When Things head South

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 88

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You talking to me?”

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

Rabia rolled her eyes as I ignored her, unaffected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bathroom.

I was too stunned to speak.

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

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

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

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

And then, came the anger.

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

“Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ma, stop emotionally blackmailing him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I scowled.

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

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

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

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

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

My ex-wife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trust Rabia to spot the elephant in the room.

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

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

Morning sickness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I blinked. Low?

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shook my head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Mission Sunnah revival: Sunnah of Duaa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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From Heartbreak to Hope

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 86

I had never felt more like a warrior than the moment I realised my marriage was becoming a war zone.

Theres something about having a raging fire set alight inside you that made you feel like you were literally in the midst of a fire. And for me, it was even more so, because although it took extreme measures to get me to that point, I knew that once I got there, it took a lot for me to calm myself down.

And as I thought of it, the man I’d become during the past few months, the doting husband, the more I realised how much Mohsina had changed me.

I’d never been the kind of guy who was a pushover.

For me, I had always been the one to own it, to lead the pack, to call the shots.

Then I married Mohsina, and everything changed. She was one of a kind, and she preferred to be in charge. I had left that to her… let her take the reins for most decisions, except the adventurous ones, and in some ways, relied on her way too much.

And now, it was time for me to take back the reins. As uncomfortable as it was, it had to be done.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Imraan’s brown eyes were slightly narrowed as I nodded my head, and his frown deepened.

”Like really, absolutely sure?”

His question was posed with a permanent frown and for a minute, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

And then, like a stab wound, I recalled the pain that I had felt the previous night and almost everything became clear again.

The pain was like hole in my gut. Constant and unflinching.

And just like before, that fierce protectiveness that I felt for Zaid had overcome me again.

“I need to do what I know Liyaket would expect from me,” I said bluntly.

”You really think Mohsina doesn’t deserve a proper say in this?” He questioned, is eyebrows raised. “She’s the only mother he knows.”

“The evidence is stacked against her,” I said softly, feeling horrible about considering what I was.

Feeling terrible for having to separate Zaid from her, even if it was for a short while. I just couldn’t stand the thought of Zaid being away from me.

“But didn’t you hear what Zubair said earlier?” Imraan said, frowning. “And I’m sorry bru, but as a mediator here, I can’t let you just throw your marriage away too. If Saaliha was here and she knew what happened, she would say the same. Premature decisions are never wise ones.”

Immense guilt overcame me as I processed the reality.

But Saaliha wasn’t here. She wasn’t here because she had been admitted to hospital last night.

I didn’t realised that she was already 14 weeks. She lost the baby at 14 weeks, and Imraan shouldn’t be here, with me, while I was going through this crap.

He should be there with her, while she was probably grieving the loss of the baby they had waited so long for.

“Bro, I’m so sorry,” I said, meeting his gaze as I watched him shrug nonchalantly. He almost had me fooled. “You should get back to the hospital.”

“No need,” he said firmly, looking tired. “Everything’s already done. She’s resting now, and I’ll fetch her later. You, my man, need to sort out your head. My sincerest advice would be that you don’t give her a Talaaq. Think of what you’re doing. You can do that at any time if you need to, once you’re sure. It’s too early. Let me speak to Zubair properly. Let’s just gather information first and you can make a decision on what to do from there.”

I honestly hadn’t met anyone like him before. He took every test and challenge in his stride. I knew how badly he wanted this baby, and yet, he had surrendered to Allah Ta’alas will, with no questions asked. I wished that I could have that kind of tawakkul.

Although I hated to admit it, he was still talking sense and he was right about my marriage.

I didn’t want to speak to her, and she probably didn’t want to speak to me either. We were pretty messed up as a couple, and more so as parents. We needed proper arbitration and the ayah in the Qur’ān was clear on that.

If you anticipate a split between them, appoint a mediator from his family and another from hers. If they desire reconciliation, Allah will restore harmony between them. Surely Allah is All-Knowing, All-Aware. (Surah An Nisaa) 

I shook my head in disbelief, my mind still on the events of he previous night.

I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know what hit me until it all became a reality.

The reality that Mohsina had lied to me, over and over again, and never cared to mention to me a most important fact, was a punch in the most painful of places.

And at first I thought it may have been some kind of plot for them to sway me. I had been angry, but more so, confused.

My first reaction to seeing the necklace was absolute shock.

I could feel Mohsina looking at me, her gaze watching my every movement as I turned away from her, pushed the key in our lock and turned it, hearing the catch releasing.

The door opened soundlessly. Mohsina’s voice was the loudest noise in the room.

“Hamzah, it’s not what you think it is.”

I took a deep breath, not realising how much I wanted to yell right then, but holding myself because I hated what was happening to me.

Why him? I wanted to ask her. Out of every man on the planet she could have had a past with, it had to be Faadil.

Now here he was, in the middle of us, causing me to lose control and I knew that there was nothing I could do about it. It was only a matter of time.

I took a step inside, grinding my teeth, pulling the cooler bag along with me as I did, wondering why the day that had passed us seemed so far away.

“I’m so sorry,” Mohsina whispered again, close behind me now, and there was something in her voice that I never heard before.

Regret. Remorse.

Resolve.

“Say something, Hamzah,” she murmured, and i knew that there was nothing I could do to hold back that lion that had been unleashed within me a few seconds ago.

It was raging within, as I spun around in the middle of our living area and faced her tear-stained face.

“You saw him on the day of our Nikah?!”

My voice was cutting, and escalating with every syllable. I didn’t intend for it to be any other way.

Right then, all I could see in her was betrayal, and I hated it.

As she swallowed and looked up at me, the stupid necklace and note in her one hand as she stood there, almost as if she wasn’t sure what to say.

”Tell me the truth, dammit,” I breathed, edging closer to her, even though I felt repulsed by her.

I was overwhelmed by emotions. Frustration and anger and a whole lot more that I didn’t understand …

“Tell me,” I spat, bitterness creeping in as I watched her eyes avert and tear up again. “Was he your back-up plan?! Was he planning to whisk you away with promises of the best kind of life, with a glorious penthouse apartment and that damn Porsche that I could never give you?!”

She was shaking her head as I was speaking, tears falling freely as she did, her hand trembling as she raised it up to cup her mouth.

I’d never seen her cry like that. Actually, I’d never seen her cry before.

Period.

But it did nothing to me. I was unmoved. All I saw was my own pain.

Her greed. Her betrayal. The hurt that she caused. The suffering that our families and Zaid would have to endure because of everything that had happened.

”Tell me I’ve got it wrong,” I begged finally, my hands clenched in front of me, my voice dropping to a whisper as I watched her, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, eyelashes threaded with tears. “Tell me that he didn’t have anything to do with you. That he was just a guy who was aiming for more than he could get.”

The words hung in the air for three seconds before she dropped her hand, and opened her mouth to speak.

“We were proposed.”

My heart felt like it had dropped fifty feet as she said it. They were proposed?

I literally staggered backward, unable to focus on anything. Breathing was difficult, for those few seconds. I just could not process it.

Yes, I knew there was something, but not that she was going to marry him?! Him?

Red, hot anger rose within me as she came into focus, and I turned toward the bedroom.

”It wasn’t public knowledge,” she said louder, following behind me as I opened my cupboard to pull out a bag.

That hit me even harder.

It meant that it was going on behind the scenes, which was what Faadil lived for. It gave him the opportunity to do whatever else he pleased without getting slack for it. It gave him the chance to be the guy I knew he was all the time, to strategise most conveniently to his own advantage. He had known that we were proposed before that, and that was evidently his intention. He wanted to get back at me because I didn’t take his lousy job offer.

With Faadil, there was always an agenda. Love, for him, whether it existed or not, was never the agenda.

“I broke it off when I quit. I didn’t know he got that chain for me…”

”I don’t care about the damn chain!” I snapped, gaining my composure again as I watched her, and she realised what she had said. “You still saw him. You saw him and who knows what else happened. The day we made Nikah. Was I just some test? Did I mean nothing to you at all?!”

He had bought the chain for her? It was the one I had given her. The exact same, one carat chain that I had given her at our proposal. Almost as if he was trying to replace what we had.

That chain… the stupid material piece of metal… was a symbol of something we had. Whatever it was.

And she had ruined that. Or he had. Whatever.

Screw it. I didn’t care. I tossed half my drawers into an open suitcase and moved to another cupboard.

”Hamzah,” she said, her voice escalating as she watched me shove more clothes and cosmetics into the bag. “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving,” I said simply, pausing to look her in the eye. “Didn’t you want that all along? Weren’t you waiting for me to go?!”

“Not like this!” She whimpered, her eyes filled with tears, as she focused on me again, edging closer as I backed away. “Hamzah. You mean so much to me.”

My phone was ringing now. Imraan, signalling he was downstairs. I glared at it, and then glared back at her.

“I don’t understand,” Mohsina cried, blinking furiously as she watched me packing. “None of this makes sense. Yes, he came to see me, but I didn’t see him the way you think I did that day. There’s more to this. Hamzah, please. Just listen. I didn’t want you to know that he came because I didn’t think it mattered. You were the one who mattered. It was always you. Please don’t give up on us.”

I wanted to laugh. Ironic, wasn’t it? She was the one who wanted me to give up.

And now I did.

I shook my head at her, sending Imraan a message to say I would be down in five, heading to the bathroom to grab my shaving machine. There was no way I was staying there tonight. Or ever.

“Hamzah, this is all too convenient. The way this happened, after everything that we’ve conquered so far, you can’t let this ruin it. Listen to me. We have hope, right? Did you speak to Rabia recently? She knows Faadil and she-”

“Rabia has nothing to do with this!” I barked, sounding foreign, even to myself.

Mohsina shuddered as I said it, her expression actually a little fearful as she watched me move, as fast as I could, with whatever I could gather.

“And so you keep saying,” she said, glaring at me now, as I felt something shifting in the room. “You take her part every time, despite everything she’s done so far, and despite knowing that she hates me.”

”Stop making this about her,” I said evenly, not wanting to hear any of her excuses. “How she feels about you is irrelevant. You did something wrong. You messed up. And now you’re blaming her. And now, you want hope.”

Hope. She had the audacity to speak about hope now. After taking my heart and butchering it to pieces, she wanted hope.

”I know I did something wrong,” she admitted, suddenly sounding desperate. Desperation was a foreign concept to her, and it didn’t suit her. “I’m so sorry, Hamzah. I’ll say it a thousand times if that’s what it takes. I’ll tell you everything. But Rabia… she keeps interfering in our marriage and if you just listen to-“

”What marriage?!” I retorted, not able to control my thoughts or words anymore, thinking of how Liyaket left me, and Layyanah left her, and all of this came almost as a done deal. “None of us even wanted this. It came by chance. We barely had time to breathe or mourn. Without even thinking about what I really wanted, I made this decision, hoping it would fix everything, and I never thought it could ever turn out like this.”

“Don’t, Hamzah,” she gasped, her face looking pained and her voice thin, as she grasped my arm. “Don’t say that. You know that’s not true. I wanted this. You can’t take back what you say.”

“I know,” I said with a sigh, realising that I may have gone too far but not bothering to retract a thing, as I shrugged her off. “And you can’t take back what you did. Leave. Me. Alone. I need to go.”

She stepped back, looking visibly stunned at my blunt words. She didn’t put up a fight, because she knew.

She had gone too far. I had said too much.
Hurt her the way she had hurt me.

Things were at a point where we were irreparable.

I didn’t even try looking back at her as I rolled my bag out the door, acceding to her request of having Zaid for the night, and letting her know in as few words as possible that I’d fetch him first thing in the morning.

I knew that I wanted him to be with me, now, more than ever, and the fact that she had a court case pending and all her lies escalating, was enough leverage against her to win her submission before we even got to a custody battle.

She didn’t even argue when I told her I’ll keep him with us at my parents and she can visit when I’m at work. She didn’t even argue when I told her that she shouldn’t try fighting for custody. She didn’t even say a word, when I told her that we’ll have to speak through our lawyers.

I was broken, yet I couldn’t even feel it. All I could feel was numbness, creeping in, overtaking my every sense.

Still, the next few days were unbearable.

Zubair and Imraan had convinced me that signing the papers formally was enough for now. It would leave Mohsina unsettled and not knowing where she stood. I put my phone off for a few days, knowing that if I entertained her, my heart wouldn’t be able to handle it. I would find myself confused and angry. Upset and frustrated, all over again.

It took every ounce of me to drag myself to work every day, till the weekend.

Zaid was edgy and tearful without Mohsina during the evenings. I wanted to give in, to let her keep him, but the thought of her and Faadil made me sick and I couldn’t take my mind off what had happened when he saw her that day. I couldn’t even think what the situation would be if she was really involved in the fraud.

If it wasn’t really anything, why would she even see him? And if she saw him then, who knew how many other times she may have seen him?

I couldn’t even process how messed up this situation was.

I wanted to bury myself in my bed for days like I did when our proposal broke off, but Zaid needed me. To put him through that killed me, and I hated Mohsina for what she was doing to him. The fact that she barely fought for him made it clear that she wasn’t concerned.

As long as I knew her, with Mohsina, I knew that I could never know what she was thinking or what went through her head. We avoided each other expertly. She came to see Zaid when I wasn’t there, and made sure I never had to clash with her.

It was two days later when Zubair told me that he confirmed something about Faadil that was a breakthrough. He had gotten enough evidence that Faadil had framed himself at Hammonds. Outed himself for the money that was being taken over the past year. Zubair’s uncle had also played a part in cashing in. It was an anonymous tip-off that was traced back to him, and Zubair’s conclusion was that there was a greater reason he did it, and the only thing he could think of was because he wanted Mohsina back in his life.

And of course, that made me sway.

Imraan had gone back home, because Saaliha went to her mother, and I was left to my own delusions, trying to figure out what to do with the information Zubair had provided. Rabia, despite me thinking that she would have tons to say about the situation, said very little. I kept remembering the words Mohsina had said about her. I kept thinking that she would never say something that wasn’t true. But then again, she hadn’t told me she was going to marry an idiot, so I had no idea what else to think about, and no one to talk to about it.

My parents didn’t say much. I didn’t tell them about the chain. It would have hurt them to know that Mohsina’s ex-fiancé had done something to interfere. They were expecting a separation, and the fact that Zaid was now with us didn’t seem to be strange to them either. They accepted it as part of what Mohsina and I decided to ensure his safety and meddled very little in my life.

And so, with Imraan and Saaliha back home, Rabia and my parents tiptoeing around me, all I had was the Qur’ān for company.

And honestly, it was all I needed. When it seemed too much to bear, all I had to do was open the Qur’ān and feel the weight shedding away. And it helped, without me even realising it. It was the only thing that kept me from going completely insane.

And as I sat with Zaid one night, reading Qur’ān to him until he slept, my heart feeling lighter than it had in days, it was a few moments of peaceful relief when my entire life seemed so much clearer.

For the first time since the entire thing happened, I realised that even though things may not be perfect, I’ll be okay. That I could do this. I could picture us, as Zaid grew up, being a decent little guy. I could picture Zaid, with Liyaket’s body build and Layyanah’s eyes, looking up at me and actually admiring me for who I was. I could picture him, in the future, maybe even amicable with each other, not feeling like we had failed him as parents.

I held him tighter as we slept that night, placing his bottle next to us, for the first time since I left, he was calm and contented, as he slept in my arms.

I awoke at the early parts of the next morning, a buzzing next to me, as multiple messages came through. I had blocked Mohsina, but I knew that she wouldn’t message me anyway. She was in contact with my mother about Zaid and I preferred it that way.

I pulled my phone to me as I shifted, seeing Zubair’s name on the screen, and then Imraans missed call too.

Zubair: Did you see it? The article

There was one more from a guy at work, who knew that I was married to Mohsina. The next message was from Imraan.

Boss. You signed just in time. Your name is nowhere there.

I opened the messages and finally found the link to the news article they were referring to, feeling my heart beating incessantly, because I knew that this would happen, sooner or later.

It was a business news article on a well-known site, but it spared no details. The article spoke about Faadil as the CFO, the accusations that were pinned against him and what Hammonds is doing to upscale the law suit. I read carefully, pausing at the part where Mohsina’s name appeared, taking a deep breath as I read it

… an ex-employee, who seemed to have a connection with the transactions, has been questioned. All allegations were denied. Further investigations prove that there may have been some foul play, and Hammonds is awaiting the trial to go to court before pressing further charges against her.

Crap. It was bad. For her.

Not as bad as it could be, but bad enough for people to do some digging and find out that her so called ex-husband was also an employee at Hammonds. For a few seconds, I felt my heart contract painfully, feeling genuinely horrified for everything she had to go through on her own. I had tried not to think about feelings, but it was because of how deeply I felt for her, that I hated to see this happening.

I breathed out as I tapped a stirring Zaid off again, shifting off the bed, wondering if I should message her, just to see if she was okay.

I trashed the thought, remembering her betrayal, and moved toward the bathroom instead.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I glanced at it as I saw Imraans message.

Make Shukar. Allah saved you at the right time. Sawls and I are making duaa that it all comes together again. 

I scoffed and shook my head.

Imraan and Zubair were the only ones who knew about the chain, and yet they still both rooted for us. I didn’t want anyone else to know what pushed me over the edge.

And despite the conflicting feelings that I felt right then, despite the hurt and the confusion of the past week, despite everything that seemed so hopeless right then… the fact that I had been saved from something that could have tarnished my reputation too, was nothing short of a miracle.

Make shukar. Yes, I had lost something, but perhaps all that I lost was the only way I had been saved. He was right.

I just felt like the scum that I was sitting there, unscathed, when my wife was probably broken by the events that were happening in her life.

I made whudhu and sat on the musalla that night, until the light from the sky became visible, because the little relief I felt, was constantly tainted by a sense of loss. I missed Mohsina like a hole in my head.

It was something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel until that night. Whether she felt the same about me, was a wonder.

And I knew that there was probably so much going on in her life, that she barely had time to think of me, but I hated that it had come to this. I hated that there was no way we could be, that would appease us both. That I couldn’t even speak to her, to ask her how she was holding up. I hated that she wanted to cut me off as much as I wanted to cut her off. I hated that I hated her.

I had honestly thought that she’d be grovelling by now. In honesty, right then, it was I who felt like grovelling at her feet, but I knew that there was no way that I could, without remembering the pain that I’d felt just the week before. Without remembering that she wanted me out in the first place.

Besides, we were now the eye of the storm, when everything was hitting the fan in a most stinking way, and I knew that there was no better time to let this be than right now. The good and the bad were now blending into one experience that was drawing me to Allah, and that’s when clarity was never more stark than it was right then.

Suhayb ibn Sinān Ar-Rūmi (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam)said: “How wonderful the affair of the believer is! Indeed, all of his affairs are good for him. This is for no one but the believer. If something good happens to him, he is grateful to Allah, which is good for him. And if something bad happens to him, he has patience, which is good for him.”

I had somehow found that patience within me. I had always said that I needed something to fight for, something worthy. For me, I knew that Allah Ta’ala was showing me what that could be, through this very unconventional part of my life.

I had to keep fighting, to keep having a cause. To keep having hope. To keep being grateful. To be the best father and believer I could be. Ramadhaan was approaching, and with every day that passed, I could feel my heart aching for it.

All I had was the hope that I had to keep aspiring to be more than I was.

All was not yet lost, I realised, as I drove back from Fajr Salaah that morning, watching the contrasting colours of daybreak, ignoring the messages that were coming in from colleagues and people who knew Mohsina.

Mohsina. Seeing the sky once more only brought her to mind. The darkness had turned to light, and there was only one thing that I could think of, when I saw it.

Hope. Though it ached to think of it, I could still remember me telling her that hope was never a mistake. To return to hope after heartbreak, though… to the beginning… to the start line, was the ultimate act of courage.

Even after the storm, there is always a hope that calmness will reign once again.

Even though everything felt like it was falling apart, like the little light in the sky that peeped out and then spread its wings across the earth, even after the darkest of nights, time was going to heal it all.

---

Hope. SubhaanAllah.

I know it may not have been the ending we wanted before Ramadhaan but it definitely gives me a little hope. Hope that Allah is always looking out for us. Hope that He is saving us from sin. Hope that everything is always under His watchful gaze, and He would never break us without us needing to turn back to Him for fixing.

May we always turn to our Rabb, through every trial, in every circumstance, through every heartbreak… may it still bring us hope. 

May Allah grant us strength and resolution this Ramadhaan, to be the best Muslims we can be. I’m not sure if I’ll manage another post.. do you guys want one? It may just leave more unanswered questions so rather not.

Please remember this weak and sinful author in your precious Duaas.

Much Love Always,

Witg lots of sabr and shukar this Ramadhaan.

A x

Suhayb ibn Sinān Ar-Rūmi (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Prophet (may Allah’s peace and blessings be upon him)said: “How wonderful the affair of the believer is! Indeed, all of his affairs are good for him. This is for no one but the believer. If something good happens to him, he is grateful to Allah, which is good for him. And if something bad happens to him, he has patience, which is good for him.”

Sunnah of Duaa

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.

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

Starry Nights

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 62

For the first time since we were married, Hamzah didn’t wake me up for Salaah.  I had fallen asleep putting Zaid to bed, and he didn’t even check in on me.

Okay. He might have checked in on me, and realised that I still had time and crept away silently, but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t wake me up.

And I could say that I expected it. Or maybe I didn’t.

What I did expect was his anger and his frustration. Maybe even his jealousy. I expected him to be flying off the rails with some kind of intense reaction.

What I didn’t expect was his silence.

And okay. I get it. I was a horrible person.

Bad, bad, baaaad. Really. I wasn’t the kind of person who was always easy and accommodating, and neither was I the most sociable, especially when it came to Hamzah’s family. I made life difficult at times. I sometimes took pleasure in his annoyance. I tested limits. I pushed boundaries. Sometimes a little too much.

And the truth is; there comes a time when it happens that sometimes you push people too far. You don’t realise how much they do, how much they put up with, how much they endure… until it reaches a point of no return. Until you’re left hanging your head in shame and trying to make up for all the times you never really appreciated them for being who they were.

And there wasn’t much that I knew, but what I knew right then was that there are few gifted people in the world who can see the good in every situation. They are trained hard to be optimistic and are blessed with the ability to see light, even in the darkest of circumstances. And that was what Hamzah was, and always had been for me, until that point. Not having him the way he always appeared and made light of every situation was a very difficult thing indeed.

Marriage was tough. It wasn’t always beautiful. You see the worst in somebody. You see them when they’re sad, when they’re mad, when they’re so unlovable that you want to scream. But you also get to see them at their wildest points, when they’re laughing so hard that tears run down their face and they’re at their worst version of crazy.

But marriage is also a way to gather rewards from Allah SWT. A good marriage will be blessed by Allah SWT and will be our chance to obtain paradise. As the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said in the following hadith:

“There is no foundation that has been built in Islam more loved by Allah SWT than marriage.”

Marriage is the foundation of love for human in the world. Its built by nothing other than honesty, sincerity and faith towards the other.

And never mind what Rabia said. How she provoked me. Made me feel this small. How she had gotten under my skin and all worked up about social media and my previous life. It wasn’t relevant.

Even her annoying look and manipulative smile shouldn’t have had an effect on me, when it came to dealing with Hamzah. The thing is, when you worry about what people think, you will always be their prisoner, and you imprison yourself. And you’re stuck there, in that cage, and you can’t find your way out until you break it open…

And that’s where it all started. From the moment I got into the car, I had let Rabia’s opinions and comments shape me. I had let her warped outlook on life stifle me. Even after Hamzah had tried to put things right, all that was going through my mind was all the opinions and bullcrap she had been hammering into my head, from the moment she got into the car.

And then was the ring. And oh my word, it came like a lightning bolt from the sky. Amidst that beautiful setting that literally made my hair stand on end, when Hamzah pulled out that black box… I was honestly feeling that there was no way that I could let him believe all the lies anymore.

And that’s why I had to tell him about Faadil.

And I couldn’t never forget the look on his face as he looked ar me, sea breeze blowing in my face, the smell of the sea heightening as the waves crashed around us. I told him that Faadil hadn’t just loaned me money. That our relationship had somehow spiralled to something where I was in a corner, and it seemed that he was the only one who could pull me out… and he had.

In the only way Faadil knew how to. By making it something that went beyond the boundaries of friendship.

I had lost faith. I had lost hope. I had even lost my own izzat in his eyes.

“Him?” Hamzah had muttered, his eyes darting back and forth in anger. “Of all people, Mohsina! Seriously?! After I warned you, you willingly got involved with that womanising excuse for a man. Do you even know what he’s capable of doing?”

I swallowed, fighting back tears as he looked at me, stalking off back to the house ahead of me as if I was worse that the scum of the earth. Maybe I was.

But it didn’t matter, right? I had changed. I chose something better. I cut myself free and rose above it.

I made Taubah. Is it not true that when you leave a sin with resolution to never return, then it’s as if you have immediately become His friend?

But Hamzah was still hurt. I figured that giving him a space would be the best idea, despite feeling like I was never going to be able to solve this hostility that was between us.

I felt hopeless as the night seemed to lengthen extensively, as I fed a very needy Zaid who was seeking extra comfort due to being in a strange place and literally waking up every hour.

I could barely stop my mind from working either, deriving the most unassuming scenarios in my head. Jameela had messaged with very little hope, saying that we could talk tomorrow about what was bothering me.

She had sounded off-ish but I put it down to her having to meet some boy who was coming to see her tomorrow. Jameela wasn’t quite the one to get excited about those things. I just hoped that she wasn’t her usual uninterested self and gave the guy a fair chance. After speaking to my sister briefly, I figured I would have to get all the information out from her the next day.

Drifting off to sleep still feeling anxious, I remember waking in the middle of the night after, around midnight, wondering if he would ever forgive me. I was in dire need of some hope and inspiration and as I dragged myself out of the warm bed and made a fresh whudhu, I knew that nothing else would be quite as effective as fervent Duaa during the depths of the night when everyone was asleep.

It’s weird how desperate situations bring out the best of us at times. How we slip into our comfortable (or sometimes uncomfortable) ruts that feed our inherent complacency.

I prayed hard. Desperately. Hoping against hope that Hamzah would come around and be okay with me again.

And who could underestimate the purity of such amazing Du’aa. Indeed, those heartfelt prayers in the depths of the night were of a magnitude that one could never perceive, until its result is seen, sometimes in ways that we can never imagine.

I hadn’t been one who was ever constant in Tahajjud salaah. But what I did know was that when the night was at its darkest, and the unfiltered magic of tahajjud pumps through the veins… there’s no other solution or answer that relieves you more than what comes after, even when you’re not expecting it.

And as I deliberated over whether going back to bed was a viable option, I already knew that I wouldn’t be able to find peace until this was settled.

I just couldn’t. I had to find Hamzah and even if I had to squeeze a reaction out of him, I had to know what was in his mind. I snuck out the room after what felt like an exceptionally long first half of night, seeing the door slightly ajar and as I crept toward the top of the staircase, I could hear his voice speaking to his grandmother. I couldn’t quite believe that she was up so late. But I figured that Hamzah and his Dadi were pretty close. They were very possibly catching up on lost time, and probably even talking over what was bugging Hamzah too.

“So did you and her have a fight?” She was saying, her voice quite concerned. “She barely spoke last night, and I don’t like to see you upset like this, Hamzoo. You still haven’t said what’s troubling you.”

I felt bad for not making conversation. I wasn’t exactly the talkative type and after yesterdays events had put an unexpected spanner in the works, it made it more difficult for me to actually strike up a conversation with anyone, let alone really chat to Hamzah’s favourite grandparent.

“It’s nothing, Dee,” he said tiredly, and I could hear the strain in his voice as he said it. “We just… argued over something stupid from the past.”

There was silence for few seconds and I could hear a microwave door opening and closing, as it went on.

“I want you to be careful,” she said quietly, but still loud enough to travel to the top of the staircase.

I sucked in my breath.

Was Dadi worried that I was going to purposely hurt Hamzah? I could feel my heart clenching as I waited for him to question her. It was he just going to badmouth me and leave it at that?

“Of what, Dadi?” He asked, his voice as curious of my mind. “We already spoke about the things that were really troubling me.”

Hmmm. I wondered what they spoke about.

”I know,” she said, her voice lowering significantly. “Everyone has faults. Marriage is not easy. It’s not only the good times. Your sister knows it too… But I see the way Rabia talks about her. Talks to her. Whatever is true or not… I think it’s best to keep the two of them away from each other…”

Her voice trailed off as they left the kitchen area and I could hear them walking away, and I scurried quickly back to the room, heart thudding in my chest, wondering why Dadi would say.

I retreated to the bed for a moment, my heart trembling slightly, cuddling Zaid to me, watching him sleep, trying to figure out how I was going to make it up to Hamzah for getting him so upset.

And it didn’t take me long to figure that I needed to do something. That they were probably discussing something that was bothering him, and I needed to fix it. I was the one at fault, after all. I couldn’t sit there and wait for it to all unravel and crumble before me.

And so I made my way down the stairs tentatively, looking for Dadi who was now nowhere in sight.

The lights in the kitchen were dim as I tiptoed through it, wondering where on earth Hamzah disappeared to if he wasn’t in the room.

I felt like a ghost, creeping silently in the shadows, as I got to the window, immediately catching sight of a cloud of smoke coming from behind the ponytail palm tree that stood behind the house. I could already see the shadowy figure sitting at one of the black benches surrounding the fountain.

It was one of those nights where the stars weren’t clearly visible at first glance, but as I stared more intently, I was sure I could see them winking at me in turns, almost as if they had a secret that they were yearning to share.

I was sure not to make a single sound as I squeezed my body through the tiny gap in the doorway and made way towards him.
I literally froze in my tracks as I caught sight of my him, legs stretched out in front of him as he sat there as if there was no other place he ever felt more at home, under the twinkling stars.

For a minute, I wished that I could read into his thoughts, as he smooched the night sky as if there was nothing beyond the dazzling beauty before him. The moon shone down clear and blindingly bright, as the sounds of cicadas in the trees and the crashing of the waves were the only thing accompanied us.

And I wasn’t sure if he saw me, but as I crept up to him, gently taking a seat right next to where his one arm rested, he didn’t even as much as sneak a single glance at me.

I didn’t want to speak, for fear of breaking the spell that the blackness seemed to have cast over him, but I also knew then that if I didn’t say anything at all, neither would he.

“Hamzah,” I said softly, watching the tip of whatever he was smoking light up as he took a pull from it, holding it in for a while before releasing curls of clouds around his face, obscuring him from my view.

Maybe that was his intention. Hiding from me, concealing his face, so I couldn’t see his expression. Emotion was a weird thing. It gets you when you don’t always expect it.

I knew he wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk. I also knew that if have to do a little more than just coax him.

”I know you’re angry,” I said, my eyes avoiding his as I spoke. “And I know it’s not fair to expect you to just forgive me. And I’m not sure where we need to go from here, whether you will want to… I know that it’s hard, and you don’t owe me anything but…”

I know that I once said that even if Hamzah didn’t want me after he found out about Faadil, I would be okay with that.

Well, not okay. But I’d survive.

But somehow, now that we were here… the more I thought about it, the more I just wanted everything to be okay. I wanted Hamzah and I wanted Zaid and as I prayed fervently for my family to remain intact, I didn’t quite understand how much Allah Ta’ala truly appreciates the slave who turns to him in absolute despair.

And oh yes, that I was. Hanging my head in shame and hoping for a miracle.

I closed my eyes again, not wanting to meet his eyes.

For a minute, his gaze had settled on me and softened, almost as if he wanted to reach out to me. But just as quick as it happened, it flickered away.

“Hamzah,” I started again, noting his ongoing silence as he tipped his joint to his lips and leaned his head back against the back of the bench. “Say something. Please.”

The silence was unbearable, and as anger splayed within me, without even thinking, I reached out and grabbed his cigar, my eyes flashing in anger as I pulled it to my mouth, watching his eyes widen in shock as I breathed in.

The prices I paid to get his attention.

Worst mistake ever. A tiny wisp of smoke escaped as I coughed and sputtered, smashing at my chest as Hamzah’s smile grew into a fully blown chuckle.

He found it funny? It was disgusting.

“How do you smoke that?!” I spluttered, still struggling to breathe as I looked at him in shock. “It’s torture!”

It really was. I handed the disgusting thing back to him, ignoring his cynical smile on me as he watched my recovery.

”Not very ladylike,” he said with a smirk, shaking his head and expertly taking in another pull as he watched me from the corner of his eye, and then looking up again at the stars as he breathed out again.

“Not ‘man-like’ either!” I retorted, feeling like I was going to gag. “It’s just… yuck! Why?!”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Why not?”he said bluntly, scowling. “Makes me feel better. When my mind won’t stop and I can’t switch off the thoughts… I can just come out here, read some Qur’ān and look out the stars while enjoying my smoke…”

It looked almost like he was whispering his sweet recitation to the starry skies as he looked up, and the Surah that mentioned the star’s immediately came to mind, just as he started to recite…

وَٱلنَّجۡمِ إِذَا هَوَىٰ ﴾

By the star when it goes down(falls).

And as I stared at him without reservations, the moonlight glowing above his smoky silhouette, he went on to explain.

“In the past, the stars were something that the Arabs would often pay very close attention to,” he said softly, as he finished his beautiful recital, making me gaze up at them too. “Something of a pass time that they would spend looking at… because well, there wasn’t much else to do, right?”

I smiled as I wondered what people in the past did without technology and laptops and instagram.

I had a feeling that they were probably better off without the mental health problems. 

“And as Nabi (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) would receive more and more revelation… they came to learn that with every shooting star, meant the shooting down of the Shayateen who would try and go up to the heavens to overhear the verses of the angels, and try and corrupt them. Basically, every shooting star was actually a symbol of the preservation of the word of Allah…”

“Amazing,” I murmured, still staring up at the blue-black skies as they twinkled. 

A shooting star wasn’t just a shooting star. It was a symbol of Allah’s mercy upon the Ummah…

“Anyways,” he said, shifting in his seat and rolling his head around to watch me. “While I was sitting and thinking about thinking… well, I figured something out. And maybe this isn’t the ideal way for this to happen but we don’t always choose when things dawn on us…”

“What?” I said, a little annoyed at his beating around the bush, not entirely sure what he was onto as he stubbed his takkie forcefully in the sandy patch around the bench and then looked up.

He leaned back and gazed up into the sky again, almost as if he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he needed to.

“You want to take a walk?” he asked bluntly, eyes fixed on me as he suddenly leaned forward.

Take a walk? Didn’t he remember where a walk had lead to yesterday?

I narrowed my eyes and looked at him, my heart beating faster as I saw something that I didn’t quite recognise in his eyes.

It wasn’t the usual way he looked at me, when he was either trying to annoy me or to get some kind of reaction out of me. This time, there was a concern and a pure compassion within them. Almost as if he was seeing right through to the depths of my heart.

I frowned as I looked back at him, feeling sad and confused and at a loss… because of everything that had happened in the past and went so wrong…

”I know I was angry,” he said, shifting around a tad bit uncomfortably. “But it’s not like I didn’t know that Faadil may have been part of your world at some point. It’s just that I didn’t want to really believe it. I had forgiven you a long time ago for what might have happened… but sometimes… we forget that Allah Ta’ala is so forgiving, and He doesn’t dig up all the old dirt when we make a mistake and deals with us. With Taubah… He’s already written out sins off, no questions. People like me… We’re just weak, you know?”

”I know,” I said, a smile playing on my face as I looked at his familiar features in the moonlight,  and there’s something so honest about it that it made me feel really vulnerable. “People like me too.”

I remember once telling Jameela that Faadil was gracious. It was at a time where I thought that money and flashy things were most important. What I didn’t realise was that the moment I chose that life, I made a trade off.

The guy in front of me was a different kind of gracious. The most purest kind. The type who did it only for the sake and pleasure of Allah. Because he knew that there was no other way to win hearts but to give of yourself, until you have given so much that you’ve literally rooted yourself into their hearts.

”Mos,” he said quietly, his gaze lifting to mine as he locked eyes with me, the tip of the cigar bright against the night sky. “You know I love you. Right?”

He said it so simply, as if he had said it millions of times before, but he actually hadn’t.

I could feel the back of my eyes pricking with tears, but I didn’t want to looks stupid and cry. Not now. I didn’t want to cry right then. Nooooo.

I nodded, fresh waves of emotion hitting me as I glimpsed the sincerity in his eyes, taking a deep breath in as I looked back at him.

He gave a small smile, reaching for my hand and holding it firmly, his thumb stroking the back of my palm.

“The truth is, I belong to you,” he whispered softly. “You belong to me. Wholly. Inexplicably. Unconditionally. No matter what we face. Even if it hurts one or both of us sometimes.”

He moved my hand until it was gripped within his palm, and gave a tortured smile as I let a tear fall from the corner of my eyes.

”Rather you don’t cry,” he said softly, brushing the tear away with his thumb. “It’s not fair on me. After everything, you know, you shouldn’t put me through this…”

His one dimple flashed as he smiled adorably, cupping my chin with his hand.

“You say so?” I asked breathlessly, still kind of in a daze, and wondering if I was dreaming. This had been so effortless. So easy. Like forgiveness was the sheer product of his love. I just hope it wasn’t the calm before the storm.

“I know so,” he said with raised eyebrows, winking at me. “Also-“

It was before he could even finish when I literally lunged at him, fiercely embracing him with all my might, barely even believing that somehow, Dadi had put a word in for me so that Hamzah would forgive me.

I had no idea what she said. How she did it. All I knew was that I was so grateful that it was all okay…

How much we owe to the wiser elders in our lives who step in when we can’t see the sense. Their value and their foresight was something that I never really valued until these years of my life.

”Easy, gorgeous,” he laughed, hugging me back as I held onto him, still not believing how easily I was let off the hook. “I was also thinking that you still have to give me your Sabaq, you’re not off the hook for that…”

”Of course,,” I said tearfully, nodding and looking back at him as I smiled through the tears. “But listen… I think we may have to leave a little earlier than expected tomorrow… actually, today. Jameela needs me home for her Samoosa run.”

Hamzah raised his eyebrows questioningly, as if it was something completely unprecedented. It was weird to be having actual conversations about serious stuff in the middle of the night.

“Ah, so we‘re trading swimming with the dolphins in for Jameela’s guy?” He said, his nose scrunching, unimpressed. “How old is Jameela again? I thought she was only sixteen…”

“She’s nineteen,” I started, feeling terrible about missing out on his plans for the morning. If we even manage to wake up on time. Swimming with the dolphins? Really?!

I had no idea that my husband was such a romantic.

But I couldn’t let Jameela down. Plus, I had to speak to her about that Zubair guy. Make sure that what he saw never gets out. Ever.

“I think we may have to plan another trip soon,” I said softly, my stretch scarf I had grabbed slipping off my head as I looked at the constellations above us. “I hardly got to spend time with your grandparents and this place is amazing…”

I could see Hamzah watching me with elation as if what I had said just made his night.

”Can we like… make it a date?” He said softly, almost awkward as he smiled, propping his head up on one arm and looked at me, as he brushed a few strands of hair away from my face.

A date. That was super cute.

“It’s a date,“ I whispered conclusively, turning my face to the starry skies again as my eyes focused on their beauty.

All we needed was time, I convinced myself, as the niggling feeling started in the pit of my stomach, as I leaned closer to him, ignoring the flurry of emotion settling in my tummy.

I just had to believe that it would be okay. And it would.

Within the twinkling stars there was a hope that shone from somewhere beyond, lifting me up to a place that was filled with new resolution… whispering sweet words that convinced me that under the starry skies, there was always a flicker of light that would shine eternally…

---

Dearest Readers,

Though I was hoping for a bonus post, but I will definitely try and post again by Monday to reveal Jameela’s POV. Will reply to comments soonest.

Much Love

A xx

Just something useful I came across last week:

(Don’t laugh)

How To Fight With Your Spouse

Fights happen in marriage. It’s a normal part of the deal. Marriage consists of two people, and as such, they will naturally differ and disagree on things from time to time.

The real question is: HOW do we disagree?

What should these arguments or fights look like?

Should they be a free for all?

Or are there some ground rules, guidelines for how to conduct ourselves as husbands and wives when we do fight?

Here is what I’ve learned from my own marriage and the marriages I’ve seen around me: Do not fight dirty.

What’s fighting dirty?

Some people, when they get mad, aren’t able to contain their anger or control themselves. They feel their anger building and let it rage into a blazing inferno, raging out of control. In this state, they let loose, allowing themselves to say whatever comes to their angry mind. They deliberately target what they know their spouse is sensitive about, what will devastate and wound the spouse. They go for the jugular. They have no filter in that moment and will say literally anything and everything they can think of in order to hurt the other person and “win” the fight.

But there is no winning like this. Even if you “win” like this, you’ve lost

You’ve lost the trust and love of your spouse, you’ve damaged the relationship, you’ve sacrificed your marriage to score some cheap points in the heat of anger.

This is fighting dirty.

If a couple gets into the mode of fighting dirty, it can be hard to fix. Some things, once said, cannot be unsaid. Once your spouse has heard you belittle, disrespect, or mock him or her in a certain way, he or she cannot un-hear that. The damage is done, despite the apologies that might come later. Not all jabs are erased by even a sincere apology. Some things cut deep, and leave lasting marks. This affects the relationship quality, weakens the marriage bond.

This reminds me of a hadith of the Prophet صلى الله عليه وسلم:

قَالَ رَسُولُ اللَّهِ صَلَّى اللَّهُ عَلَيْهِ وَسَلَّمَ: “أَرْبَعٌ مَنْ كُنَّ فِيهِ كَانَ مُنَافِقًا خَالِصًا وَمَنْ كَانَتْ فِيهِ خَصْلَةٌ مِنْهُنَّ كَانَتْ فِيهِ خَصْلَةٌ مِنَ النِّفَاقِ حَتَّى يَدَعَهَا إِذَا اؤْتُمِنَ خَانَ وَإِذَا حَدَّثَ كَذَبَ وَإِذَا عَاهَدَ غَدَرَ وَإِذَا خَاصَمَ فَجَرَ.” [صحيح البخاري]

“There are four signs that make someone a pure hypocrite and whoever has them has a characteristic of hypocrisy until he abandons it: when he speaks he lies, when he makes a covenant he is treacherous, when he makes a promise he breaks it, and *when he argues he is wicked.”* [Bukhari]

It’s this last feature of the hypocrite that we want to study. In English, it’s translated as “he becomes wicked,” but the meaning of فجور (fujur) has to do with excess, extremes, like an explosion. It’s an open demonstration of disobedience and defiance brazenly, a gushing out of emotion like water gushes out and explodes in a tsunami. Out of control. Beyond all bounds.

We cannot get like this when we fight. We can’t fight dirty.

Here are some concrete things you should NOT do while fighting with your spouse:

1️⃣. No cursing, swearing, cussing. We don’t use the f-word or other filthy language, no matter how angry we feel.

2️⃣. No name-calling.

3️⃣. No using what you know is going to really truly hurt and devastate your spouse. Don’t use the intimate details they shared with you in confidence once against him or her, just to twist the knife now in a fight.

4️⃣. No bringing in other stuff not related to the current fight. Focus on the issue at hand without piling on other stuff that’s irrelevant.

5️⃣. No dragging up past mistakes your spouse made in the past, if you’ve already forgiven him or her. This is unfair.

6️⃣. No threatening divorce willy nilly. Don’t keep bringing up the possibility of leaving the other person during every small and big argument. This is unnecessary.

7️⃣. No involving the kids. Go have your fight in the privacy of your own room, especially if it gets heated.

8️⃣. No belittling or mocking your spouse in the presence of others. Show respect and restraint even if you’re mad.

9️⃣. No mocking things your spouse genuinely can’t control or help, like an illness he or she has, a fertility problem, being too short/ tall, being dark or light-skinned. These are unchangeable features of your spouse that were determined by Allah who Created him or her; this cannot be helped. It’s not his or her fault. You knew this before marriage. Don’t come now and mock it because you’re mad. This is a cheap shot.

🔟. No attributing intentions to your spouse. You cannot know someone else’s intentions, because the niyyah is in their heart, known only by themselves and by Allah. You can say what it looks like, but you cannot just assign a specific (malicious) intention to the other person when you can’t know that since you can’t see into his or her heart.

These are the top ten etiquettes that are important to stick to during marital disagreements. It’s not a free for all. We don’t go wild. There are certain red lines we never cross, even at the height of anger.

The Muslim has taqwa of Allah, even when angry or in the middle of a heated fight. A Muslim is not foul-mouthed, vulgar, or merciless. The Prophet صلى الله عليه وسلم said,

“لَيْسَ الْمُؤْمِنُ بِالطَّعَّانِ وَلَا اللَّعَّانِ وَلَا الْفَاحِشِ وَلَا الْبَذِيءِ.” [سنن الترمذي]

“ *The believer is not one who insults others, nor curses others, nor is vulgar, nor shameless.”* [Tirmidhi]

If done right, with restraint, self-control, and taqwa, a couple can actually get closer and more aligned after having a fight.

If done wrong, fights can destroy a marriage entirely.

May Allah grant us all taqwa of Him even during moments of anger, and bless the marriages of this ummah, ameen.

Umm Khalid Haqiqatjou
_____________________
No Copyright. Please feel free to share with others.

Mission Revive a Sunnah: Avoiding Suspicion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When we Grow Up

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 19

Jameela

Growing up, I often saw my sister as the pillar of strength of our family. Unflinching. Unchanging. Always there, constantly protecting, going on, headstrong, even though she may be heading into a battlefield herself. A warrior in spirit, her head was always high, her resolve always unwavering.

And there’s something about the beginning of a story that sets the tone for a very long time to come.  The beginning is usually the time when our hearts are said to have perfect vision. That first moment. First look. First impression. The first feeling that we become accustomed to, is almost a forever one.  I often wonder about that theory of love that promises that people see each other clearer as we get to know each other… but in my opinion, it’s probable that the opposite may be very much more truer.

And even after all that… whichever way it all happens, when the dust settles and it all works out… One day you wake up in this place where everything feels right. Your soul is lit. Your heart is calm. Everything seems to be going according to plan.

But life has a funny way of shaking you up, when you may be slipping. Sometimes when we feel like we’re gliding through, spiritually we may just be sliding away. You see, sometimes we pin all our hopes on people. On conditions. On creation. And life has a way of bringing you back to your base, no matter how your journey may be going.

Sometimes we just become complacent, and need to be brought back. For us, during that time, it all started with an unwelcome message.

Plz tel ur sister that I’m really sorry.

The message came at 11.30 that Sunday evening and even though Maahira was the last person that I wanted to hear from after how she treated my sister, I was a little inclined to indulge her at that hour, when sleep was horribly evading me.

I lay on my bed, silently praying, hoping for the best, still digesting the events of the evening, trying to figure out how everything was changing and why it was all moving so fast. My gap year was nearly over. My sister was getting married. Life was changing and it was time to start growing up. My mind was running away with me and I couldn’t seem to stop it.

Buzz again.

I kno I was wrong, I shudnt hav dun what I did. 

I was trying to get into sum1s good books and now I kno that I was doing it all wrong.

I had a response but I wasn’t going to respond.

I had heard Layyanah and Mohsina talking. I wasn’t sure that I was going to believe the excuses but I wasn’t going to judge her either.

Buzz.

Plz jus tel her to reply.

What about those two months she spent waiting for her reply?

The evening had been eventful enough and maybe it was time to just give in. And what better to reply with than something that would burn her. Just a little.

My sister is busy. She’s proposed.

I pressed the send button, and her reply came almost immediately.

Oh Emm Gee!!!!!!! *dancing girl emoji*

Who is the lucky guy?

I smiled. I was absolutely ecstatic for my sister.

His name is Hamzah.

There was an elated feeling as I typed it. I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or excitement for her.

There wasn’t too much of a chance of Maahira knowing him because we were from the plaas part of Gauteng and Hamzah wasn’t.

Wats his sname?

I knew exactly why she was asking. And I knew exactly what to tell her.

He doesn’t have Instagram.

I typed. Mohsina warned me about that.

Or Facebook.

That was my next message.

Or Snapchat.

I knew she was probably googling him on her browser while we chatted.

?????????!!!

She obviously did not know what else to say, and she was entitled to say it.

What the ….?!
How the hel is this going to work, even? The guy doesn’t even exist.

I knew what she meant. Someone I couldn’t find on Google was more or less non-existent.

But he was who he was and we were pretty in awe of it.

He may just surprise us.

And I left it at that as I crept down the hall that moonlit night and tapped at her door, opening it slightly as I watched my sister, her face illuminated as she either scrolled through her Instagram feed or watched a Netflix series on her phone. Her eyes shifted to me as I pushed the door open, and a small smile crept on her face as she realised that it was one of those nights that we were both a little too stimulated to catch even a wink of sleep before midnight.

I sat next to her as I tapped on my phone, scrolling through some of my own Instagram feed posts, wondering what kick my sister got out of it. I often deleted the darn thing, only to download it again, just because I was getting FOMO because all my friends were on it. Till this day, I still didn’t get the whole hype. Influencer feeds and bloggers… well, they just didn’t interest me. Mohsina, however, understood everyone on there and made excuses for them, saying it was their space to express themselves so they could sit on it for hours. For me, it was hogwash.

”Do you even know what you’re liking?” I asked, as I saw her double tapping a few times, and scrolling, almost unconsciously.

She shrugged.

“I need some mindless entertainment,” she murmured, finally putting her phone down and looking at me. “I abandoned Netflix last month and I can’t sleep.”

”Thinking of Hamzah?” I teased, as she rolled her eyes at me.

“No,” she said, sitting up in bed as letting her hair fall over her face. It wasn’t often that I saw my sister let her hair down. Literally. She was actually quite serenely beautiful and at peace when she relaxed and just took it easy. It’s not that she wasn’t usually. She just always appeared to be so occupied and fiercely independent. Everyone saw this stunning but busy working girl, but for me, well, now I saw Mohsina as a woman who was so much more.

”Just thinking,” she said softly, putting her phone down and looking at me.

I wasn’t sure what she meant, but I had an idea that she had a lot on her mind. I mean, who wouldn’t?

“Maahira messaged me,” I said quietly. “To tell me to apologize to you.”

She sighed.

”I’m not sure how to tell her that I don’t feel like talking to her,” she said bluntly. “I’m just a bit disgusted.”

“I think she already knows that. I think she regrets it.”

She shrugged.

“I didn’t know quite how to get back there with Maahira. To that comfortable place.”

That was understandable. Betrayal was hard to stomach.

“I told her you’re proposed.”

She looked at me and frowned.

”Really?” She said. “But it’s not like, official and you know Maahira…”

Well, we didn’t do the final asking and saying yes thing, but I was sure that it was all going to go smoothly. And Maahira could tell who she wants. I was so happy for my sister.

”Everyone likes him,” I said quietly. “Even Nani. Are you shocked?”

”Not really,” she admitted. “Hamzah is a born charmer. He has dodge ways.”

I grinned. Trust Mohsina to put it that way.

”At least Nani will like one of you then,” I said and she smiled back.

Nani’s reaction though, was priceless. But truth be told, I didn’t expect it. And to be honest, I just found it so cute because the seal of the deal came when Nani came in with her look of extreme scrutiny, trying to suss him out, and Hamzah, being Hamzah, was barely even fazed. Maybe he was used to it, but it helped that he wasn’t shy, because all he had to do was take the bull by the horns and shamelessly get up, introduce himself and sit next to Nani after, with not a worry in the world.

It was the most unexpected yet admirable interaction of ever seen Nani have.

Despite her hounding her about how Mohsina knew Hamzah and everything else, meeting him today, Nani was literally blown away by Hamzah. And even though I coundn’t believe it myself, we could not have been more ecstatic.

“Did you tell him to bring the flowers for her?” I asked, shaking my head as I remembered how thrilled she was at the allocated bunch of lilies that was just for her. It was one of her favourite, white ones too.

”No ways,” she said. “The most I would have done was tell him to bring flowers for me. I got chocolates, but hey, I’m not complaining. I have to hand it to him- He thought of that all himself.”

She grinned and then shook her head. And it wasn’t easy to do but Hamzah knew just the right moves and in what doses to do them to impress her.

I climbed into her bed now, pulling the covers up and plopping my head down on the spare pillow next to her. It smelt of Mohsina – Chanel perfume and Dove body wash. My sister had her own distinct smell that I always loved.

And although we weren’t always sharing every second of our lives, I knew my sister pretty well. I hung onto every thread of information she gave me or I heard her talk about. I knew how her mind worked.

At any normal time, she didn’t have much tolerance for drama and she often had fought with Nani over things that didn’t make sense to her, but today – well, today, she had displayed forbearance like I had never seen before and that’s how I knew how much she wanted this to work. And yes, I knew Mohsina and I was very aware that to many people she could appear be very self-absorbed and indulgent at times, but today, she was a completely different person.

The truth was, Nani was a handful at times. And there were many unsolicited things that Nani complained about but to tell the truth, there were deeper secrets in our family that were worth fighting about. Mohsina was a lot of amazing things that no-one spoke about and if she even knew the half of it, I knew Nani would have been silenced.

And as I watched my sister for a few quiet  moments as I thought about it, I almost missed it and thought that I was mistaken, but as she sniffed I glimpsed the glimmer of a single tear rolling down her cheek and I found myself feeling all kinds of emotional too.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked, sitting up slightly and reaching for her hand and grasping it lightly. “Is everything okay?”

She nodded silently, not yet able to talk. And it was so unlike Mohsina because I barely saw her emotional, but … well, a lot had happened and I was sure that it was all settling because maybe because she needed to work this out in her head.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, her voice strained due to the emotion.

“It’s okay,” I said softly.

“I’m supposed to be happy,” she said, wiping her eyes and shaking her head. “It had all turned out okay, but somehow, when people are all excited, I always get the feeling that I’m going to let them down. Like really badly.”

“Aw Mosee, dont say that,” I said softly, not understanding the pressure she was feeling. I didn’t know what it was to be her.

She barely showed it, but Mohsina’s heart was pretty incomparable. She was considerate. She was fair. She usually didn’t care about people’s perceptions or what they thought. Her focus wasn’t on those superficial things. But this, what she was feeling now- it was her sense of belonging and protectiveness that was overtaking her, more than ever.

And it was one of the unmentionable things in our household, but to be in her place now as I grew up, I think I was finally beginning to understand her feelings. The thing is, no one ever said it, but Mohsina had had immense pressure to start work, while she was still busy with a degree. Before she started working, for a smaller company before Hammond’s that she was working for part-time, we pretended not to notice, but things were getting pretty difficult, financially. The shop was quiet, I would see mummy filling samoosas for orders late at night. Often, she would take on more than she could manage. Muhammed Husayn had to change schools. Things weren’t looking good.

It was only when my sister started at Hammond’s, did things ease off. She saw to the house needs, took care of my brothers new wardrobe, gave my mother spending money, and even bought groceries regularly. Never once did she mention it, even to Nani, but I was in awe of her because she was so selfless to so many degrees. Being the eldest, I knew she felt responsible when Papa’s shop wasn’t doing well, when he couldn’t meet payments and she silently checked his books and helped out without even as much as a thank you. Almost like another parent, that was just the Mohsina that I knew and had grown up with over these few years.

She had held so much of responsibility…. she couldn’t help but feel her leaving us so much deeper than anyone else. We just didn’t know yet how much it would affect us.

“Okay, and I’m not one for soppiness,” she said, smiling through her tears. “To be quite frank, I’m the most un-soppy person you can ever find. But when Hamzah came today, it was like alarm bells were ringing… and just like that, it felt like one of those strings that were holding my heart so rigidly in place just snapped. And I supposed it was because I saw a side to him that I never saw before, but there was something else that just made me realise how much my family means to me.”

I blinked. This was a mouthful of emotion from my sister.

”What do you mean?” I asked carefully.

“I mean,” she went on, comfortable in the dark because it was way past midnight now and late at night.. well, secrets are best shared at this moonlit hour.

“It’s not like I know him so well… but I know a bit about him. A significant bit. But today- when I watched him with people who I love the most, I already knew that I don’t want to let anyone down. Neither does he.”

She sighed audibly.

“I’m just so scared, Jamz. I’m just so scared that I’m going to hurt him, or hurt Papa, or just mess this whole thing up…”

My heart contracted momentarily.

I knew what she was saying and it was the one thing I didn’t tell Mohsina. I just didn’t feel it fair to her, but she may have even noticed herself.

I mean, I knew that she had taken them by surprise, but out of everyone, there was something that just didn’t feel right and I could tell that Papa’s behaviour was most worrying.

And though I had asked him countless times if he was okay, all he did was nod, smile, and then a minute or two later, look worried again. He was beginning to make me worried, because the thing was, I really wanted this to work out for Mohsina. I just hoped that there wasn’t any major problem that he wasn’t telling us about and we weren’t going to be caught in the dark at the most unexpected time.

And okay, besides the one family connection of his that had freaked me out at Layyanah’s wedding, what I did know was that Hamzah was so good for Mohsina. Decent. Easy-going. Independent. The best for her in every way even though he seemed so different from her in other ways, it was how I could also see why the two of them just gelled. Of course, there were changes I noticed from both of them- good changes-  now that time had progressed, but everyone’s journey is different, and people change as they realize whats most important but through this… and I only hoped that they would both help each other to be better, to find each other and most of all, to find Allah.

The thing was, I wasn’t sure that Mohsina was being honest with Hamzah. I wasn’t sure if he even knew the half of what she did to keep us afloat.

It was just that I felt that right now, more than ever, I really needed to step in. I just couldn’t let my sister carry this burden any longer. But how did I make her feel better without letting her know exactly what I intended to do?

Ah. I knew just the thing.

”Mosee, have trust in Allah,” I said quietly. “I know you’re scared and it’s a big step to take, but you have to have Tawakkul that it will all work out for the best. I know it’s late and you have work in the morning, but you know that this is the perfect time to ask of Allah? When Allah Taála waits for us to ask of Him? Right now.. at this hour… when everyone is asleep in their comfortable beds… To pour out our worries and hopes, to ask for whatever you want… to trust your decisions, make Duaa and then take the plunge…”

Your Lord has proclaimed, “Call upon Me, I will respond to you. Surely those who are too proud to worship Me will enter Hell, fully humbled.” (Holy Qurán, Surah Ghafir, Verse 60)

There was a few seconds of silence.

“That’s my girl,” Mohsina finally spoke with conviction, sounding like she was so immensely proud. Of me. She was proud of me?

I didn’t know what to say. I wish I had accomplished half of what she did.

“You’re my very own spiritual warrior, Jamz,” she conceded, turning to face me. “No jokes. You always know where to shove those worries and concerns and make them all go away. How you just know what to say, I have no idea. I love you so much right now.”

I smiled into the dark. I wasn’t what she said I was but it was just something that I tried to do myself. I also knew that talking wasn’t always the best thing. Yes, I had many ambitions for myself, but I was still so confused. I did know that I didn’t want to study, but I also knew that marriage wasn’t an option right now. I just needed some time. Between my dream of going into business, doing an Aalimah course and studying a BEd, I was the most confused teenager in the world.

It’s just that I had an idea that could work. I had so many plans. Papa could sell the shop and be managing it. Ma could use her baking and cooking expertise. Muhammed Husayn could help out in weekends. I had the most amazing of ideas and I knew that our small plot of land with the barn in front would be the perfect place for it. No-one would listen but I was going to make it work, regardless.

I wasn’t scared of working hard. My parents had both worked hard to put us through school and bring us up. I had business in my blood and I knew that I could make it good for us without taking too many risks.

Tomorrow was a new day and a new week and I knew that I would do some serious things if I put my mind to it. I just needed that push and this was it. This was what I needed.

Yes, there are many uncertainties, but life has a funny way of shaking you up, when you may be slipping. Sometimes when we feel like we’re gliding through, spiritually we may just be sliding away. You see, sometimes we pin all our hopes on people. On conditions. On creation. Sometimes we get so sucked in by this Duniyaa, that we are completely distanced from Allah, even when we are blatantly ignoring the fact that he is taking care of everything so beautifully for us.

You see, there’s a special kind of journey for those who choose Allah above everything. Above wealth. Above comfort. Above love, even, the love of this world. When we choose to submit, through difficulty or ease. When you choose Allah and His way of life, things are not always promised to be easy.

But when you remember that there’s a way to resurface, to overcome, to revert from any dip that we may have taken… it’s pretty simple to come back. Yes, to be strong is great but there are times when we have to come undone. To be vulnerable. Let the weight of your emotions flow. When we let it all go.

I looked at my sister now as she got out of bed to make a fresh ablution. For all these years, her life had been solely focused on getting our family through the tough times. Her small but grand gestures would never be anything I could compare to, but I knew that even a little perseverance could go a long way. And even when I watched my sister, one thing I realized now was that growing up doesn’t just simply end. It’s not a once-off journey.

We are always growing, always changing. We keep trying new things. We keep coming back to where we left off.

Change isn’t always smooth-sailing. Growing up isn’t always the easiest thing. But sometimes it’s the only way to progress, to be selfless, to care about something other than yourself.. and to reach greater heights.

From time to time, even when the scars on your soul start to ache, remember that you made it through that rough time and once again, as you grow, it will get you through again.

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Mission Sunnah Revival! Sunnah before sleeping. 

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيمر

Hazrat Baraa Ibne ‘Aazib
(حضرت براء ابن عازب)
رضى الله تعالى عنه
narrates:
When رسول الله صلى الله تعالى عليه وسلم would retire to his bed, he would lie down on his right side, thereafter he supplicated:
اللهم اسلمت نفسى اليك
O الله! I submit myself to You
ووجهت وجهى اليك
And I turned my face to You
وفوضت امرى اليك
And I entrusted all my affairs to You
والجات ظهرى اليك
And I placed my back (body) in Your protection
رغبة و رهبة اليك
In anticipation of Your reward and due to fear of Your punishment
لا ملجا و لا منجا منك إلا اليك
There is no escape, nor salvation from You, except with You
آمنت بكتابك الذى أنزلت
I believe in Your book, which You revealed
و نبيك الذى أرسلت
And (I believe) Your Prophet, whom You sent.

(Bukhaaree Shareef)

Supplicating the above, is actually a renewal of belief.
Sleeping on the right side, is beneficial from various perspectives and a Sunnah.
A person can get up early, without difficulty
It reminds of the grave, because we are buried in that position.

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

Guilty as Gossip

 Dear Readers

New post: Apologies about the post error on Saturday.. I’ve deleted that post and combined other content to progress in the story-line. Will try and post this week again. Sorry for the confusion! 

Happy Reading 🤍

 

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Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

“That’s an insightful suggestion. I’ll forward it to the board.”

Woah.

I mean, in any normal circumstance, I would have been jumping for joy to hear words like that from our boss, who was two feet away from me with a sincerely impressed expression on his usually expressionless face.

I had nearly missed the mail in my inbox that was sent the previous Thursday, thinking it was some bulk mail that was sent to the entire floor. But when I realized that I was singled out and that feeling of elation had dissolved, I had immediately started working on what would impress the board and improve my chances as a sole candidate for the big incentive and promotion that was still weeks away.

And now, after all that effort and hard work over the weekend thinking up all kinds of solutions… I mean, Faadil actually said something good about my ideas and complimented them. I mean, this has to count for something, right? I should have been over the moon. But…

The words had little effect on me. Whatsoever. I was up in arms, confused and consumed about what exactly had gone on to cause the mayhem that I was feeling so guilty about.

And it was just that earlier afternoon when I was very busy minding my own business when I noticed Hamzah looking up in panic as the office doors remained closed. In fact, I kind of wished that he would calm down and stop his ridiculous behavior because even I was getting more and more edgy as he sat there, wondering what was going on before I just couldn’t stand it anymore and went up to ask him.

“What’s happened?” I said, trying not to look too concerned.

For the first time since I’ve known him, in all his prankish and inappropriate behavior, Hamzah’s eyes were riddled with worry. I don’t think I’d actually ever seen him looking so serious before. It was like a completely different person.

“It’s Liyaket,” he said, not even focusing on me as he spoke. He was looking extremely distracted. Edgy. “He’s got a hearing with the Big Boss.”

The big boss. A hearing. That was one even more senior than Faadil. And a hearing usually wasn’t good news.

“What’s it about?” I was trying to keep my voice low and moving a bit closer. I could see Lesley hanging around, trying to figure out what we were talking about.

She was extremely distracted, in fact, bordering on ADD. How she did her work, I didn’t understand. Anything and everyone’s business became hers.

“It’s to do with Layyanah,” he almost whispered, and I sucked my breath in as my heart beat a little faster.

Did they find out about the two of them in the office? Was there indecent exposure? Inappropriate behavior? Like what were the real rules even?

“I’m not sure if you knew this,” he said quietly, running his hands through his hair nervously and not even noticing my own anxiety levels heightening. “But Layyanah got the job here because of her father’s contacts. Looks like those contacts are pretty strong ones and they got some inside information. They the same ones who want Liyaket out.”

His voice was riddled with worry and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest.

No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t have been my mistake. It couldn’t have been my stupid story that I told Maahira. She was all the way in London. What could she do? 

And then of course, my legs just kind of caved in as they turned to something that resembled jelly.

And then of course, the feelings that surfaced thereafter were likes waves and waves, almost knocking me over, just as I started grappling around trying to find my feet.

I think as a default there has to come a point in life when you look back at your past and regret the things you’ve done that might have made someone else’s life a misery. And then there’s that point in life, where I was right then, when you shamefully look at your present self and realize that what you are and have become, actually makes you sick to your stomach.

So maybe I shouldn’t have opened my mouth and spilled the beans about office gossip but the opportunity to make my life sound exciting was a sickness that I couldn’t cure. I loved having something juicy and interesting to share, especially with Maahira, who was all the way over in London and seemingly out of touch with everything that was happening back home. I mean, what were the odds of it spinning out of control? What harm can it really do?

The truth was that I had become extremely selfish and self-focused, not even considering how this may actually cause someone’s to experience a real loss.

Apart from that, when a person is filled with such vanity and conceit that his ego tricks him into thinking that the entire world is simply dying to share every moment of his mundane life with him, and thus he cannot see past his own face, how is he supposed to see the majesty and glory of Allah Ta‘ala? How is he or she even supposed to remember that Allah is always aware of what we do?

And I would like to say that at some point my Nafs had been trampled and common sense kicked in, but the problem was that through my obsession with social media and keeping everyone ‘up to date’, my own character and demeanor was just becoming not just inappropriate, but simply unacceptable. I was addicted to making myself feel important.

And yes, at that point, I was a little further gone than I thought. My mind was full of work, gossip and worldly pursuits. The only thing that was putting a spanner in the works were those five words that I had heard that previous week.

“Not everything’s about the big bucks.”

And it should have been a bigger whistle-blower. But it wasn’t, because the way I had allowed myself to been wired in the past few months was the opposite. Everything was about the money. Our entire work day was based on finances. Every meeting we had discussed it. Our paycheques at the end of the month would prove it.

I would like to say that my day carried on as normal from that point onward, but to tell the truth, the sinking feeling in my tummy just got deeper and deeper.

And when it got to a point when I couldn’t deal, it was only after work on the drive home when my mind was feeling the full impact of the consequences that I couldn’t really fix. And when I finally got home and crashed in the lounge couch out of sheer exhaustion while Nani eyed out my work attire from where she sat, that was the first time I could focus. I knew that I had to message Maahira and ask her exactly why she was needling me for information last week.

I had to know for sure.

Aslm. Howsit?

Nani’s eyes were peeping over her glasses but she looked away when I looked back at her, and kicked off my shoes so I could get comfortable. The least I deserved were some rested feet.

Her reply took a few minutes, but at least I had her attention once she did.

Ws. Well n u, my crazy friend? How’s it going that side?

I took a minute before typing out a reply.

All well. Works been a killer. Just checking in. you busy?

She took a few minutes again.

Nah. Just knocked off work. Heading home.

Knocked off? She was already using British English. How cool. But that was beside the point. I had to cut to the chase.

Great.

I typed. Next message:

Did you happen to mention the office news to anyone?

I didn’t mention romance. I just said news, to be general. But she didn’t bite. I waited a few minutes, but there was no reply. I waited another ten minutes, and when she still didn’t reply, that was when I knew for sure.

Guilty as predicted.

And how amazing was it that she had replied so efficiently prior to that… but when asked a question she didn’t like, well… I was just left on a ‘Read’. And I knew the tactic because that was precisely what I did to Ma and Jameela when they annoyed me with their nosy questions on WhatsApp.

Ghuh. I hated new age technology. It was just so transparent and just made you feel more crap when people purposely ignored you. I missed the good old days when your SMS might have got stuck somewhere between Vodacom and Jupiter and you would just pick up the phone to call them.

No-one did that in the 21st century without feeling socially awkward. No-one had time to pick up the phone and call. What was more amazing was that when I went onro Instagram, she was showing online, which further reinforced how she was just avoiding me and facing up to what she had probably said or done. But I got it, right?  No-one had time to engage. To be real. Only time to sit and scroll through a useless feed where every second person was also a ‘MUA’ or had their own Novelty Cakery.

And then of course, the cherry on top, while I was busy cyber stalking Maahira and sending her more messages, was Nani, who was sitting a few feet away, watching me with her cat-like eyes.

And just so you know… let me tell you something, in case you hadn’t guessed yet. There is a very valid reason that I haven’t gotten married, and no, it’s not because I haven’t found my perfect match or anything. No. You know how they say that your spouse is the one person who knows you so well that he or she will pick out all your faults without even blinking.

Well, there we are. That’s Nani for me. I don’t need a husband because Nani had it covered from day one. Even when I may seem like the most Haari poiree to the world, to Nani I was the most rotten ‘Beh sharam‘ that earthlings have ever seen.

“Hand only stuck to that phone,” she was scolding in Gujarati as she watched me.

I rolled my eyes.

”Nani, it’s important,” I tried to reason with her.

This was bloody important, but I couldn’t explain to her why without incriminating myself, could I?

“Looking whole day at screen,” she continued. “Now again, more phone. Azaan will go, sitting on phone. Namaaz waqt, sitting on phone. Sleep time also, sitting on phone. So much Shaytaan on that thing, it’s no wonder you are not already turned into one yourself.”

The call to prayer for Maghrib had just started and I sighed and put the phone down. I had to give it that little bit of respect. I had to at least try. Sometimes it was so hard to kick that habit, but I’ve heard stories of evil people who were given Paradise just due to one sincere act and maybe… well, maybe this was mine?

So, for once in my life, I fought the urge. I wanted to cackle at the irony. It wasn’t like Nani didn’t have a phone, and when she got stuck on the phone it was really the most extraordinary sight. The entire world gets blindsided. She sees nothing and no one, besides that screen, and here she was, blaming me as if I was the only phone addict in the room. But then again, we are always so quick to point fingers at everyone. And yes, Nani and I had a lot of tension due to unmentionable reasons for things that had happened in the recent past but I just couldn’t admit to myself that maybe she was right.

That maybe it It had to start somewhere. Maybe this was the reason I had gotten into this situation in the first place. Maybe some deep introspection was due and I had to face up to it.

And to prove Nani a point, I switched my phone to silent, put it on the side board and sat and stared at her for a good ten minutes. I was just doing it to annoy her, but she didn’t seem to notice. I read my namaaz and then sat and stared at her for another few minutes whilst she read all her Surahs, morning an evening Duáas AND her Salaat and Salaam. How old people did it every night without fail was beyond me, but at least it kept her off my back  and she barely noticed when I picked my phone up again and snuck back to my room.

And of course, I couldn’t help but check to see if Maahira replied. I even checked Instagram to see if she maybe didn’t say anything there, but the girl was as good as swiped off the planet earth for now. If she lived here, I knew nothing would have stopped me from going over to her house and squeezing and answer out of her but taking a flight for that reason just seemed unreasonable. And then of course, when I realised exactly how many issues I had possibly caused, and how Liyaket may actually be out of a job because of me, something within me started to stir.

It was a rising within my chest that started from that little feeling in my gut, and as it went higher and higher, my conscience could not simply dissolve that feeling. I knew that I had to do something before I snapped.

I had to at least tell someone, and I knew exactly who I needed to tell first.

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Mission Sunnah revival! A beautiful Sunnah:
We should remember the famous saying, “If you do not have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all.”
Imam Bukhari and Muslim reported that the Nabi (Sallalahu alaihi wa sallam) said, “Whosoever believes in Allah and the Last Day, let him say good or remain silent.”

An amazing quality to inculcate into our lives…

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

Epilogue: The Rhythm of Life

For my beloved sisters, a longest, last, three-part and hopefully most heart-warming post. Happy reading. ❤️

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Bismihi Ta’ala

Rubeena

Parenting is hard. It’s really hard.

Okay, besides the fact that it’s supposed to be easier when they are small and I had ample help and the fact that there’s not much intellect required for the occupation since we have a set vocabulary that is repeated about seventeen times a day, there was something about raising little humans that just stumped me.

And I’ve had my fair share of ups and downs and I’d like to think that nowadays, more than ever, I had landed on the upside of things, but there were still just a few aspirations that I could really cling to.

I’d made up my mind a while ago that if I get one thing right in this whole parenting gig, I want my kids to understand how their actions can impact others. If I get one thing right, I want them to know that they are not just beings who are existing in this life for themselves and with no purpose. I want them to understand that we are all connected. How a little word can go a long way. How their actions can affect a heart. How they can cause a stir. How even little actions can make a change.

That any word or action can have the ability to change someone’s life. That even one thing done in jest can kill a star-winged soul.

And yes, none of it was easy. The adjustment wasn’t the most simple. My life had completely changed. My aspirations had evolved. Even after finding love again and being convinced that I had finally found contentment with Ahmed, my pregnancy and erratic hormones that came with it had been one of the most difficult.

He was amazingly patient but I could see that he felt compromised. Tense. Worried. It took a toll on us too. But through Allah’s mercy, we made it through and all I could say was that now that the triplets were finally here and I had worked a way around doing whatever I needed to do each day, Ahmed had become my backbone. I loved him unconditionally, irrevocably and even with all the craziness now with our scarily huge family was no other way I’d have it.

It had been a gut-wrenching two months of them in NICU, including an extremely nerve-wrecking experience when Adnaan was out on the ventilator because his lungs were not coping. And there is so much of truth that in every situation there’s goodness because it was only at this time when Siraj and I mended our relationship again when he came through when I needed that extra hand. He was going through a rough patch which I continuously spoke him through but he was still working on his marriage and even considering adopting. I felt like I had my uncle again and him being around made Adam’s chronic absence a little more manageable.
And so it went, but eventually after the longest haul of anxiety and stress, like rain after a drought, when the babies had finally come home, it was the most amazing feeling to have them all in one space with us. Aadam, Adnaan and Hawaa were the names we chose and although Hawaa was often with Zuleikha and Adnaan often with my mother, because I was always eager to welcome extra help, the three of them were such a joy to have around for everyone. Ahmed, surprisingly, was coping amazingly.

And right now as I stopped myself from rolling my eyes at my son and he actually answered Zaydaan really patiently and glanced at me, my heart soared at the man and father he had become, and I couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Mama, I want a chocolate,” six year old Zaydaan said again.

“Only a kid would have to audacity to not even eat a single piece of proper food and still ask for a chocolate,” Ahmed complained, shaking his head. “Really.”

Little Hawaa was gurgling on his lap as he got up and handed her to Danyaal, raised his eyebrow at Zaydaan and I negotiating the chocolate deal, and then retired to get ready for the big function.

It was a big day for Yunus today and I could see that everyone was looking forward to it.

I looked at my son and shook my head, completely hopeless about the chances of  winning the argument about why chocolates at this part of the morning were not the most spectacular idea.

Oh yes, this parenting gig was no walk in the park. There were times when it made my nightmares feel like a happy place. The fact was that it was so easy to have an opinion about it, but so hard to actually do.

Yes, parenting was hard. It was all sorts of crazy and disorganized and completely unexpected but at the same time I really could not have ever imagined what my life would have been like without my crazy kids.

Against my better judgement, my mother had turned out to be the person who I would call now even at the last minute. It had been through everything that she had finally learnt to treasure the finer aspects of life. Through losing Adam, it had been a journey that made her want to never miss out on anything else. The triplets arrival was an event that no one would have imagined to be the event that gave her hope and put it into perspective all over again.

Sometimes it just takes a moment of realization and the pain that comes with losing something so valuable for you to reflect on your very existence. And it was then that I realised she was still clinging into the loss. Cut up that Adam had gone so soon. Guilty that she had lost out on so much of his life, this was her chance to change. It was her chance to make up for everything she felt she hadn’t done before. Finally, she had this inclination to be more than what she was and it was simply amazing to watch her evolve into someone who I knew my brother always wanted her to be.

I knew he would have been proud. I knew that he had seen it in her.

“Danyaal, please can you just watch Aadam for a bit?” I asked my eldest son as I grabbed the gift I had bought my sister-in-laws on this special occasion. The most exotic little lamps that made me feel happy inside. “I just need to finish wrapping these and then I’m popping into the shower before we the house starts getting crazy.”

My nearly-teenage son nodded and I paused a moment as I watched him take the baby out, not believing how the years flew by and my son was already taller than I was. As always, Danyaal was obliging and gentle, progressing even more so since Maulana Khalid had come into the picture, and I could only thank my Rabb immensely for the favour He had shown to me with regard to Dayyaan. I could not even remember the amount of times I had found myself awake during the depths of the night, praying so hard that that he doesn’t end up like his father. He always had this rebellious streak in him that seemed to catch me completely off guard, and there were times when I really feared for my sanity when it came to disciplining him.

It just so happened that one day, like an epiphany out of the blue, he woke up and decided that he wanted to start Hifdh, like Danyaal. It hadn’t taken much to figure out that my son had had it out with his father the day before and was now searching for an alternate track. Whether it was spite or not, all I knew was that I had to grab the opportunity with all I could. I had to show him the brighter side of life. Knowing that Shabeer could tell me nothing if it was his own choice, I prayed with all my might that he would take the route I was trying to offer. I prayed with all my might that Shabeer would encourage him to do it too, despite the fact that my ex-husband was never thinking on my train..

And no, he hadn’t suddenly become the perfect child, but for now, with starting Quran and giving more attention to beneficial things, my son was a much more pleasant kid-being. He answered when I called him. He spoke to Ahmed like he was a human. He even did the odd chore. The thing was, I would have never known it before, but once I saw the magic of pleading to my Rabb and the power of what Du’aa for your kids could do, it was something of an addiction. All I could do from then was continue to hope and pray that this wouldn’t end.

“Knock knock.”

I spun around and tightened my scarf as I called to my brother-in-law to come in and told Zia to call Ahmed.

“Sorry to trouble, I just came to borrow some Oud from Ahmed,” Yunus said in his lazy voice, almost as if this was any normal day of the year and he was just popping by before going out.

I still could not believe how my in-laws were all so calm and together even in the face of the most nerve-wrecking situations. I would have literally been climbing the walls in his shoes.

“Go on up,” I said, pausing to gesture up the stairs. “Ahmed’s still changing.”

He nodded and I watched him leave, shaking my head to myself as I wondered how he was so calm today. Today we were all finally going to meet the girl who had captured his eye and eventually his heart and I actually couldn’t wait to see her. A new sister-in-law would be such a precious gift. The family was growing today and I loved it.

I hummed to myself, a little taken aback by the mercy that had been shown to us in so many ways. I still could not believe how lucky I was to be where I was, standing up straight and virtually unscathed from everything  life had dished out. I’d seen time and time again how many people’s live go on in that off-track and unwavering routine, where all that happens is the fulfillment of their wants and desires and nothing at all seems to put an end for the chase…

The thing is, we all get caught up. It’s normal to get trapped. Tangled up in a world that has taken over our lives so immensely that there seldom comes a time when we stop and think… maybe it’s time to pause. To stop the chase. To end the binge. There rarely comes a time when we sometimes catch a glimpse of the light even when we are stuck in the darkest of ruts.

And only the people who have felt this… who have been there… know exactly where I’m coming from. There is a deadly venom that pierces our hearts, when we become trapped in this world. It engulfs your being, turns your heart into a rusted vessel that alters your ambitions. This poison, is one that exists in everything that is but the Almighty. Music… pomp… entertainment… extravagance… it even makes you think that you’ve found peace in all of that sin you’ve been doing all along.

Once upon a time I was the girl who thought that life was about chasing your dreams. Desires. Ambitions. Being happy. I mean, who doesn’t want to just be happy right?  And I believed that I could find happiness in all the things that money bought me. Peace… I believed, could never be a permanent state. It was a place that existed only in moments where I felt free… fleeting… and ever so evasive.

And it was only because I had seen the light that had been shone onto mine and my brother’s worlds that I truly understood this value. I was once a broken-hearted and empty soul who was starved of nourishment. I had no desire except that which was for my very own misdirected ambition. I had no purpose until Khawlah had been sent to show us the deeper meaning that we had never see before.

And yes, I missed my brother. Every. Single. Day. It didn’t get easier. But there were moments, when I sat with my family, taking it all in, that it slipped my mind that there was once this charming soul who had captured us so completely. There were moments when I forgot that he was actually gone. When I allowed myself a chuckle with no reservation. When I smiled with nothing holding me back. When I got lost in the rhythm of life.

Those were the moments when I truly realised that in those small moments when I forgot the pain in this Duniyaa, I could not help but help imagine that in his eternal world in which we all had hopes that he had attained, his happiness, where he was right now, was completely unparalleled. The fact was that if Allah favours us in such a way that we can, even for a moment, in temporary Duniyaa forget our aches and pains, what then can be said of the state of the minds of those in eternal bliss? In delightful paradise? What then can be noted about those who are in that realm where Allah has promised us the ultimate freedom from worry and endless ease?

“Behold! Verily no fear shall be upon the friends of Allah, nor shall they grieve.”

No fear. No grief. Just inner peace. Every human being on earth is looking for something that can give it to them but the people who have truly found faith… they haven’t found it in a drink or a club or a drug…

Because peace, by definition, is not fleeting. There is nothing better than eternal Paradise to understand the eternity of that feeling…

And for now, knowing that one day, that was what awaited if I kept on striving… that was all I needed to know.

---

Nusaybah

“Can you believe we’re actually here?”

It was early morning and the feeling in the air was one of those unique types. I just knew that it was going to be a special day. Well, it was going to be Yunus’s Nikah but well, wasn’t every day a special kind of day too?

My takkies squelched under the moist grass as we took our usual stroll through the park, today a little shorter than usual since we’d have to rush back to get ready. The twinkly sound of chirping birds were very audible in the near distance. The local park now boasted was a luscious garden of spring flowers, daisies and daffodils…  sunflowers and wildflowers…  spread in front of us as we looked ahead. Early morning nature was the most breathtaking kind.

My friend looked at me with a smile as we both looked ahead, taking delight in the little tweets and chirps that were coming from the tree above. How intricate and amazingly talented were birds? How spectacular were their nests that were weaved with so much of skill and grace? I couldn’t barely fathom how such tiny creatures could actually be so intelligent.

“Here we are, huh,” Khawlah said with a smile on her face as she watched Khadijah skip ahead to the men. “Our perfect kind of day. Doing the things we always wanted to do. With the kind of people we always wanted to spend time with…”

I smiled.

“My Mr Perfect finally came through for me, didn’t he?” I said softly, squinting slightly as I smiled into the unfiltered sun.

Khawlah nodded. It was about time. I had pined for my father and brother a lot in the first few months but once I adjusted to a new home, I knew that I was one of those hopeless girls who couldn’t do without her husband.

I looked ahead as he walked along with Maulana Khalid and Khadijah ahead of us. Sometimes good things do take a while to come by.

Faheem was the one awaited thing that had happened in the most unexpected way. He had turned out to be one of the closest friends I had, but also so amazingly sweet for putting up with me. Faheem was always ready to be the one to calm my storm, when it seemed to be getting out of control.

“Honestly,” I said, the thoughts  breathing in the crisp air as I looked ahead. “Who would have thought we’d be sitting here? You, me, Mr Muscle and Mr Miracle who came back from the dead… all here on this little walk into the sunshine. Do you realize how amazing this is?”

Khawlah just nodded and smiled. I mean, who would have ever thought that Maulana Khalid would come back the way he dod to seek her off her feet?

She had lifted her niqab and as the day light settled on her face, her eyes glinted slightly as she watched me.

”I still miss him,” she said suddenly, almost as if it was out of the blue. “Do you think it’s okay?”

My heart contracted slightly as I thought of it. How could it be not be okay?

There wasn’t a lot I knew about this but I took a deep breath, turned her chin up to face me and said what I knew.

“You’re never going to forget him,” I  murmured, as I thought of it. “You’re always going to remember that look in his eyes when he gazed at you, or the colour of his hair in the sun. You may have days when you’ll miss him more than you ever thought, and ever imagined, with all your heart.. but at the end of it… you know that you’ve been through the worst and it’s all turned out okay? It’s not even a question. You’re more than just okay.”

She nodded with a tiny smile and I wiped the tear from her cheek as I grinned back at her.

The thing is, after Aadam and Khawlah had tied the knot way back when, it was something so special to the impressionable girl I was back then that all I had ever wanted was to find that kind of love that could irrevocably change me for the better too. I knew that they had something special and deep with me, I really believed that everyone has that waiting for them. Whether it’s through a soul mate… husband… a child… or a best friend they meet along the way… I realized that many people along the journey have the ability to do so, through different channels.

What my courageous bestie had shown me along the way was something invaluable. Her strength and resilience was something that had kept me so motivated… that there was nothing more that I wanted for her than pure happiness…

Oh yes, there were times that I wondered whose story this was. Who was meant to be the star of her life. If it was young Khalid, who had featured way back when with so much of enthusiasm and conviction, leaving his presence lingering even when we thought it was gone… or if it was Aadam who had come to sweep my friend off her converse clad feet, showing her a beauty of promises and pots of gold that definitely do exist beyond the rainbow…

And then it struck me that maybe those bits and pieces that stood out.. those little moments that were somewhat broken and tangled at the same time, maybe that’s what they were meant to be – they were meant to just be a string of little moments that would somehow weave together to eventually give us one amazing story that would blow us all away. Maybe Khawlah had many stars of her life. Maybe I did too.

Maybe these stars were our reason. Gifts. Granted so that we may enjoy and take the best out of them, for that season of our lives when we may need them the most. Maybe they are sent down from a source of Greatest Love, and as if these gifts aren’t valuable enough, you’re reminded of the Giver – the Generous One who gifted them to you. They are divine from the Divine. Through them He is lovingly telling you:

‘Raise your head. You are not defined by the pains you’ve endured. By how others perceive you. You are not merely a product of difficult times. You are more than your circumstances. You are special. You are worthy. You have so much ahead of you and for you. Here is My proof for you.’

And then the person is sent at the right time, taking you with them on this amazing journey of magical motions and gracing you with exactly what needs to be fed to your starving soul.

Through His precision in choice of person and timing, you’re reminded that He cares and loves you so very much. It is only One who is constantly watching you with such intensity, that is able to send you what you need at the exact time that will cause maximum effect on your mind and heart.

The truth was that when Aadam had passed on I was just as devastated as my friend. I had lost hope. I was feeling utterly despondent, aching for my friend because I wasn’t sure if she’d ever open her heart like she had back then. And yes, maybe I might have been a little too pushy and bossy but I knew her better than anyone else and I knew exactly what she needed to feel that kind of beautiful kind of love again.

”Twice over,” I murmured, feeling particularly emotional as I thought of it. “Twice over… Allah granted us so much more than we ever thought we would have.”

“It’s been a journey, hasn’t it?”She said, shaking her head. ”And after all that I can’t believe that my searching for the rainbow’, sunshine after the storm’ , bubbly bestie is actually going to be a mother…”

Sometimes the thought was scary to me too. There were moments when I forgot. When I actually couldn’t believe that in just 3 months the baby would be here.

”Are you as freaked out at the idea as I am?” I grinned, nudging my friend in the ribs. “Imagine if he or she is exactly like me?”

Khawlah giggled.

”I can’t wait to meet her,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “It will make me love her all the more…

I placed my hand on the bump that was now a little more than just protruding, feeling an amazing kind of contentment as I felt the little rhythm of life within me. Pregnancy was so amazing in so many ways…

And oh yes, I just couldn’t wait to see the other side of it too…

---

Khawlah

”You think it’s time to say goodbye?”

Khalid looked at me with a his lopsided smile and shook his head. It was an hour after we had sat for a impromptu picnic under the trees, enjoying the last bits of morning breeze before we would rush off to the crazy day ahead once again. It was, by far, one of my favorite kind of days. As the sun graced us with its presence, the trees were rustling along, almost to their own kind of rhythm, caressing us with the most gentle of breeze.  The view of the local park today was like something out of a perfect picture… or one of those amazing portraits… only better. I dwelled on it a little longer as I looked ahead.

Soon we’d leave to get ready and fetch Dada, but for the meantime Faheem and Nusaybah has just left, giving us a few minutes alone for a while as our minds were still trying to wrap around everything that had happened and was still to come. Without doubt, it was bound to be an eventful day, and yes, I wanted to enjoy this part of serene nature a little longer before the emotions that would engulf us all later that day.

Ahead of us, the audible splashing of the little pond sounded as I spotted Khadijah a safe distance on its edge watching the fish, immersed in my own train of thought as I watched her, I didn’t even notice Khalid looking me intently…

”You’re really going to miss him, aren’t you?”

One amazing thing about Khalid was that he was always so perceptive.

I shifted my gaze to my husband as I glanced away from my daughter. His hat was on the grass next to him and his Kurta was hung on the bench nearby. Today, in the outdoor light, his eyes seemed almost as blue as the perfect spring skies. As a kid, I recalled how they would change with his mood too. Today, he seemed a little subdued. A little pensive, as he watched me lost in my thought too.

”He’s been the constant,” I said softly, knowing he was talking about Yunus “Always there. And can you imagine how devastated Khadijah will be when she realizes that she might not see him every day?”

I glanced at my daughter momentarily as I said it. Although I was thrilled for yunus when he said Maulana Umar’s young niece was a perfect match for him, I could not help but feel that slight tug in my heart.

”He’s not going to be gone forever,” Khalid said, giving a small smile as he put his Quran back onto his top pocket.

He had been reciting softly for the past few minutes, and as I watched him, I honestly could not think of anyone who was more in love with the Quran than him. How Allah had shaped and moulded him through these years he was away was something that awed me every time I thought of it…

I looked at Khalid as he watched me, closing my eyes for a minute to soak in the fresh spring air. The air felt so crisp… so filled with opportunities. Oh yes, it was definitely our favorite part of the year once again.

“Yes, but he’ll have a new life,” I said softly, picking at some weeds as I looked away. “A wife has a right to her husbands unreserved time…”

“Hmmm,” he said, running his hands through his beard pensively. “I don’t think-“

His sentence was cut off at that moment as our daughter bounced back energetically, obviously now tired of watching fish as she spontaneously plopped herself into Khalid’s lap and turned to look at him crossly.

”Abbee,” she moaned. “You said we’re leaving! Please can we go now!”

If there was one thing I could say, it was that almost four-year-old Khadijah was the one who called the shots in the family. With her eccentric character and bossy nature, it was no wonder that she often did get a good scolding from me. I supposed that it had something to do with the fact that as a child, I recalled myself having the same character traits and that Khalid had developed some experience in that regard.

That aside, Khalid, being who he was, was just much more patient. Humoring of others. Even through a smile, or a nod, or the patience of listening even when it didn’t seems so appealing to. Like the Sunnah of Our beloved Prophet (SAW), his love shone through in his character and everything he did. A profound love that caused the lover to venerate the Beloved (SAW) and the fruit of emulation will always be reaped…

“Okay, okay, we’re going,” he said softly, trying to pacify her. “But there’s still some time so before the function, so hows about a Duaa?”

It was like their thing. Du’aa. Strange but yet so, so comforting. I watched them as they sat crossed leg now, squabbling about nothing really in particular as they raised their hands and went about one of their favorite acts of worship.

And it was so because not only did I take refuge in asking and relying on my Lord, whenever I would sit and pray, my mind would naturally just take me back to the time that I was humbled by the words that Aadam had told me once upon a time.

There was just something about connecting to Allah whilst connecting to the ones you loved. It was something that I had told Khalid about too.. and there was something so soothing about it that I couldn’t help but remember just how beautiful it made me feel at the time as we sat watching the trees swaying with the wind, my mind took me back to the moments when Aadam had put his head down on his Musallah, watching me before placing his head on the ground, and then speaking.

“I love this,” Aadam had said. “Right here, right now, when I’m sitting at my lowest… Im not a computer whizz… not an award-winner… not a famous programmer… I’m nothing. I’m just your annoying husband and a slave to my master and I love it…”

The words had shot straight to my heart right then, and just remembering them again humbled me like never before. And his words thereafter would be engraved in my heart forever.

Whatever happens… My wish for you, always, is that you’re always smiling. That your life becomes what you want it to. That your dreams stay big and your worries stay small. That you never have to carry more than you can hold.
And while you are out there, getting where you’re getting to and doing what you do best, changing lives and hearts the way you changed mine, well… I hope you remember that someone loves you. That someone loved you with all their heart, and wants the same things you want too. I hope you remember that. I hope you find a joy in your new rhythm of life, but I hope you still remember me. 

I looked up at him with a frown, obviously angry that he had even suggested a ludicrous thought like that. He didn’t know back then that Allah had granted me a walking and talking gift that was a credit to him in every way.

“Yeah,” he said frankly, raising his one eyebrow and shrugging while he ignored my look of disdain. “That’s my Du’aa. That’s my wish.”

Du‘aa. It was a magic that took you to another level of faith. It was a plea from the innermost depths of the soul.

Oh yes, there was nothing quite like it.

“Oh King of Kings, we ask but we are not worthy…”

Oh yes, we really weren’t…

I shifted my thoughts to the present as Khalid pushed the hair back from out of Khadijah’s eyes and pulled her into his lap whilst cupping his hands over hers and continued with his Duáa.

Yup, it was most definitely their thing.

“Ya Allah, when one of us forgets to say Bismillah at the table, let us remind her about the One who loves her so much and gives her all the yummy food…”

He smiled winked at Khadijah as he said it, and she cracked a small smile, before turning serious again.

“Ya Allah,” he murmured, his icy eyes dancing as he watched her expression. “When one of us does those naughty little things, let us try not to scold her too much…”

Khadijah was grinning at him knowingly, finding it very amusing.

“Ya Allah, when one of us gets a bit grumpy because Mummy shouts, let us be the ones to make her smile…”

Her smile was wider yet as she glanced at me and he cupped his hands tighter around hers and went on.

“Ya Allah, when one of us has a big mouth, please protect our ears from being twisted..”

He glanced at me cheekily as he said it and I narrowed my eyes at him. Khalid hated me laying finger on her, but in all honesty, there were times when nothing else worked.

“Ya Allah,” he said, his smile wavering as he now looked pensive as he spoke. “Grant us the company of those who never get tired of becoming closer to you. Ya Allah, let our heart yearn for You. Unite us as a family. Let us remind each other about You. Ya Allah, let us push each other, when we forget our goals. Let us remind each other to make each other happy, when we are disappointed down by someone else. Ya Allah, let us remind each other about Jannah, when we get too involved in this world.
Ya Allah, let us be the kind of people that works towards you, towards Jannah, where Khadijah’s Abba lives. Ya Allah, give Khadijah’s Abba the most beautiful palace in Jannah, so when we go there, we can go have our daily tea party with him too…”

I smiled tearfully as he glanced at me, thrilled by Khadijah’s largest smile yet as he mentioned Aadam. And just as smoothly, he continued, switching to Arabic as he grinned back at me and said:

“Ya Allah, give us more than we ever expect of you. More patience. More love. More beautiful kids just like Khadijah.”

I looked up as he said it, widening my eyes at him as he smiled to himself.

“Ya Allah,” he concluded, looking as peaceful as ever, “We know we’ve asked for so much more than we deserve, but just make us the perfect couple, not in the sight of people… but in your sight, Ya Allah…”

Perfection. Ah yes. We were always aspiring for that place that we can never reach but yet we strive. Perfection was what I always thought of when I imagined Aadam. Perfection was a place that existed only beyond this realm.

Perfection belongs only to the Lord of the Worlds. The Lord we know Who, in His Perfect, Kind and Subtle ways, sends us so much more than we deserve. The One who keeps reminding us that we will never be forgotten by the King of Kings who knows our past in all its detail, sees our present and knows our future.

In all the stories my daughter will hear, it will not be the princes that will slay the dragons but the little girls who had Allah in their hearts, with big, brave consciences and even bigger dreams.
She will learn to rely on the sword of Tawakkul, in every battle, in every struggle, in every war. She will learn to trust in the One Who controls and devour even the inner monster from within her core.

Yes, she will be brave, even if it’s from only within, fighting the battles she would face with conviction and the certainty that Only Allah could save her and fix her, even when the storm was way up against her.

Too often in life, we look for the best of things in the worst of places. We wait for Friday, for summer, for someone whose going to show us the way. At the end of it all, we have to stop waiting for that one defining thing to happen that will inspire our release. And at the end of it all there is a beautiful fulfillment, a fulfillment that can not compare to any other.

And as I looked at Khalid, I realised that the people around us either raise us or lower us. We all need people, in our rhythm of life, who lift us, remind us and encourage us to strive for our true purpose. I could smile now with gratitude because even after everything, I now understood how far I’d come and how I fought to become the person I was. How when I put my trust in Allah, all the pieces the world had broken my heart into, joined together and made it whole again. And when I cast my gaze towards the One who healed my shattered heart, there was only one thing that shone out, as clear as ever.

Only with that, we are able to see the perfect picture. Priceless and timeless. Indulgence, to the finest degree. Reclining on thrones of gold. Unaffected by anything that could even potentially affect any of it’s inhabitants.

Because in Jannah, it’s ultimate bliss. In Jannah, there is no hatred or envy. No malice or dispute. No depression or oppression. The greetings will surround us, as the angels convey to us their Salaam. We’ll once again be with those dear and lost, with those whom we loved, meeting with our beloved Master (SAW) sipping from goblets of the finest types, to converse and immerse ourselves in glory… Aware that our Lord is most definitely pleased with how we had fared in this life.

Jannah. Where every desire is a thought away. Jannah, where the is no fear or grief.

Jannah, and the pleasure of seeing Him, the Lord of the Worlds.

To the righteous it will be said], “O reassured soul, Return to your Lord, well-pleased and pleasing [to Him], And enter among My [righteous] servants

And enter My Paradise.”

Qur’an: Surah al-Fajr (The Dawn) 89:27-30:

And yes, now, it was so, so clear. Now, I understood it all. Everything was as it was and I’d finally learnt to say goodbye, because truly, theres no victory greater …

And there’s not much else that could ever compare to that.

---

My Dearest Readers

In all fairness, let me just come out and say that I was avoiding this last post…. and it took so long to come… because really and honestly, I didnt know how to say goodbye to every one of you lovely readers for being here on this writing journey with me. It really kept me grounded and I really don’t know what I would have done without reminding myself constantly about the aspects of Deen that I hoped to convey here.

I know that many of the readers are hoping for another blog, but the thing is, my life at times is a little crazy and committing to writing full time will be unfair to the readers. Because I’m such a crazy perfectionist when it comes to writing, posts take a really long time to pen and since my family has grown once again, Alhumdulillah… you could probably imagine that my free time is almost non-existent. ❤️

Like everyone else, I’m still aspiring to be the best mother and daughter and wife (and Muslimah too!) but that too comes with commitment, time and patience. I know many of you are grateful for me doing this. For writing in a way that might have inspired or educated, but the truth is that I should be  grateful to you for reading. Without readers, none of this would have happened, so I just want to say thank you. May Allah bless you. This has helped me just as much as it’s helped anyone else. It’s inspired me more than anyone else. I’m so grateful because the motivation and comments or likes or even the stats made me hope that maybe someone was reading something and learning and changing… or even thinking of taking the ultimate plunge like Aadam or Rubeena or Waseem or Ziyaad and turning their life around. 

I ask only for your Du’aas, hoping that although I loved penning this story more than ever, it is time to let it go and move on to my duties.
On a lighter note, I also feel that I’m getting older and my brain is slowly deteriorating too, so I’m so sorry- but porridge brain is definitely real. *smile*

A few small advices I’ll bring back from what I had once mentioned before: 

Remember our ultimate destination often. Keep company with the pious, be good to others, make shukar for the small things. Try and remember that this world is not for us. Preserve this Deen and don’t take it for granted. Allah Ta’ala is the only refuge we have, so don’t look for solace with anyone or through anything else.

The lessons are endless, and I wish I could remind us of every one today. After all, it’s no use reading and being inspired if we don’t make amal and put into practise. So take heed, and protect yourself, because at the end of the day, we are responsible for our own Aakhirah.

JazakAllah Khair to all the readers, fans and those who offered advice and and constructive criticism as well. May Allah (SWT) reward you abundantly. Will reply to comments as soon as time allows.

A humble request for Du’aas, as I am greatly in need of them. May Allah accept all our efforts in gaining closeness to Him, and help this weak writer to practise whatever has been said first. May Allah grant us all contentment in this world and the hereafter. Aameen

So much left to say yet I don’t quite know how to…

Leave a comment or mail me at journeyinajournal@webmail.co.za if you want. 

I leave you’ll with one last Sunnah that really struck a chord with me as I wrote this post.

Nabi (SAW) had a beautiful characteristic of always humouring others. Whether it was through a smile, a kind word or just lending an ear, he (SAW) made everyone feel amazing and important and I feel that it’s such a humbling and beautiful characteristic to attain. May Allah grant us the most beautiful of characteristics and character. 

Please remember our Sunnah revival… and do remember me in your duaas. 

Much, much love,

Ma’asalaama

A xx

Whoever observes my Sunnah, loves me. And whoever loves me, shall be with me in Paradise. (Tirmidhi)

How easy to practice …

#revivetheSunnahofHonouringElders

#revivetheSunnahofGiving

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak 

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq 

#revivetheSunnahofKinship

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

#revivetheSunnahofdrinkingwater 

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahDuaas

#revivetheSunnahDuaa

#revivetheSunnahoftolerance

Twitter: @ajourneyjournal

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

#revivetheSunnahofdrinkingwater 

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahDuaas

• 

Weapons

Bismihi Ta’ala

Khalid

As a child that was a little bit on the prickly side, I’d always been a little obsessed weapons. Like all boys, whether it was a stick or a hand-made shield, fighting and defense was always a game I’d love to play. My first toy gun was my life. I wouldn’t leave home without it in my pocket. Having that assurance of it right there somehow comforted me. As a kid… well, you just had to take your precautions right?!

And of course, as I grew up, it wasn’t like I suddenly lost that rigidness and learnt what the real weapons were. It took years, patience and many lessons… but if there was one thing I learnt through the years of being away, its that constant and sincere Du’aa can come to save you even when you least expect it. Yes, Du’aa. Prayer. 

The truth is in the profoundness of the concept. The weapon of the believer. The essence of worship. Through constant Du’aa, the fact is that even if it doesn’t get us exactly what we desire, most often it removes for us some obstacle in the road that we don’t covet. 

And from the most beautiful story of the Quran, with the most unparalleled lessons, there is a most extraordinary Du’aa. Some Ulema are even of the opinion that this Du’aa of Yusuf (AS), through its uniqueness, is the most beautiful of all prophets’ Duas. 

فَاطِرَ السَّمَاوَاتِ وَالأَرْضِ أَنتَ وَلِيِّي فِي الدُّنُيَا وَالآخِرَةِ تَوَفَّنِي مُسْلِمًا وَأَلْحِقْنِي بِالصَّالِحِينَ

The Creator of the heavens and the earth! You are my Wali (Protector, Helper, Supporter, Guardian)  in this world and in the Hereafter, cause me to die as a Muslim and join me with the righteous

In the story of Yusuf (AS), he asked for Allah to be with him in this world and in the Aakhirah. He asked Allah to be given the favour of being one of his special servants.
And from the very story, the lesson of Du’aa is undeniable.

The thing is… with all the years being away and not seeing my own parents… I never really thought I was missing out on much until I got shaken up. If I had to pinpoint the exact time when my life changed, I know that I could very easily tell you that it was a moment that I would remember for the rest of my life. Yes, I had every weapon at my disposal, but it didn’t help me one bit. It was not just the most terrifying moment of my life, but it was also the most defining. It was a moment the sky broke loose. When all was revealed. When a window to the other side of life was shown..

And everytime I raised my hands to make Du’aa, I couldn’t help but remember that hat a miracle it was that I was given a chance to be better…

Oh Allah, we are not worthy. This gift of the Quran, we have not even earned. Oh Allah, we have many crimes, Ya Allah. Oh Allah, we have transgressed greatly.
But oh Allah, You are the King of Kings. Oh Allah, make us dependent only on You. Oh Allah make us never ask of anyone but You. Make us Your special people. Make us turn only to You. Make us of the people of Du’aa. Make us of the people of Qur’an. Make us the companions of the Quran. Make our character the character of Quran. Make our hearts attached to the Quran. Oh Allah, make the Quran our day and our night. Oh Allah, make the Quran our entire life. Make us live with the Quran. Make us die with the Quran..
Oh Allah, choose us, Ya Allah. Make us Your special servants. Make us Your stars. Make us shine, Ya Allah. Out of Your kindness, accept us, Ya Allah. Accept this effort as we beg of You and ask out of humility…

Tears momentarily filled my eyes as I ended the Duaa, knowing that it may be a while till I returned to this place that felt so much more like home than any other. To have the privilege of making the Du’aa here and witness a Hafidh of Quran complete now, in time for my leaving was a gift in itself. It was the most apt farewell that came at the most perfect time.

I couldn’t even comprehend the many favors that came along with being here. To see all the people I had yearned to see while I was away was yet a great blessing. My heart had ached to see some of them for years. Old friends, Ustaadh and teachers. Even Maulana Umar had made and appearance today, and as I had watched him retreat I was still in awe of how much of the Sunnah that guy had in him. Through all my years, his walk… his talk., the way he would humour people… just like how Nabi (SAW) would give a person the tile of day, or an attentive ear when they spoke… the man had mastered much more than I had seen in anyone else through all my years.

“You really want to go back?”

I looked up as I turned my face, watching the crowds leaving. He knew just how to appeal to the emotional side of me. The truth was, over the years, the toughness I had as a kid had slowly deteriorated. Yes, some of the experiences had made me hard, but in the same way, a little more in touch with my emotions. I also knew what Yunus was doing. He was the one I had confided in. He was the one that knew the truth of what had happened to me back then… before I had adopted the amazing quality of Shukar and put the past behind me. The dark side of man that had haunted me for years while I was away from home was something I had disclosed to very few people. He was probably wondering why I’d want to go back if there was so much at risk, when I could just stay home… knowing that I’d be safe.

And he knew because Yunus was one of the main people who had helped me get back. After the trouble I had been in and the ridiculous allegations against me… somehow, Yunus had managed to make the arrangements for my return back home. And though I knew at the time I would have to get back to my new life, I just didn’t want to think about it. I just never imagined that it would I be so soon.

”We’re going to miss you here, Maulana.”

”You’ll be okay, bro,” I said placing my arm around his shoulder casually. I felt like I had to explain to him. He looked so lost. “I’ll try and come back soon. It’s just… my life is there now and I have people to see… classes to finish… if Allah wills I’ll meet you again…”

”Ah man,” he said softly, looking genuinely defeated.

Yunus was still the same. Soft, obliging type whose painful expressions punctured my heart. And of course, as we chatted in low tones at the front of the masjid, I felt myself a little more attached to him than I realized. During the past few weeks we had become so close that to leave him now felt like I was losing a bit of myself. I don’t know how he did it but he was the type that was very hard to say no to, and even over the years, nothing had changed.

And I couldn’t help but chuckle as we remembered the one person who could really straighten him out without feeling guilty. Childhood memories were so vivid, and I smiled as I remembered how his sister used to yell at him as kids. There were moments when I often had to stick up for him, because he wouldn’t tell her a thing. The poor guy would simply whimper and turn to get on with his work. It just wasn’t in his nature to put up a fight, and I think that’s what made the guy that much more lovable.

And of course, thinking back was always nostalgic. I couldn’t imagine how empty my childhood would have been had I not had the company of those kids who made it what it was.

“Khawlah says you going to go to your new Madrassa and find new friends and forget about us…”

”What?” I asked, frowning and putting my hand out to block the sun that was in my eyes.

I remembered Yunus clearly asking the question as I sat under the shade of the oak tree, watching a pigeon who had recently built it’s nest fending off another one coming over to try and stake ownership. Being young.. not understanding the harshness of nature at times….it confused me. The pigeon had worked so hard.. and yet another one comes in, thinking that the other one can just yank it’s young out to make room for it to take over. I didn’t understand that maybe the new young were at a greater risk  if their mother didn’t find a home soon…

“You can just tell you Papa that you don’t want to go, you know,” Khawlah chipped in, her hands crossing over her chest bossily.

 I knew that she had set Yunus up to ask me the question. That was just her way, if anything bothered her, she’d get her brother wound up.., and poor Yunus, being the softie he was, wouldn’t be able to contain himself.

I shrugged. As if it was that easy. Papa was set on me being an Aalim for years. To break his heart would have been painful even for me to watch.

”I’ll never forget you guys,” I said softly.

”How do we know?” She pressed. She was inconsolable. “That’s what you say, but how do we know?”

“Ah, Khalwah, don’t be so moody,” Yunus said. He had been watching me carefully. Somehow he just had that way with people… that feeling for someone else. “Everyone has to grow up and leave, You can see he means it. Of course he won’t.”

”Well I’m not going anywhere,” she said stubbornly, sitting on the bench. “I’m going to stay like this forever.”

Yunus chuckled and she broke into a smile as she suddenly got up, continuing with her work as we went on with the game we were playing. The ‘x and o’ on the sandy patch near the jungle gym was a favorite of ours, and I looked up at them both, wondering for that moment how I could ever forget those friends of mine.

In that space… at the time… losing a childhood friendship seemed like the biggest things in the world.

And I suppose it was ironic, and maybe it was wrong of me… but as life took its course, my life would go on without them. 

I missed my mother. My friends. School. Of course, I missed everything familiar. No guy was as great or friendly as Yunus. No girl was as cool or pretty as Khawlah. My heart ached for familiar sights. For the garden. For outdoors. For the moments I’d spend under the sun, with my hands stuck in the soil. I  didn’t understand that my heart was undergoing other changes. I didn’t know that with this reformation, my heart was slowly anchoring itself, and that no matter where I’d drift to or find myself lost after that…  somehow it was that Tarbiyyah and Quran that would bring me back onto my axis.

I didn’t realize that years down the line I might have actually done myself a disservice by not going out of the way to keep in touch. Even after getting caught up, going off track and finding my way again… I still had the notion that I would be able to pick up where I left off at some point. How wrong I was. Hearing about Khawlah’s marriage had been the biggest wake up call for me. It was the moment when I realized that I hadn’t been true to my word and the only person to blame was myself.

And even after all those years of going away, when I thought I’d found myself, sometimes it just takes one incident to change your entire perspective.

And of course, somehow, as I found my way back home for the first time against all odds, I didn’t think that the main feature would be to meet the guy who made that first trip what it was. Honestly, if I had not met him then it’s possible that my whole trip would have been futile, since I didn’t achieve any other aspirations I had. It was a bleak afternoon towards the end of spring. The air was getting palpably warmer and the days getting noticeably longer. I didn’t think that this was the place that I would end up, but there I was, standing in front of a guy that my father had insisted I come see, despite knowing that I had many other places to be right then.

I looked at him as I entered the room, wondering if was in the right place. Yes, he was a good-looking guy, but he looked like he was having a rough time. I didn’t know just how sick he was, but despite that all, I didn’t know that I’d actually live to see such appreciation.

“You’ve been the star of my life.”

I was confused. I wasn’t sure what he meant. Was the guy serious?

“My wife’s Khawlah,” he said, as if it explained everything.

Did he know what happened regarding Khalwah? Maybe he was just trying to make me feel better. 

His breathing was shallow and slightly labored. I looked at him questioningly. 

”Khawlah?” I repeated idiotically, knowing who he meant of course. I just didn’t want to delve further into the topic. My visit wasn’t for that intention. 

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. No, he wasn’t taking the mickey out of me. He was so… genuine. “You’ve featured in so many new discoveries. Whenever I would hear, ‘Khalid used to say’…I know I’m in for something good. I don’t know what brought you here today but I’m so glad you came…”

Ah. Now I got him. As if I was deserving of that role…

“Well, that’s a funny story,” I said softly, trying to lighten the mood. I was a little stunned. The thing was, I was indebted to him. 

After hearing how much he had done for my parents in the period I was away, I couldn’t help but want to meet him. He was the guy who had given my parents so much of hope and strength when they thought I was gone for good.

Only at the time they didn’t tell me who he was. Seeing him brought another dimension to the equation. I felt strangely settled. Uplifted. Completely at peace that Khawlah had got an amazing husband. It was weird and completely unexpected but before even seeing my mother, this was the place I had ended up at and I didn’t regret it. 

“Strange that you’re supposed to be the one dead and I’m the one lying here…”

He chuckled. It was a deep kind of rumble for somewhere with his tummy, and it made me smile, despite the fact that his sickness was barely even humorous.

Of course I didn’t know what to say. 

”Hey,” he said suddenly, licking his dry lips and raising an eyebrow at me. He had a different kind of accent. “You know it was my ultimate dream to meet you. Can I tell her that you’re… okay?”

I gave him a small smile. He didn’t say alive. He said okay. 

”Let me meet my mother first,” I said quietly. “And we’ll let it all unfold from there…”

I just thought I was being streetwise. I didn’t know that Khawlah would be angry that Aadam had met me, and never let her know. All he was doing by not telling her was going with my plan.

He nodded and smiled knowingly. He knew what women were like, of course, and he didn’t want to cause any unnecessary confusion.

And of course,  it was weird for this guy, who was her husband to speak like this. To talk about me, some guy in his wife’s past, being someone who had changed the course of someone’s life. Maybe it was his inherent nature, but he was different.
People are often running others down. Saying bad things. Picking on their faults. It’s seldom that you hear good words. And I supposed I had hoped in a way that Khawlahs husband  wasn’t that amazing… but this was a sure tell-tale sign that Aadam was a genuinely great guy, and of course, I would have never been able to live up to that.

”It feels like,” he said again, a hint of junior in his eye. “Like the story of Yusuf (AS).. coming back after so many years, after his fathers Du’aa… do you know how much of Du’aa they made for you..?”

I smiled. Of course. For Yaqub AS.. the lesson was that despite time, distance and the probability that he will never see his son again… it never stopped him from asking. He never stopped pleading. Even when the people would ask him why he still prayed… after so many years… it was because this prophet understood something that a mere person didn’t. Even if decades pass, and still your Du’aa remains seemingly unanswered… why not continue to ask? The magic of Du’aa is that even if it’s not answered the way you think, it serves as a shield to protect you from something else that may have caused much harm…

”I suppose it is,” I answered. My father who was the only person I’d seen since arrival, had told me that everyone had thought I was dead.

”I never thought I’d meet you,” he said, looking at me like he’d seen a ghost. I mean, I didn’t blame him.

I smiled and read a short Du’aa for him as I saw him closing his eyes tiredly.

I smiled as I saw the humour in his eyes and opened them again. I was about to leave, but he lifted his hand up slightly.

”Is there anything I can do for you?” I said, thinking it was the least I could do. I didn’t want to inconvenience him by staying too long.

He looked at me at that point, and in that one glance it was like millions of veils were lifted  from his eyes and I could see right down to his soul.

”Im the type of guy who had everything I ever wanted,” he said quietly, his eyes telling a tale of untold regret. “The best of cars, houses and clothes. I’ve owned Ferraris and Porsche’s… had them best of them all, yeah… The best of watches, gadgets and shoes. I have money in my account waiting for me to spend…furnished apartments that are all on my name. I thought that was the life, yeah. That I’d found the gold. That this was the be all and end all of life… sounds like it, right?”

I nodded, wondering what it must have been like to be like him. I was never a fan of material things but cars… well, you can’t flash a Ferrari in front of a guy and expect him not to twitch.

”And here I am, yeah,” he said subsequently, his voice dropping. “I probably wouldn’t have realized that those things can do nothing for me. I’m lying here in a queen sized hospital bed, in a private ward. I can take a private jet on any day of the week.. but none of that can do a thing for me. I can’t go back and re-live that time I wasted. I can’t undo the things I’ve done wrong in my past. I can’t even buy more time. I know you know all that but what you don’t know is that if I never met Khawlah… if I never knew any of those promises that she told me about… if I didn’t get to find out that I’m not made of my mistakes and I’m not made of my sins… I’m telling you for sure, my friend…. I would have been a complete goner.”

I had looked at him at that moment, his eyes filled with out gratitude and his expression now completely at peace. I closed my eyes and made a silent Du’aa, willing for Allah to grant him complete relief. I didn’t know him but I felt like I did. He was inspiring. Awesome. A guy whose story made me think about myself and how I took my own situation for granted. I knew I could never be grateful enough…

And yes, I wanted so badly to set everything right but as it happened, as I noticed a car following me back from the hospital that day, I knew that I wouldn’t get to meet my mother that day. Or that year. It was bad luck that I had been traced back home, and going to my house would have put my family at risk. The Egyptian conflict had amplified and I didn’t want to risk it. I headed straight back on a flight, knowing that somehow, if it was meant to be… I would find home someday. 

And here I was, finally. Years down the line, I had been given another chance. As we drove back home that day, Yunus exceptionally silent and me in a world of my own, I couldn’t help but think of how time runs away with us. From those little, daring and somewhat carefree kids, here we were, side by side, out in the big world with so much of hope and aspiration…

And yes, maybe I too had a past that haunted me. I had run away but now I had come home, and done what I need to. I had tied up all loose ends. This time, my mother would come back with me for a while, see her family, and settle some of the fears she had before she had come here years ago. I would fulfill her right.

Once upon a time I tried to escape my past. To forget the pain. Once upon a time, I had lost the innocent that came with youth, when I took a step in the wrong direction. But one lesson I learnt was that when the Quran is in your heart, it will always let you find your way back..

And of course, it was something that stuck with me through the years. It was the sincerity of one guys words that made me think.

Our actions are little. Valueless. Not even worth looking at. We know our condition. We know our deeds. But we ask. We ask our Lord… Oh King of Kings, we ask, Like Yaqoob (AS) asked, and continued to ask… because we hope that hope that one day, maybe Allah will look at us with his look of mercy and give us.. not like how we deserve, but because He knows that if we can’t ask of Him, we really have no where else we can turn to. 

Sometimes I wish that I could have bought more time back then. Set things right. Sometimes I wished that I had taken life a bit more seriously when it mattered. Maybe it was my friends. Maybe it had been my parents. Perhaps it was someone else whose mind I had crossed for some reason or occasion. I don’t know what measure of time or distance or place… I cant comprehend the hours or minutes or seconds… but I do know that it was at the most crucial moment when someone’s Du’aa came to save me from something that would have been a true tragedy. The essence of worship, the answer to every problem. The solution that truly worked. Du’aa was something that I saw the magic of years down the line.

All I knew was that at that point, just before the flaming blaze of the explosion that changed my life, as I bent down to pick up a piece of log that was in the middle of the road… a Sadaqah that showed me the immediate removal of a calamity… those few milliseconds that delayed my re-entry to the car were unbelievably crucial to my survival. Had I got there just 20 seconds earlier, I knew that I too, like my cousins, would have been burnt to smithereens. I too, would have been a complete goner. And I could almost see it… at that very moment, someones heartfelt Du’aa was headed directly at me, intervening just in time and completely shielding me from the disaster that had just unfolded.

And that’s when I learnt about Duaa.

A lesson that stuck for life. As we stopped the car just outside my house now back home, the shadow of my mother sitting on the porch suddenly caught my eye and my heart immediately jumped to my throat.

I knew her tell-tale signs by now. Ah yes, I knew my mother too well. My mothers famous habit was to plant herself outside as a warning to me… generally when she had a bone to pick with my father or when I was in some kind of unprecedented trouble. I didn’t know that she had a visitor. I just knew that when I saw her with her arms crossed and her charcoal eyes slightly narrowed, my only chance at survival was to make a silent Duaa. Today I had to pull out all the weapons I could because there was certainly something unseemly waiting to erupt…

 

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Dearest readers, 

I can’t seem to manage more than one post a week for now, so please forgive the delays. A little bit of revelations in this much longer post… hope most of the questions are being answered…

 

Much Love,

A xx

Lots and lots of Duaas. Let’s focus on trying to bring Du’aa into our daily lives.. that will be the next Sunnah InshaAllah 

Sunnah of Honoring ones elders 

Reviving this Sunnah…
As youth we should remember that how we treat our elders is how we will be treated when we reach old age.
Sayyiduna Anas narrates that Nabi said: “No young person shows respect to an old man on account of his old age without Allah Ta’ala appointing someone to show respect to him when he becomes old.”

Revive the Sunnah of honoring elders.

How easy to practice …

#revivetheSunnahofGiving

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak 

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq 

#revivetheSunnahofKinship

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

#revivetheSunnahofdrinkingwater 

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahDuaas

Twitter: @ajourneyjournal

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

#revivetheSunnahofdrinkingwater 

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahDuaas