter feeds have an effect on us.

May Allah Ta’ala enable us to be particular even about our digital company, and save us from falling into bad companionship.

Abu Musa reported: The Prophet, (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said, “Verily, the parable of good company and a bad company is only that of a seller of musk and a blacksmith. The seller of musk will give you some perfume, you will buy some, or you will notice a good smell. As for the blacksmith, he will burn your clothes or you will notice a bad smell.”

Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 5534,

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When Adventures Begin

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 53

There are moments in your life when you realise that time is divided into two parts- that’s there’s a before and there’s an after, and you realize that nothing will ever be the same again.

Okay I’m just kidding. But honestly, I could not believe this was happening to me. The first day I decided to use a stove and load shedding gets right in the middle of my good house-wife plans. No electricity from 6AM that morning was really a pain in the most inconvenient places.

You see, when Hamzah told me that the stove was gas, I figured it would be no issue. I didn’t know that you literally had to burn your fingers off before getting a decent flame to cook with. And after striking the match about a hundred times, I had finally got somewhere, before I managed to crack an egg in the stainless steel bowl I had found in the third drawer. I had attempted what I would have found impossible at any other point in my life.

I was just as bad as figuring the kitchen utensils but I knew that today, more than any other day, when Zaid was busy gurgling away in his bouncer and feeling like a king, and Rabia wasn’t around, would be a good day to start learning. At least it meant that I  could have the kitchen to myself and not have to worry about her watching me like the incapable chef that I was.

“Are you using the stove yet?” Hamzah called in a concerned tone, from the top of the stairs. “Are you sure you okay?”

”Im fine!” I said bluntly.

Gosh, how rude. It was his code for saying: “Please don’t burn the house down.”

He was worse than Nani.

“Hamzah seems to think we can’t cook,” I said quietly to Zaid, who was smiling at me adorably. “Let’s give him the shock of his life, okay?”

Zaid gurgled happily, looking exceptionally pleased with the idea. I wished I could knock him for a six with a 5 course breakfast but it was a tall order. Eggs and baked beans were all I could manage for now.

Yes, I was a bit insulted but I sucked it up and poured the egg into the hot pan with oil , watching it splutter with glee as I took a step back, a little concerned for my face. Like, what if the gas exploded and hit me? It was the first time I had used a gas stove and I didn’t have a death wish.

Also, I was super annoyed because I couldn’t even send Jameela and Nani a picture of my cooking accomplishments right then, because signal was as crappy as ever. Nani had already sent me some easy recipes and a request for pictures and I had gotten the hint that cooking for Hamzah was an essential.  She was convinced that Hamzah’s sole purpose in life was to be fed three full meals a day, and he wasn’t exactly self sufficient. The most he could do was boil kettle water and burn toast.

Right now though, I couldn’t even pacify her with evidence of anything worthy.

With the lack of basic privileges we become accustomed to, it sometimes felt as if I lived on an entirely different planet.

And I hadn’t realized it yet, but I ought to have understood by then that gratitude is magic. That electricity, water, WiFi and even petrol or all bounties of Allah Ta’ala and the thing is we have done nothing to earn our bounties, yet, regardless, we’ve been blessed with it.

What we didn’t realise was that sometimes Allah was saving us from other harms, in the process of not having that signal to message and call someone. Perhaps we were getting saved from some gossip, or argument, when that call couldn’t be made. Perhaps we are getting relieved of some Haraam in the fact that WiFi wasn’t always at our disposal. The thing was, all these favours were gifts from Allah Ta’ala that we take for granted.

And as the egg blubbered all happily and so did Zaid, I felt amazingly accomplished as I tossed around, feeling a bit more optimistic about the way things were heading.

I just hoped that the food would be edible and Hamzah would live to tell the tale. Also, well, this was way too early in the morning for me to even start with kitchen shenanigans, but it was just as well that I had already woken up to the sound of the shower water running, and there was barely even a sliver of daylight in the sky.

I had no idea that Hamzah was such an aspiring early bird. His waking up routine was a little bit too much for my own laid-back one, but I knew that marriage was a ball game that I’d have to start playing properly at some time. I wasn’t even sure where he had gone to before the crack of dawn, but he took a while to come back after Fajr and I was glad that I had a little bit of time before making my way down.

The thing was, my in-laws would all be back tomorrow and I knew that I had to at least be competent at some cooking. Hamzah could not survive on cheesecakes and pastries for the rest of our lives.

Also, well, the point of immersing myself in my cooking  task was due to me trying to get my mind off yesterday’s horrifying images as fast as I could. There was so much that had happened in such a short space of time, and I couldn’t hell but feel a little overwhelmed by the events.

Somehow, I just felt more responsible. I wanted to prove more, that I was doing a good job, before anything else stood in our way.

And the thing was, yesterday, we barely had any time to discuss it any of the issues that were lurking.  Hamzah had been rushing for Esha salaah, and I had let him focus on driving because I knew very well how he hated to miss Salaah in Jamaat. The only concern was that the traffic was appearing to intensify as we moved along the main highway.

I wanted to know his real thoughts on the doctors advice but as the traffic doubled up and we moved at a snails pace along the main freeway, my thoughts were halted as sirens from behind us started blaring, and I literally went cold as the scene ahead of us already came into view.

Naturally, all other thoughts were shelved as I looked out now, into the stack of cars that were ahead. Hamzah’s window was slightly open due to the cigarette he had been smoking earlier, and I could already hear people in the next car talking, their phones out their window, trying to capture the graphic scene ahead, as the chaos around us ensued.

And as much as I wanted to block my ears as they started talking, their voices were still as clear as day.

“Ya Allah, there’s a baby in that car,” someone was almost screaming. “Put the phones away, its not right!”

The person had a point. This was someone’s worst nightmare. A horrible tragedy that could be fatal. Capturing it on camera seemed so heartless, but who cares these days?

My heart pounded in my chest, as I closed my eyes, knowing that we were nearly at the scene. It seemed like it had just happened and I couldn’t bear it…

For a minute, as I held my breath, I was almost hesitant to look, for fear of what I would see.

”There’s a small child in the car!” Someone screamed again, and without even casting a sideways glance, Hamzah’s finger pressed down on the button, eager to shut out all the sounds, my mind going into overdrive as I processed what this meant.

I couldn’t even look at him at that point. All I could think of was how Hamzah was still going to move past this devastating collision, the part where two cars were already overturned and the truck was on its side. The part where all I could think of was our dearest friends who had just passed on. I wasn’t sure how we were going to keep ourselves together as we egged on, but all I knew right then was that I couldn’t  bare to cast my gaze anywhere on the road.

And of course, I could barely do anything else beside hastily turned my face away as we got closer, not wanting to even process the condition of the truck on the side of the road and unsightly smashed cars.

I didn’t even realised that I was holding my breath as I kept my eyes shut, hearing Hamzah’s breath quicken and clutching Zaid a little tighter as we by passed the main point of congestion, already aware that Hamzah was purposely going a little faster than the other drivers. While other cars were slowing down to get a good look at the accident scene,  Hamzah sped up, trying his best to move past it all, without having to directly process it, and I knew exactly why.

My heart was already contracting painfully, as I remembered that fateful night.

The baby. There’s a baby. There’s a baby in the car.

The car was a crumpled mess and the words were still echoing in my ears. The emotions that had pulsated through me then were still wrecking havoc within. The whole scenario was something that I could barely, for the life of me, come to terms with.

And it was undeniable that everywhere we turned, there was a reminder about our friends that we just didn’t have the heart to deal with as yet.  I heard that there had been pictures of Liyaket’s car, but I knew that I couldn’t dare to look at them.

This was close. Too close for comfort. Seeing the accident scene was something that had caught us both completely off guard, and as my heart pounded in my chest, nervous about the outcome of what exactly was going to happen here, I couldn’t help but feel myself shudder at the possibilities.

Riveted by what we had just been faced with, even after passing the worst of it, I could sense the obvious trauma and discomfort.

And like it had never happened at all, the car was silent again, except for Zaid’s breathing. Both Hamzah and I were too shaken to even talk. I looked out the window, tears streaming down my face, as I tried to keep it together. Internally, I could tell that Hamzah felt exactly the same way, but he expertly held himself back.

It didn’t take long to get home after he stopped for Salaah at a mosque on the way. We had entered the silent house, walking up to our room, placing Zaid down in the cot Hamzah had bought for him, still reeling from the shock of what we had just witnessed. The house seemed almost lonely without Rabia’s noise there. Rabia had gone to her cousin ten minutes away, on account of us coming home so late.

And of course, a half hour after we had seen it, I could not stop thinking about it. For a while, I wished that I did look. At least then, I would have known what had really happened, instead of tormenting myself and thinking of the worst possible scenario.

And I wanted to ask Hamzah about it… to talk about the accident and to touch base with how we all felt, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I didn’t want to bring it up, to revisit that place, to go back to the place where I was on that fateful night, while I sat in my upmarket Hammond’s apartment up to no good, before my life had changed so suddenly.

For a few minutes, I couldn’t meet his eye.

I kept myself busy, as he hung up his kurta and I took off my abaya. My scarf was unpinned and placed over the chair. My motions were purposely slow as I did it, feeling the intensity of his gaze on me, as I finally met his it…

I hadn’t trusted myself to say anything. The room sounded almost eerily quiet, and there was not even a sound that was coming from outside. For the first time that week, we were completely alone and we could barely even think of words to say to each other.

But I knew I had to, as he came closer, almost as if he didn’t quite understand how to deal with this… we didn’t know how to seek comfort after this.

It felt like just yesterday, when that sting of loss had sunk us to the depths of grief. It felt like hours ago when I had first gotten the call, telling me that my friend had lost her life, much earlier than I would have ever imagined.

Everything was coming at us like never before, and though it had nearly broken us inside, we knew that we had to accept it. We knew that the reminder was just what was needed for us to seek the truth of what we knew.

Allah Ta’ala says in the Holy Qur’an:

”And say to them, Oh Muhammed (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam), the things of this world are few (temporary), the things of the Aakhirah is better for him who fears Allah; you shall not be wronged (even the amount of) a single date fibre. Wherever you are, death will reach you, even if you’re in strong and high towers.” (An Nisah 77-78)

And now, as I stirred the baked beans and heard Hamzah making his way downstairs, I couldn’t help but think of how much Hamzah had matured over these months. All I could think of was that a helluva lot more than what I knew must have happened for him to have become the man he had. One day, I hoped that his experiences and thoughts would be narrated to me, and I could get a glimpse into what was really on his mind…

“Zaidoo!”

I turned to look at him as Hamzah’s voice cut into my thoughts now, as I buttered the toast, placing it on the side plate as he picked Zaid out of the bouncer. I mean, I wouldn’t usually butter someone’s toast but I’d always seen my mother do it for my father and it just seemed like a cute thing for couples to do for each other.

And naturally, as I caught the scent of his familiar oud, whilst I just smelt of onion and oil, the awkwardness was unparalleled. And though I had actually made an effort to look as good as I could early on a Saturday morning, I was still wearing my bunny slippers and I just felt a little ridiculous as I snuck a glance at him, dressed in a fitted sage t-shirt with a white three-quarter pants, all ready for the day. Also, it was super nerve-wrecking because he was looking at the food a little reservedly, almost as if he wasn’t quite sure whether he should tuck into it or not, and I wasn’t even sure whether to invite him to.

”This looks good,” he said optimistically, giving me a thumbs up. I didn’t want to tell him that looks could be deceiving and he should taste it first, so I just smiled back nervously.

And of course, if he was wary, he hid it well. He had already headed the safe route by taking a toast from the plate and biting into it. I was scrutinising his every move and I knew I was acting crazy but I couldn’t help feel excessively nervous.

And of course, I was extremely relieved that the toast wasn’t burnt, and his hand slowly ventured towards the baked beans spoon, as I simultaneously tried very hard to distract myself and bring some tea cups to the table.

This was very awkward but I knew that I had to act natural. Like I cooked for my new husband every day.

”It’s good, Mos,” Hamzah finally said with a smile, and even if it was forced, I didn’t care.  I did appreciate the compliment, but as I was about to dish out too, Hamzah’s phone from behind me just started ringing and I hastily got up to bring it to him.

And I didn’t even notice Hamzah’s slightly panicked look as he saw me reach for it, and I was hardly the sneakish type, but I couldn’t help but notice the caller ID that had popped up on the screen a few minutes before.

For a minute, I was just stumped. It had jolted me a bit, but not in an entirely bad way, as I processed exactly what it said, and passed it to him, not able to really comprehend what it meant.

Your Jannah is Calling.

Like, my heart was literally endowed with amazement for this man by now.

It was like an awakening for my dormant soul became I could not really process what a unique thing Hamzah had saved his mother as, and how that made me feel right then.

I mean, imagine if I were the reason for someone’s Jannah? Imagine if I appeared in that way on someone’s caller ID. What an honour that was… to be the reason for their Jannah.

As much as I wanted to have my own kids at some point, the fact was, I hadn’t thought about it recently. I had been so consumed by Zaid and then by marriage with Zaid, that my own needs had been completely sidelined.

“Mummy,” Hamzah said instantly as he answered, glancing at me a little weirdly and then turning away. “Wa alaykum Salaam.”

I could hear my mother-in-laws voice on the other side, and as he answered I could see that she was asking after Zaid and how he was feeling.

“Sure, I’ll call you back, Mums,” he said quietly, after he answered the first three questions. “Just having some breakfast. Mohsina went all out this morning.”

I flushed because he couldn’t have been farther than the truth. But shame, it was sweet of him to make me seem like I was being a good wife. Also, he barely even acknowledged his compliment as he cut the call, looking at me, and then frowning slighy as if he was deliberating if he should really say what he wanted to.

“So you’re really going to do it?” He asked finally, looking at me questioningly.

I was a bit confused as I munched on my toast and looked back at him, I hadn’t even realised that I had been fiddling with the bottles that the doctor had prescribed for me the day before.

“Do what?” I asked, and he gestured to the them. And it seemed coincidental and maybe even subconsciously…. because I had just been thinking of that very amazing thing…

”The feeding thing,” he said with a slight smile, sitting back and pouring water into his cup for tea. I could see him looking inside to check if the teabag was there, and of course, if wasn’t.

I passed him one from the counter top, trying hard to keep a straight face. I had no idea that Hamzah was so pampered.

”I don’t know,” I said, to answer him.

Which was true. The feeding thing. I liked what he called it, and it was an awkward topic. And of course, I wanted to have this full on discussion, to weigh the pros and the cons and talk about the doctors advice as a couple doing this but there was one thing that was holding me back.

“I’m still so two-minded,” I said, pulling a slight face. “I don’t know which side of the fence I fall on. I mean, I don’t even know if I would have breastfed my own kids and I’ve been hearing so much about how it can change your body and stuff…”

Oh gosh, now I just sounded shallow and forward too. Hamzah and I hadn’t even discussed having our own kids, but Maahira had been telling me stuff that had been making me hesitant and I couldn’t seem to stop the worry. Hamzah didn’t meet my eye.

“I just feel like I’m stepping over the limit here,” I said quickly, before he got any odd idea, knowing that it was my main reason for holding back.

I was stepping over the limit. But where were the limits even? What Hamzah and I were in… well, I wasn’t even sure.

And I was feeling all flustered because the crux of it was that I almost felt as if I was taking Layyanah’s place. The feeling had been coming at me, from the week before, when I met Layyanahs sister, but it was now as clear as ever, as I wondered what exactly to do.

It took him a few seconds before Hamzah spoke.

“Mos… I think we need to face up to what’s happened,” he said quietly, his gaze not meeting mine, as he put some sugar in his tea.

I nodded, looking at him questioningly, before he started talking again.

“I’ve been living as if I’m waiting for Liyaket to come back and tell me what to do. Im so used to him giving me advice. Asking him where to go from here. Living as if life is on pause, until that happens. I’ve been living as if I can’t live… you know? But that’s not what death is supposed to be. It’s not supposed to be so hard on us, that we lose hope in life.”

I nodded, swallowing hard, feeling like I wanted to cry again. As if yesterday wasn’t enough for us.

I couldn’t think of what to say. I felt like a traitor. Like we were living the life that they were supposed to be living sometimes.

“I went to the graveyard today,” he said softly, glancing at me. “For the first time since Liyaket passed.”

My heart kind of plummeted in my chest as he said it. For the first time?

“I know I’m terrible… and it’s my fault,” Hamzah said quietly, his voice dropping even more. “We need to stop tiptoeing around Liyaket and Layyanah’s life. We need to go back to their home. We need to visit the places we used to meet them. Do the things we used to do with them. We need to show Zaid more of what his parents were.”

I sat there silently, not even touching my food, my heart bursting with emotion, but knowing that he was undeniably right. We were behaving as if they were going to come back and question us, or reclaim what was theirs. We were living our lives in their shadow. Afraid to accept the reality.

“You’re right,” I said, my voice not quite coming out the way I wanted it to, as I glanced at Zaid who was rubbing his eyes now, and looking quite tired. I needed to snap back to reality. Stop waiting for Layyanah. Stop feeling guilty.

“So I’ve been doing some research,” I said, looking at him as I spoke. “About all the things that can happen… the fatwas there are out there and-“

“Listen, Missus Google, let’s forget about all of the virtual stuff,” Hamzah said, winking at me and I rolled my eyes at him.

“Can I tell you what I want to do?” He said, stirring his tea as I watched him. “I just want to live. Do you know what that means? To shut off everyone else and just live for now? Stop worrying about the world and statistics and everything else. Just stop, Mos. There’s so much more that life has to offer you, if you just let everything else go.. you’ll see. See the beauty in everything. Stop worrying. Stop assessing. Stop being such a genius at things that don’t matter…”

He was right. He was so right. I had lived in virtual worlds and in parallel universes and none of it was ever real. Everything had been about illusions and filters and most of the time, everything in my life had been channeled toward the next Instagram post and how I was going to make the world swoon.

I closed my eyes for a moment, shutting out all thoughts and reservations and knowing that although I had things to say, it wasn’t the wisest thing to do. It just felt so right to be in the moment.

And it was. Hamzah was right.

Sometimes being in the moment was a hundred times more amazing than any virtual experience. And maybe once upon a time, when I was silly and deluded, I didn’t think so. Maybe once before. I had been enamored by the reels and taken in by a filtered world, but now that Hamzah had come into my life, I knew that there had to be a purpose for it.

It wasn’t only about Zaid. It wasn’t about this situation. Right then, it wasn’t just about circumstances.

“I should do it, right?” I said with a cock of my head. “It’s going to be something of an adventure for us all, don’t you think.”

“I’ve got bigger things planned, pookie,” he said, grinning like a nutcase. “Real adventures. Choose adventure.. choose excitement. Stop with the virtuality. Let’s just live, okay?”

Lets just live. He was right. Maybe I analysed things too much. Got too caught up in my virtual worlds.

“And how do you suppose we do that?” I said, leaning forward and looking at him with narrowed eyes, as he gave me his one dimpled smile.

“I know just the place to take you to.”

---

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
الحمد لله رب العالمين

On the Day Of Ashura

The Prophet ﷺ was asked about fasting the day of Ashura and he said, “It will expiate the sins of the past year.”

The hardships we face are paths leading us to ALLAH, to build our reliance on ALLAH alone. The story of Moosa AS is one of perseverance. He knew the situations were from ALLAH and the outcome will come from ALLAH. He showed us a path of gratefulness, by fasting on the day that ALLAH had saved him.
How many oceans has ALLAH opened for us and not caused us to be swallowed into the darkness!
The Rabb of Moosa AS and your Rabb is the same, so let your faith overpower your fear, for your Rabb has not abandoned you nor forsaken you.

May Allah make it easy for us to keep these fasts ❤️

Sunnah of Forgiveness:

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

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

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

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

Aaameen.

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

The Battle Within

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 52

Hamzah

The buzzing of my iPhone in the early parts of the morning had already awoken me in a cold sweat, as my breathing quickened.

And there I lay, so far from that nightmarish reality I had just witnessed, in the stillness of the night, I could still feel the wetness of my t-shirt clinging to my back. I turned slightly, feeling the slight weight of my wife’s slender fingers on my shoulder, sliding them away as gently as I could, and shifting toward the edge.

I was almost holding my breath as I shifted toward the edge, with one eye open. I had already glimpsed the caller ID and my heart immediately sank, even lower than I had thought possible at that moment.

Hashim (3)

Layyanah’s brother, the new bane to my life, was at it again, and this time, I could see his relentless pursuit of Zaid’s credentials and custody preferences.

The message came a few seconds later.

Call me back or ul be sorry

Why he couldn’t and wouldn’t let this go, was still beyond me.

It was late. Too late for the crap. Almost 2AM, and I rubbed my eyes, closing them momentarily as I pictured it again the scene that played before me. This time, it was a little earlier than my habitual waking, that I had been doing consistenly since Ramadhaan. The last third of the night. The Barakah of praying then had always brought so much more to my day.  Coming back from Al-Aqsa that Ramadhaan had stemmed a whole lot of vigour in me, but  the haunting dream I had just endured was also due to it.

Spitting on my left side, I tried to desperately suppress the emotions, as raw as the first time I had seen the little girl in them, her blue-grey eyes large and almost translucent, brimming with tears flowing continuously…

“Please don’t shoot,” she was crying, speaking in Arabic, and I had gazed her in the dream, not even understanding how a tiny and pristine creature like that could be abandoned, with not a single soul one to even account for her.

Soldiers had been streaming into the scene at that point, an open road all around Al-Aqsa, running to her, as if she was an enemy out to get them. I was helpless, unarmed and wondering how I could ever assist… 

I had only been able to shake my head, trying to decipher how anyone could ever even think of hurting such an angelic and defenseless child.

“Baba, where are you?!” She cried, searching around her, her eyes filled with terror, sobbing then, as she calls out for her mother.
And as the dream goes on, I attempt to find who she is looking for, but as I turned to look around, I glimpse the blotches of blood splattered on the floor, and without even processing what I was seeing… I already knew that there was no one left… her family’s gone… only a brother, whose barely 5 years in age, lingers around.

And as she wanders, through to the street, I wondered how anyone could be so heartless to hate a child so innocent. I wondered how a child so small, could ever deserve this? How could pointing a gun at a baby, who screams, “please, don’t shoot”, ever be justified?

And as I follow her, thinking how absolutely afraid, yet self-sufficient she looked, she turned to look up at me, her eyes conveying a message of deep determination that I can’t even begin to understand…  just before the muzzle of the gun is felt in my neck as fear shoots through me, and then everything just went black.

It was something close to terrifying, that last part, but it had been a while since the dream had played out again… almost 10 days since the last, but it felt more real than ever this time. I couldn’t understand why it haunted me, but my subconscious was obviously a lot stronger than I knew.

And I knew I shouldn’t have been as terrified because for a believer, martyrdom was the purpose. Not the wealth or booty of this world, we had become so obsessed with, but the feeling of victory that came with the name of Islam flying high once again, was absolutely untouchable.

And of course, I could only have a glimpse of how much they had to endure, from my 10 day experience there. The persistence of the Palestinians, even in the face of death was something that made me fully comprehend the strength and vehemence of even the littlest of children. Their fervor. Their courage. Their utmost perseverance and Tawakkul, even in the face of imminent danger, was unbelievable. And the thought of what they are subjected to made me shiver with terror, I couldn’t seem to stop try mind from replaying the scene over and over again.

I opened my eyes again now, staring into the darkness as my eyes adjusted to the room light. It was the first time since my Nikah that I had had the dream, and I was aware that the events of yesterday that were still fresh in my mind had probably brought it on. I recalled the accident scene we had witnessed on the way back from the doctors room… the raw emotions that came with it and everything that had been gained and lost through it all.

There was a mixture of aching relief that came with the realization. I was one of the lucky ones. The ones who lived in peace, with no fear of war in my midst. The ones who were still alive, despite everything that had transpired. I was the guy who had seen so much, yet couldn’t make it to even voice my inner most thoughts.

I sighed, as my gaze fell on the two people who I now cared about more than I could describe. The reason for my resistance. The point of my patience. The motivation for the heartfelt emotions that were travelling through my veins. The battle within me was one that I didn’t realise yet that I was fighting.

I turned my head back again, with the light peeping through the gap in the curtain, to reassure myself that I wasn’t imagining the blessing I had been endowed with.

I couldn’t quite believe that here I was, next to my wife as Zaid slept soundly on her chest, just a week after my Nikah. And that when I got it… what Liyaket meant when I had watched him all those months back, and I didn’t even know how it had happened.

Somewhere, in between the sins and the thoughts that haunted my mind, in between winging parenting and tip-toeing around each other’s feelings, we had reached this comfortable place. A place where things were good. Hopeful. A place where I felt like I could finally breathe and fill my lungs with a good dose of gratitude  and awe at the great favour of Allah on me.

Unconditional love.

There was a reason that I once told Liyaket that I would be happy alone. It was somewhere in between my breaking things off with Mohsina and his passing and finding Allah had just been the most satiating thing for me.
Also, having felt the way I had felt before, I knew that falling apart over a girl once again, was something like having a huge hole that needs to be endlessly filled. I had battled with every urge, every temptation and every prospective vice before I made it through. It wasn’t that I really thought I’d be happy alone forever. What I was scared of was, was feeling broken to the point of never finding Allah again.

What if I found that I needed the love of someone and then depended on it? What if I actually ended up with the feeling, and actually liked it?

But there I was. I know life can be pretty messy, And as I sat, my heart somewhere precariously close to being on my sleeve, I felt alive in a way that I had never quite felt before.

So let me be honest and just say that I wasn’t ever completely convinced that this was the right thing. That coming back to this place with Mohsina would be the best idea.

But circumstances had happened and we had been somewhat forced to cross paths again. Seeing her, having to interact with her… well, it was different from the image I had conjured up in my mind. The pieces weren’t quite fitting together. Instead of being the money-obsessed Instagram girl, I had seen a new person.

But this was the thing with Duaas, and I remembered Liyakets one with absolute clarity, as I tried to avoid every technique he was using to get me settled.

I never quite knew the meaning of love, of what Liyaket had always wanted for me, until I met Zaid.

And although I had, on many occasions, joked and mocked him about it, when I first held him in my arms as he looked at me like I was the only hero that he would ever know, I couldn’t hold my heart back.

”So this is what you talk about,” I said to him, still looking down at the little human he called his son, not entirely sure if I believed that this child actually belonged to him. “Unconditional love.”

”You got it, bro,” he said, his smile all sentimental and cynical at the same time. “Doesn’t it make you want this too?”

I looked at him and narrowed my eyes, lying through my teeth.

“You think I’m crazy?” I asked, fighting the feeling, as I handed him back over a little sooner than I wanted to. “My life is way too easy without worrying about women and poo nappies.”

He grinned, his dark eyes twinkling with laughter.

”One day,” he said, putting Zaid over his shoulder and smirking. “Someone’s going to make you change your mind and you will eat your words. And that’s going to be my Duaa.”

“No man,” I squealed, still not believing his audacity. “You’re supposed to be my best friend.”

”Exactly,” he said knowingly, a glint in his eye. “And I know what’s best for you, but Allah knows better. I just have a feeling that it’s going to happen in a way you least expect.”

And he was right. Maybe not the way he expected either, but a Du’aa was a Du’aa.

And I knew things weren’t perfect. It had taken a week to get to this point, anyway. The point where all barriers had been crossed, and something very close to love had completely taken over. The point of no return, well, at least for me.

And it had been brought on by a number of things… after the scene of the accident we saw on the way from the doctor had evoked all kinds of emotions. The crumpled mess on the side of the road had made it seem like we were reliving Liyaket and Layyanahs death all over again. We had entered the silent house, walking up to our room, placing Zaid down in the cot I had brought for him from Liyaket’s place, still reeling from the shock of what we had just witnessed.

For once, I wished for noise of a busy household. For people around, to tune out the turbulence in my mind. The house seemed almost lonely without Rabia, who had made a trip to our cousin ten minutes away, on account of us coming home so late.

And of course,I could not stop thinking about what we had seen. For a while, I wished that I did look. At least then, I would have known what had really happened, instead of tormenting myself and thinking of the worst possible scenario.

I had no jokes, pranks or witty remarks to even soften the blow for Mohsina, as she hung up her Abaya and avoided eye contact at all costs.

”You okay?” I had asked, my voice sounding coarse and even peculiar to myself, as I looked at her, full of emotions.

It had been a helluva lot for one day. The advices from the doctor. The fact that Zaid may have an immune deficiency that needed to be confirmed with bloods. She was so strong, for taking this all on… for wanting to go ahead with feeding him, and as I watched her,  her hair tied back in a ponytail, I couldn’t help at look at her in admiration, because it just struck me right then how amazing she was and had been all this time.

And yes… I knew that a lot of this was about Zaid and even though she was still silent, I yearned for something… anything… to prove to me that she wasn’t in this just for him.

And as she approached me, and her arms enveloped me one of the most fiercest of hugs, all we did, for a few minutes, was stand there, in silence, knowing exactly how the other felt, seeking some kind of comfort, fully comprehending how painful the entire experience had been.

It felt like just yesterday, when that sting of loss had sunk us to the depths of grief.

It felt like hours ago when I had first gotten the messages, confirming for me that my lifelong friend had lost his life, much earlier than I would have ever imagined. All I needed right then, for the first time ever, was to let myself sink into the consolation that this degree of closeness had brought, and draw every bit of solace that I could.

“Liyaket was part of my life for almost two decades,” I whispered, and I could feel her breathing quicken as I spoke. “I feel like I’ve lost a major part of me, a portion of my heart and my sight. I can’t erase those chunks of my life, and go on like it never happened.”

She nodded, pausing before she spoke.

“I know,” she said softly. “Two decades… Why would you want to erase it?”

I shrugged.

Because it hurt too much to remember.

Two whole decades of the best friend someone could ever have, guiding and advising me, loving me explicitly, always having the most diplomatic and amazing way to look at things. I loved the guy with a helluva part of my heart. I felt incredibly lost without Liyaket.

”I feel like we are losing more and more of them, every day,” I said softly, breathing in her familiar scent. “I want to hold on…”

“I feel like we’re trying to take over their roles,” she said, so softly that I barely heard her.

I nodded, feeling the same way. Were we unintentionally trying to fill their shoes?

“What if we hadn’t lost them?” she asked softly, and I could hear something that I never heard from Mohsina before, in her voice. It was almost like fear… like an uneasiness that had consumed her, as she said it.

“It was Allah’s will,” I murmured into her hair, knowing that was my only consolation… thinking that’s what she wanted to hear, my voice finally steady. “You can’t question-“

”It’s not that,” she said firmly, pulling back and looking up at at me, her eyebrows slightly furrowed and her brown eyes glistening with tears. “All these questions are going through my mind and I can’t help but wonder. Where would I have been then? Where would you have been? If all this hadn’t happened, would I have changed? Would you have even come back…?”

I knew all these questions. I had asked myself the same ones over and over. I had so many more too. What if things didn’t work out? What if she changed her mind? What if she woke up one day and decided that even though I loved Zaid with everything I had, I wasn’t the right guy for her?

But I knew the answers already. For me, things were either black or white.  I had decided one thing, before I decided to marry her, and that was what I had to stick to. I had never asked her, but from the day I had seen her in Bossman’s car, I figured that he had some sinister intention and though she denied it at the time… I assumed something had happened between them. And though it had plagued me… Right then, though… well, right then, he was the last person I wanted to talk about.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, shaking my head, my eyes holding her gaze. “What I thought or what I wanted… What happened or who featured… Can we just stop thinking?”

And it was true.

Because she had apologized. I had apologized.

And at times it happens that we apologize, but the trust is still shattered. You forgive them but to look at them the same way, is something that you are tested with every day.

And I had felt that. I felt that deeper than I ever thought I would feel anything, but thats where Maulana Umar got me, when he explained it to me.  Allah Azza Wa Jal, in His infinite mercy, not only forgives, but even wipes away the sin completely, as if it never happens. Allah Azza wa Jal, in his astounding love, even commands the writing angels to erase those sins, as if they never happened.

Ar-Rahman forgives those who ask forgiveness with repentance. In the noble Qur’an Allah Almighty says:

“. . . and let them pardon and overlook. Would you not like that Allah should forgive you? And Allah is Forgiving and Merciful.”

Forgiveness. Only Allah knew how much it had taken out of me… how much it hurt me not to ask… but it was that verse that pushed me to overlook. I had made that promise to myself, because of what Maulana Umar had told me.

She had changed. Whatever had happened, we had to both let go.
And it was no coincidence. This is not something that happens by chance. This was not something that you decide to do on a whim. A desire to turn towards Allah… towards Deen, towards goodness, is only from Him. Only a favour that those who are blessed and truly loved can ever be privileged enough to encompass.

It was nothing short of Taqdeer, and destiny had a funny way of making everything fall into place.

It all seemed surreal for a while, coming home with so much of devastation and loss… as we grew together, as a family, but what I didn’t anticipate was feeling the way I did. It had been the most emotionally taxing day, but somehow, as our hearts took over, I had silenced the concerns that had been in both our minds, broken down the barriers Mohsina had put up and found solace in the comfort that only a wife could offer. The love, that was slowly creeping over my heart and overtaking it… well, it took me by surprise.

And though our road had been rocky, the way it had panned out, it felt almost as if Allah had made it happen in such a way, that the entire journey I had been through was leading up to what was playing out in front of me.

From Yemen ; back home, and then to Palestine, and then coming home again, with the intention of such great responsibility, I thought that through everything I had been through and seen, I was ready to go all into this.

A new era was approaching, and my resolution was to put everything else behind me, and head in, with a clear motive.

Like at the time of Hijrat, when the Lion of Allah, Hadhrat Hamzah (RadiAllahu Anho) entered the borders of Madinah, he knew that there was much opportunity for the Muslims. Within his breast was Imaan so strong and steady, that the first flag in Islam was handed to him. Within them all, was forgiveness, and hope, and a hope for a new tomorrow.

It was just that, as I walked out the room with my phone in hand, in the early hours of the morning, I now felt more on edge than ever.
Within me, I was fighting a bigger battle. I felt on edge. Threatened, and unwavering. My resolve to protect Zaid from Hashim was even stronger now, than ever. That lion within me… the one that sometimes made its way to forefront in the most trying situations… was bearing its teeth again.

I wasn’t one to back down. I picked up my phone, wondering if I should call him back right then. Let him know that I won’t stand for anything. Be the man I felt myself become, over these past few months.

But as much as I wanted to, something within me held me back, and I stopped myself. Maybe it was Imraan’s words, that had told me not to ask for trouble with him. Maybe it was the thought of starting something that I didn’t yet have the power to finish. All I knew was this Jihaad was something I would fight with my heart and soul.

And for me… as I kept this in mind… I knew that if I had to challenge Hashim from that point on, life would never be the same again. Putting up a fight could harm more people than I wanted. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t help but stop myself, because I knew that nothing good could come out of it.

I knew people like Hashim and I knew how they worked.

But now, as I looked at the caller ID glaring at me again, a wave of ferocity washed over me as I renewed my intent. No matter what. No matter how. I knew that I would stand by my word.

No matter what happened or who came in the way, I was going to protect them from every bit of it, with every ounce of me, but I was also fully aware that I couldn’t ever let Mohsina get an inkling of this.

And in doing that, as I fought my inner battles, what I didn’t know was that I was risking losing everything else in the process…

---

Authors note: I was aiming for a bit of a change up with perspective. Will try and post sooner this week InshaAllah … x

Abu Qatada reported Allah’s Messenger (may peace be upon him) as saying: A good vision is from Allah and a bad dream (hulm) is from the satan; so if one of you sees anything (in a dream which he dislikes, he should spit on his left side thrice and seek refuge with Allah from its evil, and then it will never harm him.

Sunnah of Forgiveness:

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

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

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

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

Aaameen.

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

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

When you Trust the Timing

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 46

Saaliha

”I thought you were joking,” Rabia voice broke into my thoughts incredulously as she tapped on her twin brother’s shoulder, looking immensely disappointed. “There’s really no venue?!”

The atmosphere in the car was thick with excitement and preoccupation, along with a bundle of erratic nerves that was very much expected.
And on a day like this, there was something about the way the hearts were swayed on a special days like today, encompassing the feeling of celebration that Nikah brings.

I was, undoubtedly, in amazing spirits as we left my mother-in-laws place that day, with Imraan and Hamzah in the front seat of his car, and Rabia and I in the back. Uthman had decided to go with his grandparents because he was bound to be pampered rotten during the short trip to the location where Mohsina’s family home was.

I glimpsed at my sister-in-law, tearing my eyes away from the scenic mountainous view I was immersed in ahead of us, which reminded me of one of the famous sayings of Umar bin Khattab (RadiAllahu Anho) which went like:

What is destined will reach you, even if it be underneath two mountains. What is not destined, will not reach you, even if it be between your two lips.

And today was a undeniable reminder of whats meant to be, will be, but Rabia’s statement, well… It was just the kind of negativity to dampen my mood.

As Hamzah gave her an irritated scowl, as he glanced at her in the rear view mirror, taking a longer pull of his cigarette than usual, I could sense the irritation he was feeling. The way that he was lighting cigarette after cigarette, meant that he was probably a little stressed that night, and I kind of understood.

”What made you think I was joking?” he asked blandly,  exhaling out the window as I watched her pout. “I told you that it was at the house.”

”Oh hell,” she muttered with an irritated face, as she scanned the yard, where the marquee was set up. “How annoying. My heels are going to sink in this damn mud. Plus, there’s nowhere decent to even take any snaps.”

Was that the only thing she worried about?

I shook my head and looked away, not trusting myself to say anything.

For some reason, my sister-in-law was getting more and more more on my nerves these days. The love for pride and pomp was something that I didn’t quite get. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, probably even more irritated than my brother-in-law.

“You don’t have to show your followers every move you make,” Hamzah snapped unexpectedly, undeniably angry. “The best of Nikahs are the most simple ones, and hands down, I actually prefer this to any hall or venue function any day. More simple. Less stressful.”

It was actually quite nice that he was already standing up for his new in-laws. Imraan had mentioned that he felt strangely protective over them, with Mohsina only having a younger brother, and her father still getting out of debt, I knew that Hamzah was the type to take it much more personally than anyone else.

I wanted also to point out to Rabia that Mohsina didn’t have wealthy parents to pay for the function like she did, but I knew that it was top secret. Imraan had revealed to me in confidence that the family had gone through a rough patch and was still recovering, financially.

It had come to my knowledge that Mohsina had actually paid for the simple function herself, and it made me admire the kind of heart she had. The fact was that she wasn’t obligated to have a function, but for her parents sake and their respect, she was prepared to do whatever it took to make them happy.

”Thank God we’re having a proper Waleema,” Rabia muttered to herself. “Somewhere ten times better than this ugly dump.”

And of course, I knew that Rabia was famous for calling a spade a spade, but there was a difference between being straightforward and just plain down rude. Her words stung and her tone made me shudder, but more alarming was air of arrogance about her as she said it, and I immediately felt insulted. Unfortunately for Rabia, both her sisters-in-law were from farm-like places.

And it’s only when you witness the pride or arrogance of someone, do you realise what a detested and despised quality it is. After all, it was that quality which got Iblis thrown out of Jannah, and that quality of the Quraish, at the time of Badr, that caused their downfall…

And although I could tell that Hamzah had heard her, it was admirable that he had chosen to specifically ignore her and not start an argument, as he turned to Imraan. After all, remaining silent was always the best option when tempers were starting to flare, and I could tell by his thunderous face that he was really getting angry. Imraan shot Rabia a filthy look and she turned away, slightly deflated.

”I suggest you keep your comments to yourself,” he said sternly, and I got the feeling that it wasn’t the first time she had insulted someone’s home.

“Theres nothing wrong with having standards, right?”

Her question was ill-founded. And okay, I knew that my in-laws had spoilt her rotten as a kid, but this kind of behaviour was not something that they approved of. They never put anyone down or made them feel unworthy.

And being the youngest son, my in laws were insisted in having a bigger function at a popular venue, and Rabia was obviously one of the main event planners.

”Don’t make me walk out my own waleemah,” Hamzah had said firmly, as they tried to pull off the perfect waleemah function. “Any funny business… at all… I’ll take my family and leave.”

It was weird for him to say family, but it was true that Hamzah, Mohsina and little Zaid were now a little unit on their own.

Hamzah had made it clear that he didn’t want any photographers, music or extravagant details. People were thinking of the weirdest things just to make a statement and I could tell that my sister-in-law was testing limits. I just hoped that Hamzah was not going to get a huge surprise when he entered the hall two days later.

Besides, he had said enough.

And as I watched Rabia tapping on her phone and then  extending her arm to take a selfie… I couldn’t help but feel a jolt of irritation.

Everything had to be captured. Sometimes I wonder if it would really hurt to put the phone down and just take it all in, unfiltered. The rivalry doesn’t end… when it came to social media. It was a competition that knew no end, and she was completely sucked in.

And from this it was obvious that , Rabia was part of the‘beautiful’ generation. The generation that’s obsessed with making everything look just like an Instagram post; as perfect as can be.

Basically if you love taking photos, arranging the objects of the photo to make the image look ideal, or using filters and editing photos to make them look even better… well, you are too.

Rabia was clearly enamoured by the worldly things that Instagram and social media seemed to put on a pedestal. I mean, it was a well-known fact that it causes us to obsess over portraying a fabricated version of ourselves, and our lives, to the world.

The truth was that we see images of others flourishing online, on overseas holidays, extravagant functions, flashing money, living it up on their stories, not knowing the harsh realities (or falsification) behind those posts.

She smiled to herself as she tapped away, and I suppressed the urge to tell her something. Instead, I tried to focus on the low murmurs that were coming from the front seat while they found a suitable parking, in an attempt to decipher whether Imraan was having the talk he had planned to have with his brother or not.

And although I was still highly insecure about my sisters attempts at trying to find her husband a second wife, and rubbing off onto mine, Imraan and I had reached an easier place where we made a deal never to keep secrets from each other. Ever.

And though it meant that I had to reveal to him what Fareeha was up to and how it upset me, it also meant that when Imraan had come in that afternoon, looking a little more than just concerned, he couldn’t simply brush me off.

His face was riddled with worry as he took a seat, pulling out his phone and tapping vigourously as I eyed him out. The Nikah had gone well, and Hamzah too, seemed happy, but I couldn’t quite help feeling like something was amiss, and I knew he intended to get what was bothering Hamzah out of him today.

It was true that Hamzah had been against making Nikah from the initial stages. Somehow, he didn’t want to address the issues that had affected him and Mohsina back way things had changed back the previous year. Maybe it wasn’t necessary to bring up the past, but I only hoped that if didn’t cause any troubles in the future.

No matter what Imraan had said, I was quite sure that my brother-in-law was just nervous and that everyting would turn out perfectly.

After all, it was the first time he would see his new bride and it was completely normal. Given, it was a little late, since the Nikah was earlier that afternoon, but this whole situation was completely unconventional, so a few things were not exactly going to take place as per normal.

And as we had arrived a little early as planned, parking off near the house on account of Hamzah wanting to see Mohsina and Zaid before the function, I smiled as I watched him twiddle his fingers mindlessly just before getting off.

And even as we all stepped out, Rabia and I lifting our dresses slightly, her with a slightly annoyed look on the face, we were already overwhelmed at the kind of reception we received.

Of course, I could tell that they had been awaiting our arrival specifically, even though the marquee was erected in the front yard, Mohsina’s sister came to usher us toward the entrance of the house, whilst her brother sidled up alongside Hamzah, already talking easily about some car show that had happened last week.

And as I stepped up, looking around me, scanning only for Zaid, I suppose it was inevitable that as we made our way inside, there he appeared, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as a pretty girl held him.

And maybe I was slightly dazed that day, on account of so much that had happened in such a short time, I almost missed her completely. And as I looked from Zaid to this gorgeous female figure that I could hardly recognise, it took me a few seconds to process who it was.

“Assalamualaikum!” She said, flashing us both a smile as I register that it was none other than my new sister-in-law. “I’m so happy to see you guys…”

And I knew I sound crazy, but seeing her after over a month came like a shock, and felt like I was seeing a new person, and I could tell that Rabia was just as surprised to see how amazingly different she now looked. I had instinctively made my way with Rabia to where she stood and giving her an enormous hug, so thrilled that her and Hamzah’s big day had finally come.

”Wa alaykum Salaam!” I said softly, embracing her tightly. “Mohsina, I hardly recognised you. You look so beautiful.”

And I wasn’t just saying that. She really looked exceedingly stunning, with a gold-edged hijab that was tied absolutely perfectly.

She flashed a nervous smile as her gaze flickered to her husband, and could tell that she was pretty overwhelmed.

I didn’t expect her to be out and about the house, like regular family member.

I had expected her to be like the usual brides who only make an appearance down in the marquee, dressed in some kind of gaudy outfit, but Mohsina was the epitome of sublime simplicity, but here she was, in a gorgeous white and gold embroidered abaya with extended sleeves, which seemed to be made to fit her most elegantly. Her cheeks were flushed with a little more than just blush but even so, she appeared unnaturally calm for a new bride. It took me a few seconds to realise that the reason for the enormous change in appearance was that she had, evidently, lost a ton of weight and I could already tell that my brother-in-law was a little more taken aback by how gorgeous she looked that day.

It was strange and sweet to witness their first meeting, and as he awkwardly approached her and extended his hand to shake hers, Zaid had obviously not got the Nikah vibes memo, and bubbling with excitement, plunged directly at him .

And of course, I couldn’t help but laugh because instead of letting the new couple greet each other, the little pumpkin conveniently transferred all the attention to himself. All Hamzah could do was hold him tightly and grin, as Mohsina shook her head, already giving up on the situation being any kind of conventional.

And how could it be? They had come together in a most unconventional way, and though everyone was thrilled, if life hadn’t turned out the way it did, it probably would have never changed.

For now though…. Having a baby in the picture already was going to be a bit challenging, but I could tell that they were both prepared to take it in their stride.

And even though no-one complained, I knew that it was probably time to intervene and get my own dose of Zaidoo, so I stepped forward, hoping he would remember me.

”Let me take him!” I said jovially, as I moved on to take Zaid from Hamzah. It took them a few minutes of awkwardness before they made their way to a slightly more isolated area, just outside the main lounge, and I couldn’t help but notice what a lovely couple they did make.

With Mohsina’s softer features looking particularly striking that day, and Hamzah with his natural charm, looking more like Imraan as the days went by, I knew that many eyes would probably be on them that day. Tears filled my eyes momentarily as I wondered how time had flown so fast, that my once 11-year-old brother-in-law was already married.

And as I left them, hoping they would get enough time to talk before guests started filling the hall, Zaid was passed from arm to arm as we tried to keep him from Mohsina for that evening.

He was, very evidently, restless and pining for her, and as the function started, her sister had come to take him outside for a small walk, so the lecture and beautiful Qirāt recital could take place without him bawling his eyes off.

All the time, as I sat, I could see Mohsina’s eyes searching for him, almost as if she could think of nothing else. He had, very evidently, taken over her life as much as he did ours. And of course, I tried to ignore the unfounded feeling that I may not get as much as him now as I hoped, but I had to also put my own selfish desires aside and respect her and Hamzah’s wishes.

And despite my small concerns, the joy and feeling of celebrating that was in the air was very much palpable. Mohsinas family, I could not deny, was most welcoming and hospitable. Remembering that she came from a simple home, I was in awe of how every member of her family served and saw to the needs of the guest personally and most graciously.

The food was, very evidently, deliciously home-made, and the small function went so beautifully that even Rabia had nothing to complain about. And although it was simple and completely unflashy, what I knew for sure, from her boisterous and very evident love for him, was that Hamzah was most definitely going to be pampered endlessly by Mohsinas amazing Nani, who kept swooning over him, unashamedly boasting about her new grandson-in-law, and stopping at nothing to make sure that everything was absolutely perfect.

And it was. From the beginning to end, the marquee devoid of cameras or there was so much of Barakah and happiness, that nothing could deter the couple from beaming so brightly, that I’m sure that their faces must have been sore from all the smiling they both did that day.

I was all lost in thought as I watched Jameela take Zaid to the front table where Mohsina was sitting and laughing with a friend of hers, noticing the look of sheer relief on both their faces as Zaid saw her and immediately grasped her neck, as if he never wanted to let go…

“Can you believe your brother-in-law is getting married?”

I turned slightly to the right with my smile widening, as I heard the voice of Haseena, Maulana Umar’s wife, grinning at my new sister-in-law.  My heart filled with joy, and I couldn’t help but reach out and hug her fiercely, taking in her familiar embrace as she hugged me back.

We had known each other for years, but seldom saw each other because of Maulana’s work that always entailed him going out for jamaat and taking her with him. Besides, life was so hectic at times, and with five kids, I couldn’t imagine what her days were like.

“I honestly am finding it hard to deal, Hasoo,” I said, remembering the nickname we always used for her before she was even married to Maulana Umar, or rather just Umar, at that time. “I can’t believe he’s grown up and I’m married for almost 12 years this year!”

Back then, Haseena was a completely ordinary, contemporary girl who loved to make a fashion statement and caught everyone’s attention. And though still positively stunning, when I saw her now, I could hardly believe that this girl in jilbaab was the same girl that had changed her life so drastically, and turned over a completely new leaf.

“It means we’re getting old, aren’t we?” She said, with a twinkle in her eye, and I laughed in agreement. It was bitter-sweet, this getting old thing.

And so was this event.

”It’s a bit emotional, isn’t it?” she said, almost saying aloud how I felt. “The baby… their friends… now, how Allah planned it… they’ve become a new couple. I know Maulana is optimistic that it will work out and the baby needs a proper home, but imagine if this was you or I, Sawls… it’s kind of a huge sacrifice isn’t it?”

I nodded solemnly, feeling an ache in my gut because I knew that Liyaket would have been really thrilled to see his best friend finally settling down. I had remembered hearing Imraan joking about how Liyaket often teased Hamzah about his tendency to jump from girl to girl in the office.

“He’s really changed,” I said softly to her. “I think he’s finally grown up. Soon we’ll be planning our kids weddings, have you thought about that?”

She laughed, and as we spoke easily about life, kids and everything else, the crowd was dispersing and the men slowly started filtering into the hall, she easily excused herself to go to the car where Maulana Umar was probably already waiting. Giving her an even more massive hug, as she left, I could barely believe that this day that we had all been waiting for so long was already nearly over.

Meeting Haseena was lovely and kind of the cherry on the top, as I remembered the earlier days when I just got married and how everything had settled into place. In a mere moment, seeing her again felt like no time had passed, and it was a beautiful feeling that made me look forward to the waleemah a little more.

Meeting with the people of the past reminds us of the way things once were, the happiness that we experienced growing up, and all the wonder. It was a natural feeling that just brought a smile to your face.

And as some familiar faces came up to greet us, the amazing atmosphere of unity and family was such a special feeling.

The feeling of everything falling into place so beautifully was incomparable. And as we got ready to leave too, toward the end of the function when Hamzah had come in to sit with Mohsina, and as they talked intimately, about something serious, I couldn’t help but feel a little at a loss for words, after Haseena’s words.

What these two had done was something that was quite amazing. Though it was a joining of families… a union of hearts and hopefully the initiation of something in breakable… but most importantly, it was the forming of a little orphaned boy’s home and family.

The fact that they had put all their differences aside and taken this plunge was something that I couldn’t quite believe my brother-in-law had so selflessly been able to commit to.

And yes, it may be a challenge. Imraan had voiced his concerns, unreservedly, to me earlier that week.

I did notice that Hamzah had been quiet recently, but to be fair, he had undergone a helluva lot in the past month, and no one could expect him to come out unchanged…

He had barely had a chance to really reflect over the Yemeni war situation before Liyakets passing brought him crashing down on him, and then was Ramadhaan and Al ‘Aqsa, that he had done in the spur of the moment, and in between it all, becoming something like a father to Zaid, well…

The whole transition may be extremely difficult and even heartbreaking, as they remembered their friends in every first word, first step and little achievement that he made through the years. Losing someone was not a once off.

You lose them over and over, sometimes many times a day. When the loss, momentarily forgotten, creeps up, and attacks you from behind, it’s like fresh waves of grief rip into your heart once again.

And although they will be living and carrying on without them, what a beautiful reminder it was, that they had most certainly left one of their most amazing gifts behind.

And as they left behind what may have started on rough and unsteady footing, and went toward what may be a better and more promising future that held something so much better, I couldn’t help but feel immensely excited about it.

And as I helped them clean away some dishes as Rabia sat and looked bored as she typed on her phone, Imraan speaking to Mohsinas father in the distance, my heart was palpably undergoing a host of emotions that I still couldn’t full figure, but as I took a seat, various thoughts were still whirling through my mind.

Seeing family and friends and so many people that we hadn’t met over the years was amazing. This was a union of two families, a breaking of barriers, and a spectacular reason for renewed hope… and the conclusion of the saying by Umar bin Khattab (Radiallaho Anho) as it continued, was a perfect reminder.

­

Go easy on yourself, for the outcome of all affairs is determined by Allah’s decree. If something is meant to go elsewhere, it will never come your way, but if it is yours by destiny, from you it cannot flee.

The thing is, life can be fulfilling at different times of our lives. Sometimes you just have to trust the timing. Theres always opportunity to be wanting to sit and wonder about how things could have turned out differently.. But you can also trust that you have never missed out on what was meant for you.

And though its hard to trust when so much is unknown, try not to take it in all at once.

Pause. Breathe in. Take it in, shade by shade, tree by tree, scent by scent, friendship by friendship… Take in the magic of the moment you are in, without really worrying about what’s to come next or beyond the amazemnet of that moment. Let it be enough. Breathe it in, and let it be enough.

The story thats unfolding right then may be world’s apart from what we expected but it doesn’t mean that it wont be beautiful and life-changing.

And as I breathed in the moment, savoring it’s uniqueness, the vibration on the table broke into my thoughts, as I wondered who would be trying to call me right then.

And just as I picked it up, seeing a missed call from my younger sister and knowing that this was probably not just a general courtesy call, it was at that moment that the message from her came through, and it gave me a slightly unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach as I wondered if Fareeha was really telling the truth.

Imraan told Aadil to join u guys for tea. We’re in the area. See you in 5. xx

---

Just a tad bit of wedding humour …

Don’t forgot our Mission Sunnah Revival

❤️

The Sunnah of Giving up arguing and having good manners…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, and approach the month of Dhul Hajjiah, let try and increase our Ibaadat.

Abu Umamah Al-Bahili Ra reported Nabi (ﷺ) said,

“I guarantee a house in Jannah for one who gives up arguing, even if he is in the right;

and I guarantee a home in the middle of Jannah for one who abandons lying even for the sake of fun;

and I guarantee a house in the highest part of Jannah for one who has good manners/Akhlaaq.

In line with love for Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Salaam), a narration goes like this:

Someone asked Ali (RA): 

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah ­

The Simple Things

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 41
Mohsina

Sometimes we get so caught up in life that we forget that we don’t always need to be busy, to be rushing to the next thing or to keep on checking our phones or e-mails. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves that it’s okay to slow down, to pause, to take a break and to take notice of the little things that aren’t so little.

Sometimes we don’t realize someone’s prayer that saved us from falling deeper. Or a smile that came through for us when we needed it most. Or a a simple kind word that made a difference to someone’s difficult day.

The simple things, sometimes, can take us a long way.

And yes, for me, there was a time in life when I stopped worrying about the simple things, and stopped caring what people think. When I shifted my focus, when I got detached from people, and built that wall that kept me an arms length away… at any given time.

Watching my father being held, at gun point when I was 18 years old, when nothing we had was good enough to invoke any mercy, had shifted something within me.

It was from that point on that I decided that I would be fearless. Unyielding. Unattached. I supposed that was my coping mechanism.

When it came to suitors, to family, friendships, and to Hamzah too… I never risked digging my hopes in so deep that coming out would prove to be any sorts of painful.

I always knew that people could leave. Come and go as they pleased. Leave each other, and never return. It was something I’d realised from listening to friends talking about relationships or being a little too cautious for my own liking. 

And so, instead of focusing on the One who never leaves, that’s when I shifted my focus to things. Shoes, handbags and accessories were easiest to deal with. People, to me, were the problem. 

So when the blues got to me, as I sat in my room, one day in Ramadhaan, it took me a little by surprise.

And maybe it was a combination of my mind finally attuning to reality, and also being the time of the month and the emotions that came with it… all I knew was that it felt like she had left me and the light had followed her. Simply put, whichever way I saw it, there was a gnawing ache in my body which translated to me missing Layyanah immensely.

Suddenly, the world was filled with so much of darkness that it was almost impossible for me to see at all. And as I trudged along, a flickering torch lighting much less of a path than I’d hoped, there were moments when my heart gave in completely.

How much my heart yearned for her advice, her laugh and just her general two cents, I wasn’t even able to fully comprehend, but being so busy with Zaid had filtered it for me, so it wasn’t so obvious.

But then there were the moments. Moments at night when I couldn’t seem to drift off to sleep, where I would stare at the ceiling and wonder how she could  leave me like this. At such a dead loss, completely clueless as to how to even sort out and live my own life, nevermind her little boy’s…

It was the day after Maahira had messaged, when Zaid was still with Hamzah and family, when I had gone down to see if there was anything to munch on (it was that time of the month and I was feeling a little spiritually low, and Maahira was also coming to visit after iftaar so I could explain the whole marriage saga), so I grabbed a packet of cookies just as Nani walked into the kitchen, and gave me one of her eye-balling looks.

I was being my usual unbothered self, as I strutted around the then empty kitchen, looking for something to munch on and to do whilst I heard her voice from behind me that made me jump.

“No roza?” She said with a frown, looking at me, almost accusingly. Nani was looking at me accusingly as I hid the stash behind my back.

I pulled my face slightly because next, I already had a plan to head straight to the shelf near the stove, due to the fact that for some reason, someone had left a huge slab of Cadbury Bubbly chocolate (that everyone knew was my ultimate favourite ), right in proximity of my wandering eyes.

But with Nani’s eyes now fixed on me, I slunk back to the bar stool, determined to leave my chocolate-cravings for later.

“No, Nani,” I said with a small smirk. “I’m not fasting.”

”Oh,” she said, obviously peeved that I would have the guts to even admit it.

And I got the old traditional thinking but after explaining to my brother that women take a break from certain forms of worship once a month, he now obediently turned the other way if he ever saw us sneaking a treat to our rooms. Nani obviously, thought it was appalling that he knew, but I thought it was important that he knew that we weren’t cheating.

“You missing Zaid?”

It was Nani again and I knew that was her way of asking why I was still sitting there, because it was the first time I had set foot on the kitchen after ages.

And to tell the truth, though the short break definitely had helped with my sleep deprivation, I was actually missing him so much that I pottered around my room trying to deal with myself in the best way possible. As much as I wanted to call every minute and see how he was doing, all I did was message Saaliha (maybe a bit too many times) to ask how he was… but despite her being polite, her answers were always brief and to the point.

For all I know, she had probably been given instructions by Hamzah not to over indulge me and I got that. Well, a little, except for the fact that I still thought that he was behaving like a selfish brat.

I sighed audibly, unable to contain my annoyance.

“You okay?” Nani asked bossily, and turned back to mixing the batter she had put in the metal bowl in front of her.

“Just tired,” I said half-heartedly. I still had piles of work to do and I just couldn’t seem to get around to it. Faadil had messaged me about six times this morning for follow ups on budgets but I just wasn’t feeling like getting into it. I knew that my job was on the line too, but for some reason, it didn’t even faze me.

Sure, I missed some aspects of my apartment but sitting like a lump and getting spoilt rotten had been absolute bliss.

Besides, Nani was in a particularly good mood because she hadn’t once even commented on my laziness. Maybe she was feeling sorry for me or just wanted to be nice, but when Nani actually missed an opportunity to hound me about learning to cook, I knew that the odds were in my favour.

And as she turned to look at me, a slight frown on her forehead, I couldn’t help but notice how different she appeared. It had been so long that I had really taken her in, that I didn’t quite realise how much she had aged.

Although she was still highly capable for everything that she had carried out over the years, her back was now slightly hunched and her movements were a little slower than before.

There it was. Another reminder that time was running away with me and if I didn’t say anything it would forever be lost…

And I suppose that’s why, although it was probably the best time for me to head back upstairs and either do the work Faadil had mailed me this morning, or just some general adhkaar and Ibaadat (worship) that I’d kind of made a habit of to ground me, I knew I shouldn’t.

It was just that, somehow, after the general cleansing and lightening and purifying of my heart over the weeks had taken effect, there was nothing else that I really wanted to do than bear my heart and soul and that was exactly why I sat there for another five minutes and wondered how exactly to approach the topic that I’d been avoiding with Nani for over a year.

”Nani,” I said finally, watching my grandmother whisking her mixture vigorously while the extractor hummed above her, ready to fry her mixture.

“Nani, I’m sorry,” I blurted out, already feeling embarrassed about how emotional I was already getting.

Nani glanced at me and frowned, her face slightly perplexed as she probably tried to figure out if I was just making a joke or what.

She said nothing, but as she looked at the sincerity on my face, I could see her expression ease, while she chopped carefully on the chopping board, before she finally broke into a small smile.

“What are you sorry for?” She said roughly in Guji, looking at me enquiringly.

“For everything,” I said quietly. “For not listening. For disappointing you. For causing problems. For making the wrong choices. For telling you that you have favourites…”

Yes, I had. I had accused Nani of having favourites. And I made it clear that she never treated me as one of hers.

I understood now that Nani was coming from a place where she was worried. Immensely worried and concerned that I wasn’t going all out to settle down and make a life for myself. And not get married, but that was beside the point.

Nani looked like she was shocked. But now that I was into it, I might as well go all out.

”Also, I’m sorry that things with Nadeema got so bad. Nani, I didn’t want it to be that way, but she was doing something that I couldn’t tolerate.”

There. I said it. I didn’t tell Nani what she did but I gave her an idea. I didn’t tell her that she had been speaking to the guy I was proposed to, and was even meeting him. I didn’t want to bring it all up now. It was the unmentionable things that we never mentioned.

But now I had just mentioned it.

“It’s okay,” Nani said in Gujarati. “Khair. He wasn’t right for you anyway.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly at Nani, wondering howcome she suddenly changed her opinion.  She had been so furious when I called it off.
Convinced that I would never find anyone better.

My  entire adult life had been spent hearing about how I can’t be so fussy and picky and no-one likes educated girls, and now she was saying that he wasn’t right for me in the first place.

I wondered if the change of heart was the current situation I had found myself in. Maybe Nani had finally realised that I didn’t really need a man to have a baby. Ah. The relief. At least it will save me from more soppy, spineless Sameers.

“Really?” I asked, curious, wondering if she was for real.

She shrugged, glancing at me as she dropped spoonfuls of batter into the hot oil.

The smell of freshly fried bajias was making my mouth water. Now let me tell you, my Nani didn’t just make a simple bajia.

Hers was the type with all the best stuff in it. The type that made you do metaphoric circles around trees in your mind as you bit into their crunchy texture. The type that made you salivate embarrassingly, just by smelling them.

The type I knew I had to learn to make, when I eventually decided to get married.

She was silent for a while, while the oil spluttered and simmered, and then turned and looked at me.

“His mother didn’t like my Samoosas,” she said with a serious face, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Nani’s samoosas were legend. There clearly was something wrong with his mother.

“And he wasn’t right,” she continued. “Not your type. Too ‘small-build’ for you.”

“What?” I said, widening my eyes.

Haaibo.

Was Nani saying I was too fat for him? Okay, I know he was on the smaller side but it wasn’t like I was that huge.

She shrugged.

Oh great. I couldn’t believe her.

She had turned back to the bajias, almost as if she hadn’t just called me fat.

It was at that point when Jameela entered the kitchen, and I knew I should have just let it go, but I was quite offended, so I couldn’t just be silent.

And fine, maybe Nani had forgiven me for my past mistakes but saying I was fat wasn’t exactly a good way to end the conversation.

“Jameela,” I whined, as my sister started taking out a jug for the milkshake. “Nani said I’m fat.”

Jameela had forgiven me for my outburst about her teenage-inspired-badboy-crush but she hadn’t mentioned it since. She still blushed awkwardly if anyone mentioned him or we saw him going past.

“I didn’t say she’s fat,” Nani said, not in the least bothered. “I said that boy was too small for her. Not right for her size.”

I looked at Jameela pointedly, while she grinned.

”I told her the truth,” Nani said pointedly. “I didn’t say she was fat. She mustn’t become like your Choti kala. Weight goes up and down like yo-yo. How will she find a boy when he won’t know who she is the next time he sees her?”

I spluttered as she glanced at me, wondering what Choti Kala would say about this. I knew Nani was just messing with me but it was fun to have something else to worry about.

Besides, I knew there was a stage when I was a little on the chubbier side, but being a lot more conscious of my weight now had brought me down pretty well. I knew that this Ramadhaan, unlike others, I had actually lost some weight. I was looking better than before. I also knew that I had been through so much recently that maybe I needed to just go with the light humor for now.

And as Nani went on about “makko” men (she probably meant macho), I couldn’t help but think of what Nani would think of Faadil. Despite the fact that he was ‘office men’s’ with big, big business, he had a good build. Plus he was super handsome and charming, that he could even charm the socks of me, in the most challenging of situations.

But then again, no-one quite knew about all his other antics that he got up to when he thought he had covered his tracks so well.

Okay, trash the thought. That was my utopian mind taking over. Nani would probably have a heart attack if she got wind of who he was.

Jameela was snickering silently to herself, and I stuck my tongue out at her.

Muhammed Husayn, evidently, had also smelt the famous bajias  and had just sauntered into the kitchen to investigate.

I already knew what was coming. Great. A family affair at my expense.

He sat silently and listened, while Nani explained her very intense whole theory about how sizes matter and opposites that attract. About how size determines the type of selection available and how girls who are thinner have a better selection of the opposite gender to go with. The theory went something like: The larger you are, the less selection is available for attraction.
It was like magnetic fields all over again in high school physics, which thankfully, I had dropped in grade 10. No regrets.

Shew.

”For Mohsina,” she said, matter if fact. “She can’t have one skinny small mens. She needs one with… what you call this thing?”

She tapped her upper arm and gestured at Muhammed Husayn while he smirked.

“Muscles, Nani,” he said blandly. “Muscles.”

”Yes,” she said, thrusting her spoon in the air. “He needs muscles. Can’t marry one bichaaro boy who can’t even pull you out the car seat.”

Great. Now she was suggesting that I get stuck in car seats. I loved my grandmother to bits.

My mouth was still hanging open, but as I watched my siblings grinning at me, I just shook my head at them and rolled my eyes.

The laughter was much needed, even though I wouldn’t admit it. I stayed silent though, as they went off to get ready to break fast, and I sauntered off to the lounge, knowing that my slight disconnection was probably due to the fact that I hadn’t been immersing myself in Ibaadat as much as I wanted to.

I had pulled out my phone from the shelf I had placed it on early, looking at another reminder from Faadil, and decided to ignore it for now, opening my Instagram after what seemed like days. A host of direct messages stared at me as I closed the app again, not yet ready to go into the mundanities of that kind of life yet.

Make up tutorials. Daily care routines. Trending memes that would cause a bit of a stir and create some much needed humour…

It all seemed so far away from me.

While I was searching everywhere for peace, I didn’t know that it was right in front of me, within this glorious message that was sent from above.

There are certain things that come only from the magic of His closeness, that you are privileged to seek. I had taken pride in the wrong things. I had taken pride in my fake life, that I was trying to make greater than it really was.

Because if there was one thing that I had learnt in Ramadhaan, it was that time was something I wouldn’t get back. I knew that if i didn’t make the most of this time, I would certainly be stupid. This was the time when I had to invest. The time I had to beg, steal, borrow and make sure I take advantage of, no matter what.

And for that time, I sought refuge in Allah, battling to find that place where I could connect with my Creator m once again. I sought refuge in Allah, in His mercy, and on the hope that He may see something within me to forever make me His bosom friend.

And as I had been waking up in the wee hours of the morning to seek Him, I found myself once again. I had tasted the sweetness of Quran. Of salaah. Of Duaa.

I sought refuge in it, even though I didn’t always have the words. In conversing with my Lord, even when I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I bore my heart and soul, so much so, that my parents and siblings had actually begun to get worried.

Our beloved Nabi, salla Allahu ‘alaihi wasallam, is reported to have said:

“There are three characteristics, whoever they are found in him, will experience the sweetness ofIman; that he loves Allah and His Prophet, more than he loves anyone else, and that he loves another person, not for anything, but for the sake of Allah, and that he hates to return to infidelity, like he dislikes to be thrown into fire.”

And it was that sweetness, a bliss that had consumed me, that I couldn’t seem to get enough of.

And I didn’t know it yet, but there was something quite noteworthy that it was all leading to.

Ever heard that saying, sometimes what you’re looking for comes when you’re not looking at all? 

It just so happens that there’s nothing that rings truer than that, for that particular day.

And having my family around me that day was all part and parcel of what was to be revealed. It lightened the mood. Made things simpler. Lifted my hopes.

I knew they were just poking me. Getting me to lighten up. Maybe even make me laugh. And I almost had. Nani was in good spirits, and still at it as we made our way to the iftaar table after salaah. I had been diligently frying the samoosas,  without even grabbing any testers, while Papa and the rest took a seat and made usual small talk.

Nani was going on about teaching Jameela how to make round rotis, and that’s precisely when I spotted Muhammed Husayn making his way to the kitchen shelf and grabbing the alluring Bubbly chocolate that I had set my sights on earlier.

And I know it a simple chocolate, but for a chocolatarian like me, it was the worst thing that could happen if Muhammed Husayn had just grabbed it at 6.30PM when all other chocolate stocks were low and even the slots on the Checkers app were  fully booked. With my brother, any edible would be devoured in 3 seconds, flat. For me, this was disaster.

I mean, chocolate was the answer to all my problems, especially when I was in fragile states like today.

And I really didn’t mean to stare him down so accusingly, but he must have noticed because he suddenly looked at me, and then said, almost apologetically:

“’This yours?”

And I couldn’t lie. It wasn’t really mine. But Jameela had noticed my annoyed expression and frowned at him, always quick to pick on my brother who had a bottomless pit as a stomach. Especially when it came to the finer things in life.

”Hey greedy, you had yours earlier this week,” she said accusingly. “That was Mosee’s.”

And of course, I was annoyed with him, but what else could I say besides the usual:

”Shame, no, it’s okayyy! Let him have it.”

But Jameela was like the our personal Haraam house police, and wasn’t going to have any of it.

“No,” she said, turning to look at me. “It’s really yours. Like, it’s legit haraam for him to take it without asking you. When you didn’t come down since Zaid left, I forgot to tell you. He brought one for each of us.”

”Who, Papa?” I asked, thinking of how sweet my father was. He knew just what my favourite chocolate was.

“No,” Jameela said blankly, glancing nervously around the table, while Ma and Nani watched her. They both had that look on their faces and I wasn’t even sure why, until she spoke again.

“Hamzah’s mother sent it,” she said quietly. “When they fetched Zaid. She sent a few things. The last time she came to the shop I sent a few things and… Shame, she didn’t have to.”

Jameela flushed slightly as she said it, probably thinking I might be angry about her entertainment of my ex-in-laws. I wasn’t though. It just felt strange.

”So nice of her,” Nani said, missing the awkwardness completely. “To send for all of us. I thought maybe for a special occasion like the masjid sent last week.”

“They had sent for completion of Qur’aan,” Jameela was saying. “This she sent with sooo many other things. Plus, that mosque does two khatams in Ramadhaan. Most people are only finishing their Khatam next week.”

I was secretly a little happy that Hamzah’s mother had actually sent something for me. It made me feel all fuzzy inside.

I was losing interest in the conversation but I couldn’t believe how fast Ramadhaan was going. I was just glad that by next week I would be reading again and be able to make the most of my Qur’aan. It was the one thing I truly missed during these few days.

My heart was feeling a very palpable void.

”Hamzah will finish tomorrow,” Muhammed Husayn said, almost out of the blue.

And I must have had a confused look on my face because as Jameela looked at him too, I couldn’t help but wonder what my brother was on about.

“Finishing what?” I said, still slightly confused.

”He’s reading his last part for tonight. At the house behind the new Masjid in JHB North. I went there last week. He was also talking to Papa the other day when he came and he confirmed it.”

What? My heart literally skipped a beat as he said it.

Why, oh why, didn’t I come down when they came to fetch Zaid? I was being stupid and emotional because I didn’t want him to go. But now, I missed out on this whole conversation that had happened and I couldn’t believe I had acted so childish.

”He’s a Hafidh?” I said dumbly, and Muhammed Husayn looked at me like a I born on another planet.

“Duh.”

It was Jameela’s turn to look at me in surprise. She probably didn’t know either. I mean, she would only know if I had told her.

And why on Earth was my heart beating so fast?

”Wait,” she said, looking at me again. “You telling me he’s a Hafidh and you didn’t know it?”

“We never discussed it,” I said quietly, as if that explained it, barely even believing it myself.

How could we have not even spoke about that?

How could we have never discussed that he was a protector of the most beautiful book? How could we have not spoken about what an amazing gift he had been blessed with? How did I not even see the value of that, before this…

I breathed in, not even seeing clearly anymore. For some odd reason, tears were blurring my vision, and I wasn’t even making an effort to stop them.

Of course, my brother was still giving me the kuku look, Jameela was just shaking her head at me and Nani and my mother were sitting there, with a shocked expression on their face, as if they couldn’t quite believe what had just been revealed and my odd reaction.

To tell the truth, neither could I.

This wasn’t just big. It was huge. And everything just seemed so clear now, depite my oscured vision,  and it was like everything single thing that had happened till that very point was all leading to this. It was a huge discovery that was somehow so much more important in my life than it had ever been before.

Yes, this wasn’t anything unique. There were thousands of Huffaadh around here. A blessing that each of them had, to hold the Holy Qur’aan within their bosom. It was a seemingly simple task that took years of effort and practise and healed even the most obstinate of hearts, but till that day, I hadn’t realsie the true amazement of it.

There was a huge lump in my throat that seemed to be obstructing my breathing canal. I looked up at them, with blurry vision, taking in a deep breath, and knowing that this was no coincidence. Sometimes the simple things in life are really not so simple at all.

“Excuse me,” I almost whispered, swallowing as I pushed my chair back.

I didn’t need to tell them where I was going.

I think they all already knew.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

The Sunnah of Duaa…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, I think the Sunnah of Duaa is one that we need to keep with us… InshaAllah

The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said, ‘Du’a is worship itself’. Then the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) recited this verse, ‘Your Lord says: “Call upon Me and I will respond to you. Verily, those who disdain My worship will enter Hell in humiliation” [The Noble Qur’an, 40:60]’. [Tirmidhi]

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When the Game Begins

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 40

We are a pretty lost generation. Toxic, if you ask me.

We have taken self-entitlement to another level. We are obsessed with self-care. We are closed off to all advice, even when someone has good intent.

We forget that accounting is also an act of integrity. We end up throwing around lines like ‘I don’t owe anyone anything’, when in fact, we forget that there are things bigger than numbers, things like actions and their consequences that we need to account for.

We owe those we hurt, an apology. You owe those who support you, some gratitude. You owe those who you disrespected, some respect.

And we are so off track that if we’re not destroying the relationships we already have, we have become unable to build any new healthy ones. We lose what is real chasing over what appears to be.

You see, whilst previous generations would indicate their nobility by their lineage, their family or similar traits, for Gen Z and the Millennials, the ball game is a completely different one. For the ‘digital natives’, we value our worth on comments and inbox messages filled with colorful words that have no depth.

Nowadays, when relationships get hard, all we do is log on and get high off the false sense of security and appreciation.

Our version of worthiness is now defined by the money we could spend. How many followers we have. Which virtual celebrities we could tag whilst living our best life, because our lives were only the best when it warranted outside validation.

And the game didn’t end. I had been all caught up in it for such a long time but I was coming somewhere back down to Earth when the situation had gotten a little stressful at home and I got caught up again in my different kind of delusion.

“How could you?!” I shot at my sister, pulling over one of her newer abayas with a teal-coloured zip, and spinning around to face her. “How could you let Nani fry them?! Do you even know how bad this looks?”

It was all about me and my expectations and how I felt about the entire thing. About how embarrassed I was. I glanced in the mirror, shaking my head at her as I tried to slap on at least a little make-up, just to appear human.

The foundation I had layered on was looking drab and too much already. Over a week of sleep deprivation was not looking good for those bags. My skin was almost dry and disgustingly flaky. I desperately needed to get to Sandton to purchase my Hydro-facial products but I hadn’t gotten a single chance.

My life was an official and crazy mess.

“I couldn’t help it,” she mumbled, looking extremely tense as she watched me. “I was busy with Zaid and I couldn’t leave him.”

Was that all she had? She couldn’t help it?!

Well, I couldn’t help losing it.

“But I told you to watch Nani with those samoosas!” I hissed, seeing red. I did tell her. Before I went to shower. “If you weren’t so caught up in stalking that ridiculous boy, we could have avoided all these damn problems!”

Jameela looked hurt, and remorse immediately overcame me as she mumbled an apology.

And of course, with all that pent-up frustration, I couldn’t help but immediately see an opportunity to take some of it out on her.

I breathed in as I removed my thick line of eye-liner from the day before that I hadn’t had time to remove and I just wasn’t feeling anymore, now convinced that all my Qur’an reading for that day was completely void because I had lost it with my sister.

That was uncalled for. And it wasn’t nice.

There I was, faulting her for not controlling her gaze when I was ten times worse than her.

But she didn’t know that, did she? My Nafs was reminding me.

She doesn’t know what’s really going on, and she wasn’t going to find out.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz Buzz.

And there he was. The reminder. And right now, when I was getting ready for one of the most important meetings of my year, was when Faadil decided to call, after almost three days of no communication. How great was his timing, and what on Earth was he busy with all this time?

I instantly pressed down the side button of my iPhone, silencing the vibration that was becoming a little too disruptive for my overactive mind. No need to give him the time of day right then. It takes two to tango, right.

Guilt was slowly creeping in, as I watched Jameela’s flushed face, and that, was something I didn’t expect. Usually, saying mean and degrading things had no effect on my heart. Usually, I wouldn’t even feel an atom of remorse for the ugly words I would utter. But this time, my conscience was already gnawing at me.

Something had changed my heart and I had no idea as yet what it was.

But there was no time to even digest it because we had to be downstairs within a few minutes and make good impressions and brace myslef for the unknown.

What I didn’t quite know about change was that they were already creeping in, from the time Zaid had come into my life.

And boy, had he really taken over my life. It was like the wind was knocked out of me, and all I ate, slept and dreamt about was all things Zaid.

In fact; as I looked in the mirror one last time, I even looked like all things Zaid. Imagine if people from the office saw me like this. Thank goodness Faadil hadn’t video called. Imagine if he was exposed to this. He would very possible run for the hills if he did.

I speedily draped my sheila, making sure I looked semi-normal, and then sped down the stairs to hear the sound of jovial chatter already in the lounge. In all fairness, there was no need to be over-morbid, but the whole thing was just making me so unsettled that I really wished that everyone would just get on with what they came here for and get it over with.

Ans it was getting to me because now, I had to deal with Hamzah and family. And of course, it made me extremely nervous to think about it.

I held my breath as I entered the lounge, purposely keep to the extreme left, as I glimpsed Nani, my mother, and three other ladies on the other side. They looked up as they saw me, and though I expected them to be civil, as Hamzah’s mother came forward to greet me, I really did not expect her to hold on to me so tightlly, that I felt like I could barely breathe.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said to her warmly, and I was surprised that really meant it, as I held her back.

And though she was silent, as she pulled back, it was only then that I saw tears in her eyes as she looked back at me, probably not trusting herself to speak. Behind her, sitting on the chair beside the couch because of her troublesome back, was Liyakets mother, who I had been seeing when I took Zaid to see her every second day.

And though it was different circumstances, the entire thing was like dejavu. Meeting his amazing mother. His lovely sister-in-law. Hearing Hamzah’s unfiltered voice talking from behind the screen.

But in other ways, it was different. This time, there was no forced-smiling necessary.  No chuckles and light-hearted humour. No attempts at cornering me in the kitchen.

Hamzah, in fact, didn’t even leave his seat, even as we called the men to the dining room table for some tea and Nani’s famous samoosas.

Not even for those, and to tell the truth, despite my dramatic performance, I think I may have been just as disappointed as Nani about it.

The daunting Maulana Umar, who I’d heard of through the grapevine before, was a friend of Hamzah’s older brother. And as I sat, trying to calm my nerves as Saaliha played with Zaid, who had been back and forth several times and now also needed a change of nappy, I couldn’t help but overhear the talk that was now starting on the other side.

Amidst it all, there was a tone of grief within the quiet chatter that ensued that day, as we both said our piece  and tried to be civil about what we wanted out of this arrangement.

And my heart was thudding in my chest as we spoke,  me in lower tones, mostly through my father, because I knew that Hamzah wanted full custody of Zaid. I actually couldn’t believe him. He felt he was entitled to it, since Liyaket was his best friend for nearly two decades. I knew that he was persistent in whatever he did, and I knew that he wouldn’t back down about it.

It was just that the Maulana who was here was talking so casually and calmly, that I really had no idea what to make of it anymore. Was he going to push me to the edge for this or give me a break?

And if things had ended on a good note with us, or even a slightly amicable one, it may have been easier, but the tension between us, even though it wasn’t direct, was very much evident.

As for the suggestions put forward, I disagreed (maybe purposely) with everything he said, and he, in turn, argued everything I put forward.

It was evident from the emotion in both our voices that we very palpably felt the loss of our two closest friends, who would have probably banged both our heads together if they’d been there.

There I was, trying to be civilized, behind the screen, but I literally felt like yelling my head off at him. And okay, I couldn’t blame him for my crazy, but I could tell that even the Maulana was a little in over his head with us, as the tension rose and fell, when finally, I could tell that it was time to call it a day. And I’m sure he was glad to be done with us too.

I really did feel quite sorry for him.

“This is a unique situation,” someone said, trying to dissipate it. “Very little family is involved and that was the case when the parents were around too. It may just take a few more meetings to come to something amicable, right?”

Yah right, was all I could think. Let’s see how amicable Hamzah can be. 

There was a series of ‘Jhee’ and general tones of agreement, before the maulana spoke again.

“So we know that this baby needs a good upbringing,” Maulana started. “Any child does. I cannot stress more on the importance of upbringing and how much this can mould a child.”

Okay Maulana, I thought in my head. Enough with the Bayaans. Just give us a solution that will be good for us both.

”With this in mind,” he continued. “There are many things that can be designed. Rosters, on who will keep him when, for the interim. Proper planning as he grows, for daycare or for his schooling, and also, it requires commitment from both sides to keep to the agreement. If this can be done with little problems, then Allah Ta’ala will put barakah in the arrangement.”

Ja, neh. Now he was talking. I was starting to like him. Finally.

“But,” he said, after a few seconds, and I held my breath, wondering what he was pausing for. “We need to also remember that disagreements are inevitable. When there is a dispute and no understanding between the parties continuously, children suffer the lifelong consequences. Even though this is a very heartbreaking situation, the advantage of this baby being very small if that whatever foundation is built now, will be the only one he knows. My best suggestion is to make it as normal as possible. Form a home for the child. A healthy child is one who has been jointly reared by two parents.”

Haaai. Now what?!

I could literally hear Jameelas breathing next to me, but no-one dare say a word, in case they had gotten the wrong end of the stick.  Was the Maulana actually suggesting what I thought he was?

“Maulana, I’m sorry,” someone said from the men’s side. It must have been Hamzah’s brother. “Just to make it clear…. What exactly are you suggesting?”

He cleared his throat, gave a small chuckle and I held my breath.

“There can be an arrangement,” he said, and my own breathing quicker as he said it. “Either hand the child over to a couple who has made a home and is willing to take him-“

”Maulana, that won’t work,” Hamzah’s voice said swiftly before anyone else could get a word in edgewise.

I agreed, for once.

”Or you take my best advice and make your own…” Maulana finished off.

My cheeks flushed as he said it, even though the message was ambiguous. Did he actually even say that?

Did he mean Hamzah must make his own home? Was he trying to kick me out of the equation completely… or was he suggesting something else that entailed us both?

Did he know the history here? I was almost certain that he did, and was just taking the mickey out of us. None of us were thrilled, and I could hear the ominous silence from where they all sat.

I breathed out, not even realised how long I had been holding my breath until I felt the relief in my chest, coupled with a ache in my gut that I couldn’t quite comprehend.

There was silence, because I knew that it was directed at Hamzah and I.

“Hamzah?” He said, from where he sat behind the screen across the room. “Sister Mohsina? Lets forget the disagreements, and try to make something work, alright?”

I could hardly breathe easily right then, looking from my mother to the three ladies who were sitting there with her, still unable to focus.

I mumbled a half-hearted reply, and so did Hamzah, but the guilt I had been feeling was now overwhelming.

Liyaket’s mother was still sitting there, a little unfocused but silent. She probably didn’t quite know what to make of the whole thing.

Losing her only son must feel like your entire world is lost. Imagine not being able to see your only child, ever again. Imagine not being able to hold him, to touch him, to hear his voice calling her. Imagine having that loss, which feels heavier with time, and each passing day.

I prayed every day for Allah to fill that huge void she felt… that we all felt, so much more, now… with His amazing Love, until we are reunited in Jannah, one beautiful day.

I closed my eyes for a minute, wondering, not for the first time, if this was really happening. If Liyaket and Layyanah really left this world. If this little baby had really become my responsibility. If Hamzah and I really went through so much, only to be back here again.

Murmuring and hushed tones continued for a bit, before Maulana started speaking again.

“See, Allah Ta’ala has designed us in such a way that any child will thrive best, given both parents together,” he said carefully. “Circumstances are unavoidable. Every child needs a mother desperately, with her comfort, emotional understanding and compassion. Together with that, the father is also as important, as he holds an amazing space in defining the child’s direction, for financial support, in setting boundaries and in keeping a family aligned on the path of Allah Ta’ala.

I’ll leave you one last piece of advice that you both should take very seriously. To avoid court, we have to work together and be selfless. And I know that everyone will have their own opinions and objections, but when you two truly stop thinking about yourselves and start thinking about the child and what’s best for him, then you both will see sense and I know that you two will make the best decision. You’ll are welcome to come to me when you do. Inshaa Allah….”

And with that, Maulana Umar greeted my stunned father respectfully, before I turned to Hamzah’s mother and sister in law, who I also greeted, feeling just a little embarrassed and out of place.

Yes. I had been a bit difficult. A bit pushy with how much I wanted to control.

I wanted most of Zaid’s time. I wanted to choose schools. I wanted to make sure he had the best care. But wasn’t that because of him? I just wanted the best for him, right?

I didn’t even think that it may have been my ego talking for me.

I knew that I hadn’t been easy, and neither had Hamzah. Both of us had our preferences and our criteria but what Maulana had said had nailed it on the head. We weren’t really thinking about Zaid. Everything we had said was centered around ourselves, and there was no way that it would make any difference to Zaid if it was one way or the other.

I desperately wanted to make things right, even as I greeted the ladies, but it was too late and there was nothing that could be done. What Maulana had said had hit a nerve, and there was no way I could make it all right then.

And with less than a week away from Ramadhan, office work still pending, after everything sunk in, I found myself retreating more into my own world, and caring less about the old one.

The messages kept coming. The posts kept flowing. The game continued, but I wasn’t really playing.

And I’m sure it was the combination of the blessings of Ma’s famous haleem (yummiest lentil soup), Nani’s multiple-filling samoosas and all the general goodness that homemade luxuries had brought… but somehow, something within me had shifted and while I would, in the past, jump at an opportunity to spend time alone with Faadil as soon as he messaged, any day he wanted to see me, it just didn’t appeal any longer…

I had spoken to him briefly, filed in for some unpaid leave and asked for a break to think about what I really wanted to do.

Of course, to say he was livid, was an understatement. He was convinced that I was throwing away the best opportunity I ever had. Thinking with my heart. Wasting my intellect. Deluded by emotion.

But he didn’t know what changes my heart had been though. He had no idea how much I had been altered. I knew exactly what it was that I needed, because something had happened to me, and though I wasn’t yet quite sure what it was, I already knew that I didn’t want to lose it.

As much as I wanted to at least make amends and redeem myself with Hamzah’s family for the sake of Zaid, I wasn’t going to contact him. Although I needed to swallow my pride, I wasn’t quite ready.

Too much had happened, and as I entered Ramadhaan and a journey into myself, I realized that I had a deeply-rooted arrogance, that was keeping me away from Allah Ta’ala all this time.

It stemmed from the fact that my heart was not in Him, and He was not in my heart. I discovered that a heart that does not have it’s Creator within it, is not clean, but tarnished, and I wanted that to change.

You see, for me, my pride was in my career. My 15k followers. My degree. My feminist position at work. My insta-worhy photo skills. My amazing Instafam, and the name-dropping that I was entitled to do because of it.

And then Ramadhaan came, with a beautiful breeze of serenity, and with the softest tugging at my heart, as I lost myself in it, my altered heart was going to undergo much more than I’d ever bargained for.

Something had changed and I wasn’t sure what it was, and like iron is exposed to water and develops layer upon layers of rust, likewise, the heart too does.

But when it is polished, one would be shocked to notice that it experiences a shine like no other.

And once I realised that, it was like nothing else mattered. Not Netflix. Not Instagram. Not Snapchat. All I wanted to do is fix myself, with the wealth I had just found.

And there are certain beauties that only come with the peace of turning to Him, for indeed, Allāh Azza Wa Jal never ceases to be as His slave expects of Him.

On the authority of Abu Hurayrah, may Allah be pleased with him, that the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said: “Allah the Exalted, Says, ‘I am as My slave expects Me to be, and I am with him whenever he remembers Me. If he remembers Me to Himself, I remember him to Myself, and if he remembers Me in an assembly, I remember him in a better assembly (i.e., the assembly of angels). If he draws closer to Me by a hand span, I draw closer to him by an arm’s length. If he draws closer to Me by an arm’s length, I draw closer to him by a fathom’s length. And whoever comes to Me walking, I go to him at speed.’” [Al-Bukhari and Muslim]

And the more I immersed myself in the words of my Rabb, the more I craved. The peace and contentment that I felt that Ramadhaan was like no other. It was like discovering a secret gem, that was right under my nose. The Qur’ān was my secret refuge and my utmost saviour, altogether, taking preference above everything else, and winning me over into a world where I was truly absolved of any worldly desires.

Where I would be restless before when I opened it, now I was restless without it. Where my peace and contentment lay in everything besides it, now I could not seem to find any peace without it. I couldn’t think properly, if it wasn’t with me. It was like an attachment that was growing within me, purifying and healing me as it my heart opened more and more, and engulfed its superb magic.

I wanted to immerse myself more and more, and while Zaid slept, most days, instead of trying to catch up with the work Faadil had asked me to, I would sit with my Mushaf and soak in the serenity it gave me.

And that particular week, Hamzah had come to take Zaid away for three of the days that week, I didn’t yet know that a little more than just a greeting had ensued that day.

The game though, was still to unfold, because as life often goes, things are not always what they seem.

And the thing is, I had surrendered to Allah’s plan for me. Utterly and completely. I wasn’t fighting anything anymore. I was going with the flow and letting it all just take over, but with the ups and downs of life, when something knocks you sideways, sometimes you just dont expect it.

It was the sign for me. A reminder that most certainly, there is a Greater Power who knows and sees much better than you do.

And that’s when I realised:

This world cannot break you unless you allow it to. And it cannot own you unless you hand it the keys, and you hand over your heart. And so, if you have handed those keys to Duniyaa, you have to claim them back.

And I was still on that journey, the part that entailed taking the keys back… when to top off the jumble that my mind was in, my phone started buzzing away, and seeing the caller ID, I knew I couldn’t ignore her completely.

Maahira had been updated briefly on what was going on, but being Ramadhaan, I wasn”t particularly intent on speaking to her right then, so I opted for a generic, “Can’t talk right now, can I call you back?” message, and tapped send.

Her reply, as always, was instantaneous.

Hey love, I’m here for Eid! Now, r we having that wedding or not?

---

Dearest Readers

Hope everyone is well ❤️ It’s my favourite part of the story… the part when the plunge is taken and that change takes place and im just trying to hang onto it as long as I can. Okay, okay… not too long, I know.

Love reading your comments… thoughts on wedding preps?

Much love

A xx

Mission Sunnah Revival

The Sunnah of Duaa

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, I think the Sunnah of Duaa is one that we need to keep with us… InshaAllah

The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said, ‘Du’a is worship itself’. Then the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) recited this verse, ‘Your Lord says: “Call upon Me and I will respond to you. Verily, those who disdain My worship will enter Hell in humiliation” [The Noble Qur’an, 40:60]’. [Tirmidhi]

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah