Exceeding Expectations

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 93

I didn’t expect to get woken up that morning with a cup of my fave coffee next to me.

Seeing that Hamzah was already up and showered, I could hear him clearing the stuff in the kitchen almost as if he’d been cooking, made my heart sing.

I, on the other hand, felt like a slob.

I had been slacking. With everything. Housework. Cooking. Qur’ān. Even salaah had become rushed and inattentive.

But since Hamzah’s arrival, miraculously, somehow, everything had been in check. There he was, Mr Perfect, now perched on the couch next to the room, reciting Surah Yaseen softly but audibly, and I couldn’t help but feel that I needed to go to him with my Qur’ān so I could be his student and just soak up all that Barakah again. He just had that effect on me, and made me want to polish my soul.

After slipping into the pits I had been in, I knew that the only resolution was to focus on cleaning and dusting my souls.

Even though we had talked till I (mistakenly) crashed, Hamzah, like the charged proton he was, was all over everything already.

I stifled a yawn as he peeped his head around the corner of the room door, and I sat up consciously, pulling my hair into a quick pony tail.

“Assalamualaikum,” he said with a small smile. “I won’t ask if you had a good rest. You were lights out.”

I covered my face with my hands as I recalled how I had crashed on the couch. And now, I was on the bed, and I didn’t even think about how I had gotten there when I had woken up at fajr and crashed again.

”Did you have to carry me to the bed?”

It was mortifying. I couldn’t believe that I had passed our while we were in the middle of speaking. How tired was I? 

“I managed,” he said cheerfully, and I pulled the covers over my head while I heard him chuckling, right around the same time that I heard my phone vibrate next to me. “Don’t worry, you weren’t drooling. Or snoring.”

”Gee thanks,” I murmured, peeping out and catching a glimpse of Hamzah’s retreating back as I grabbed my phone and sifted through it.

There were messages from my mother, Jameela and even Muhammad Husayn. I missed my brother so much, because now that Jameela was settled and he was growing up and I had so many of my own issues, I felt like I had completely neglected him during the past few months. Lastly, Nani had tried to call – three times, and I hadn’t heard a thing.

Her message came while I held the phone on my hand.

Mohsina. Aunty Khairoon wil fetch  me early for taaleem. We will fetch u. 

And just when I was getting used to everyone not bothering about me, today, of all days, when I was planning on ignoring them all and spending time trying to figure out my feelings about my marriage, my entire family was on my case.

“Why the frown?”

It was Hamzah’s voice that rang out as I looked up at him.

”Nani,” I said softly, sitting up against the headboard and pulling the blanket up to my chin. Johannesburg was getting super cold and I couldn’t function, even though I was in my fleecy pyjamas. “You know her and taaleem. She wants to fetch me. If I tell her you’re here, she will jump to conclusions and then everyone will know that you spent the night and it will probably be posted on her WhatsApp status.”

”She’ll be thrilled,” he said blandly. “You know how she loves me.”

I didn’t want to tell him that I didn’t want everyone to know that he was here, because they loved him too much to want him with me. Also, even though he had spent the night, he had slept on the couch.

Although I didn’t want to voice it, I was sure that he too didn’t want it to be public knowledge yet and that we should rather just keep it secret for now. We had established that there were people who weren’t thrilled for us and had made it clear that our reunion, when and if it happens, will all be under wraps.

I felt like one of  those celebrity couples who the paparazzi were forever after and the strain would eventually get to their marriage. And that was exactly what happened already.

“Tell her you’re not feeling well and you’re going to the doctor-hopefully for a shot that will do some magic,” Hamzah said, stopping to pull on his jumper. “No lies there.”

I nodded and typed out a message, knowing that it may worry Nani but it was better than her turning up here and harassing me about being on top of things.

I ignored my mother’s and Jameela’s messages and snuck behind the other side of the bed to get to the bathroom, because I had actually gotten so used to being on my own that having Hamzah here was very strange indeed.

Speaking to him too, was really strange.

We spoke a lot about Rabia. About how she had gotten involved with this, and why she would do it.

And I was all for women supporting other women, but for Rabia, I just couldn’t seem to see why I should. She never had a good thing to say about people and the fact that she didn’t seem to care made me so mad.

”She really loved that necklace,” Hamzah said, remembering how it ended up at our door. There was a spare key to our apartment block at his parents house and it was obvious that she was involved. “I just don’t know what she got out of this…”

”She separated a married couple,” I said heatedly, watching Hamzah as he fiddled with the threads on the rug. “I can’t believe she would sabotage us like this. That’s so evil. She probably brought the package here after knowing thag he bought it. How she found it, I don’t know. Even if he gave it to her, why would she do this to us, knowing how much it meant to us when we were proposed?”

A lot of pieces weren’t quite fitting together but I had figured out that much. Rabia wanted us apart and would stop at nothing to have it. The fact that my son was there with her in the same house made my blood boil. I had made Hamzah call his parents to make sure that he was with them and no-one else but them. I had reached the point when I couldn’t bare the thought of her toxicity touching him.

”I think she’s really in a bad space,” Hamzah had said, and I looked at him and frowned, because it sounded like he was making excuses for her again.

The thing is, I knew that happened too. People get into bad spaces. But it wasn’t just now that it started. From inception, Rabia never made an effort to be kind.

She never made an effort to even be pleasant with me. And I know akhlaaq was when you are able to overcome those feelings and be good to that person, regardless of how the other person made you feel, but with Rabia, did she really deserve forgiveness?

“I don’t know, Hamzah,” I had said with a yawn, my eyelids feeling heavy already. “It’s hard to just forget this.”

”I know, but I’m working on forgiving her,” he said softly. “I’m angry, but I know that deep down, she’s feeling bad. I know that much and if she has to say sorry, we need to try and mend things.”

Oh my word, the man was blind.

I knew that I should have put up a fight, but I didn’t even want to start an argument. I never thought I’d say this but I just didn’t have the fight in me anymore. I was so tired.

Also, telling him about work after he left and Faadil, the confusion and heartache I felt, and watching the stony look on his face as he digested that, was really hard and exhausting.

And then when he asked me if I’d considered it, I didn’t say anything. After all, it was Hamzah who had made it clear that our marriage was one of convenience for him. We both didn’t expect to fall in love. Feelings were by the way, if he had ever felt anything he said.

And of course, he partly blamed me, for entertaining Faadil all those months, for being with him and for giving him expectations… but where I was at at that time, was somewhere he couldn’t understand. I was grieving in ways that he wouldn’t understand. I needed support and I felt that Faadil was the only one who was willing to give it to me.

I had felt deserted and abandoned in every way possible… because I had forgotten that there was a loving and caring Rabb who was always looking out for me.

And then I lost Layyanah and somehow, it returned me to Him in so many ways.

There were still many things that were left between us. We still had things to talk about. To clarify. I wasn’t sure when we would get the chance but for now I would go with him to the doctor so he could at least leave me alone to think about everything we had talked about. Nothing was happening overnight.

We still had things to speak about. He still had things he had to explain too. But the night was over and in the daytime, reality hit that much harder.

“You ready?”

I had just stepped pulled on my fancy pants, so I speedily changed and tried to ignore the unsettling in my tummy as I gulped down the rest of the coffee that Hamzah had brought me. I had lost so much of weight that most of my normal clothes didn’t even fit me. I knew that I would have been more worried if I didn’t have so much to worry about. In a way, I was glad Hamzah was forcing me into this.

I just hoped that the doctors rooms weren’t full so I wouldn’t have to wait too long there.

”Let’s get this show on the road,” I said, walking out the room after applying a tinge of make up.

And yes, I had dressed up – just a tad bit more than usual. I wanted to make Hamzah’s eyes pop slightly, the way they did when I walked past him to get my abaya. Yesterday, I may have been a frumpster, but today, I was wearing my most flattering jeans and a black top that tied up just above the buckle.

I knew that I looked good. Even slightly skinny, after losing all that weight.

By the time I pulled my cloak over and turned to look at him, I could see him deliberately turn away, and I could already feel a triumphant smile spread over my face as he did.

“Everything okay?” I asked sweetly, binning the empty coffee cup that he had brought me, and turning to the door.

Served him right for saying that we were just filling gaps with each other because we missed our best friends. Looked like he was eating his words already.

”Fine,” he said, his voice sounding slightly squeaky, as he held the door open and locked it after me. He still had his key, and I watched him put it in his pocket and avoid my gaze before he followed me to the parking lot.

Being around each other was feeling strange again, and I just wanted to get this morning over with so I could get to Zaid again. I was already thinking about the night and what it would bring, and whether he would want to talk some more, although i tried my best to stop myself from overthinking.

Instead, I knew the best thing would be to move onto neutral topics and hope that normality would shift in soon enough.

”Is Zaid still calling you ‘Hah’,” I asked with a grin, eager for news about my baby as I watched Hamzah silently reverse out the parking. He had not looked at me, or even said a word since we left the flat.

I wished I could read his thoughts.

”Yup,” he said with a shake of his head, glancing at me quickly. “And he calls my mother ‘Da’. ‘s he still calling you nothing?”

He had a small grin on his face and I whacked him on the shoulder, pouting as I remembered how Zaid refused to even acknowledge that I had a name.

At all. Zilch.

And I knew that I wasn’t his real mother, but I took comfort in the fact that at least we had got one thing right. Hamzah was hammering him with it from the time we got him.

And though I was always picked on by Nani about nurturing my phone and not my child, in those initial days of marriage and parenthood, I knew for a fact that I had tried my utmost with being a good mother. I was with Zaid every moment, went all out, breastfed and broke my sleep patterns for him. Hamzah loved him unreservedly, made sure he recited Qur’ān for him every night, and it was no wonder that at eight months, his first proper word was ‘Allah’.

And I knew that Hamzah took the credit because he had started repeating that every morning, as his morning routine when he would wake up, and Hamzah would take him to the lounge after Fajr so I could at least get a little sleep, but what mattered was that it worked.

And since then, he had said everything else beside what I was to him.

I had tried for ‘Mos’, and then for ‘Mo’ and then for ‘Na’ but he was as stubborn as Hamzah. He just looked at me blankly and pointed to everything else besides what I was asking.

Now that I was away from him, it seemed like it was going to be even harder. I didn’t need a reminder of how much of his life I was missing.

“Thanks for rubbing it in. Did you mean it when you said I can have him for a night a week?” I asked, glancing at Hamzah as he drove.

He nodded, but he was back to not meeting my eye.

I suppose being away from Zaid was hard on Hamzah too. The only solution here was if we reconciled but he didn’t bring up the topic and neither did I.

Not yet. Safer topics were best for now.

”If I say something, I usually mean it,” he said, glancing at me before turning into the parking lot for the medical centre.

I was glad that we were there because I didn’t have a pleasant retort for that. He won’t say something unless he meant it. That meant that whatever he had said in the past too, was what he meant. Or did it mean that his apology was also something that he meant more?

We were at a place where things were not yet sorted, and I felt somewhere in between with my feelings. I was recovering from a dark place, and it was scary to have to acknowledge all the work that Hamzah and I still had to in order to get better.

And I was glad that we had just reached the rooms because I didn’t want to dwell on it any more. Right then, I was just glad that Hamzah had brought me here, and even though I didn’t want to come, having some sort of reason or diagnosis to these symptoms would be a relief.

And though I was way to proud to admit it, I would have never have come on my own because I knew that doctors costed an arm and a leg. If j had to be referred to a special, I knew that I would never be able to afford the fees on my humble home industry business earnings. That was why I desperately needed the job Lesley had set up for me. Truthfully, life was damn expensive, and with every passing month, it was getting more.

But that was the grind of reality. And until we saw the way the world was, until we saw the desperation in the eyes of common folk, and realised the real trials that people go through, we never appreciate how blessed we are. Life had been easy recently, but being back in the shoes I was years ago was good for me to realise how much Allah had blessed me.

The thing is, social media tricked us into believing that everyone else’s grass is greener. That the world is beautiful and fair and affordable. There aren’t many instances we see on the gram where we are actually forced to stop and reflect on how much we actually have, because it always leaves us wanting.

And the thing is, there are are often times in our life when we prayed for, visualised, and hoped to be where we currently at.  But still, it wasn’t enough.

Once we’ve received our blessings, we often get too worried about the next thing to notice it.

The cycle of chasing the next high never ends. We refuse to be grateful for the moment and stop stressing and overthinking about what’s coming next.

The Hadith speaks about the importance of being satisfied with what we have.

If there was one valley full of gold for the son of Adam, he would long for a second valley, and nothing would fill the stomach/mouth of the son of Adam but sand (of the grave).

And it was so true, because man stopped at nothing when it came to attaining worldly attractions.

And as I thought of the reality, gratitude filled my chest as I thought of how lucky I was that I had the opportunity to come to a private doctor, when others didn’t. We didn’t often think of these things as blessings, but imagining the alternative was something that called for true reflection.

Seeing the rooms weren’t that busy yet was also a huge relief. I took a seat while Hamzah went forward for me, grateful that he wasn’t that macho male type who forced me to do things for myself, trying to avoid contact with anyone who may know me.

And I knew that I was being rude, but I was really in no mood to entertain small talk. I kept my head down and minded my own business and Hamzah came to sit next to me, and when the doctor eventually called my name, I quickly got up to go in.

Hamzah remained sitting on the couch, and for some reason, I couldn’t see myself going in there without him. I looked at him, my entire stance so desperate that the receptionist turned to him and almost demanded him to go in with me.

I gave her a grateful smile, and we had moved toward the door, suddenly extremely wary about what this would all bring.

“You okay?”

It was Hamzah asking me but before I even had a chance to answer, the doctor who we had come to see was already in view so I swallowed my excuses and looked at her and smiled.

She was a middle-aged GP who I had been to once before, and as we took a seat and exchanged pleasantries, I was reminded of the last time Hamzah and I were on a doctors room together and how awkward it had been.

I didn’t know that this was going to be even more awkward, as I told her how I was feeling lately. And yes, I know it sounded dumb, but when she looked at me after the basic questions and asked me if Hamzah and I were married, I may have looked at her a bit funny.

What on earth did that matter?

”Have you done a pregnancy test?”

”Err, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I just started a new cycle, and I’ve been on the new pill since, like, 6 weeks ago. That’s probably why I had nausea. Before that I was breastfeeding and it was the mini pills so pregancy- erm, not possible.”

I said it with great confidence and the doctor was looking at me like I was deranged, but she said nothing as she got up, handed me a paper thingum and a cup to pee in and told me that she would see me in three minutes.

I was almost laughing as I thought of how ridiculous this was, and because I knew that this was probably just a waste of time. My cycle had been normal. Almost. Maybe a bit different but not entirely absent.

“But why?” I asked, looking from her to Hamzah, who was looking ten times more awkward than the last time, and I didn’t exactly blame him.

“Let’s just rule one thing out at a time, okay?” She said with a smile, as she opened the bathroom door and ushered me in.

And of course, I was thinking of just dipping the thing in water to prove to her this was ridiculous, but she would probably be able to tell and I didn’t want to waste Hamzah’s money either.

And then, the doubts started entering my mind.

People did fall pregnant on the pill right? It wasn’t like it was unheard of. I hadn’t stopped taking it, but I knew that I hadn’t always been diligent to remember every day at the same time.

I breathed out as I put the stick in the cup, washing my hands and already feeling a little more nauseous as I handed the stick to the nurse in gloved hands, and went out to where the doctor was sitting.

And it may have been my imagination, but as I looked at Hamzah with contempt, pretty sure that I had proven my point, I was certain that he was completely avoiding eye contact.

And just as I was about to ask him if he was okay,  I barely expected the doctor to come in and hand me a sheet for bloods, almost as if she already had come to a conclusion and needed a confirmed diagnosis.

“What’s this?” I asked, taking it from her as I watched Hamzah’s face change to a peculiar sort of expression. He wasn’t looking awkward anymore. Nope. Now he was just looking  petrified.

Terrified and worried and whatever other complicated and awkward emotion came with all of those.

”Congratulations,” Doctor said with a smile, looking from Hamzah to me. “The result is positive. We need to do some bloods…”

I didn’t even hear the rest. I could barely believe it.

The news had barely even digested before I felt it all consuming me, my body already reacting to the emotions that were building up, probably over all these months.

I may have expected some kind of weird reaction to something I ate. Maybe a bug that was going around and refused to leave. Maybe even malnutrition, because of the way I’d been neglecting myself and my health the past two months.

But this. This was way beyond my wildest expectations.

And because there wasn’t much else I could do, I blinked three times as she continued to speak, almost in a daze, shook my head in absolute bewilderment, and promptly burst into tears.

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

Hosting and entertaining guests is indeed a significant deed in Islam. The first man to entertain a guest was Nabi Ibrahim (‘alayhis salam).

This quality is directly linked to the level of one’s Iman.

As seen in the above narration, Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wasallam) coupled honouring the guest with Belief in Allah and the Day of Qiyamah, which are two fundamental aspects of our Din.

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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When we Hold On

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 92

Through our giants in history, the stories of the courageous men of the past which shaped me into the person I’d become since I’d started treading on a better path, if there’s one thing I learnt, it’s that we should never let ourselves sink into the pits of hopelessness.

A Muslim should not sit and accept defeat, as long as we have a Rabb who is the source of hope. Like the lion of Allah, Hadhrat Hamzah RA, we put on our best shield of imaan, and build our faith to fight the odds.

The thing is, we must always have faith. When we ask Allah Ta’ala for aid, know that He will send it, one way or the other.

And yes, I know it was ironic, because right then,  things weren’t looking good.

I had been fooled. Duped, in every possible way. Broken-hearted, in a way that felt like the organ in my chest was shattered.

Now, there was one more emotion I was dealing. I was so, so angry.

Rabia had overstepped. She had gone all out, broken rules, crossed boundaries too. She had befriended a man, and not just any man. Someone who I was sure had done this, had gotten close to her, just to make my life miserable.

And I knew how Faadil worked. Behind the scenes, in a way that could never be tracked, but he always worked with intent. And now, finally, it all made sense.

I knew what he was upset about. It had evaded me all this time… as I lived in the blissful ignorance that I was the only guy Mohsina had ever been committed enough to decide to marry. I knew that his coming to see her on our Nikah day was his sick way of trying to win the ‘prized goods’ back. I mean, there was no other reason.

After all, that’s all she was to him. Someone who would have pushed him to be better, earn better, and motivated for his position, who he could have kept as some kind of trophy.

Mohsina was determined and brilliant in her job, and he knew that her being able to back him was a sure way of moving even further up the corporate ladder, despite his lack of morals. I knew that the rejection that he’d probably suffered, whether her motivation was Zaid or not, probably hurt him deeper than he’d let on. Faadil didn’t take losing well, and experiencing that loss was something that he just could not digest.

I didn’t need Rabia to reply to me when I asked her if she’d seen Mohsina while I was away. I wanted her to be the one to show some remorse at least.

She looked me in the face and said that some things need to take its course. I didn’t know what she had told Faadil, but I knew that the fact that Faadil and her were speaking was right. I had given her a while to think about it, while I left for the ijtima, spent some time with Maulana Umar and came back with a clear head, knowing that I couldnt just let things hang in the air.

I knew what I needed to do. Maulana had encouraged me to try and patch things up, but the betrayal I still felt was unparalleled, and that’s why it took me so long.

Yes, it would take time to make things right, but the least I could do was speak to her in the meantime.

I needed to talk to my wife. She knew more than I did about what Rabia and Faadil actually were speaking about.

And so, knowing I had left it way too long, I decided to do it.

Despite all that was going on, standing under the threshold of the door of the flat I had shared with my wife, I was expecting to see Mos looking normal and unfazed when I knocked on the door.

Perhaps she would be standing there with a scowl on her face, spitting fire as she usually would, or just shooting daggers at me while offering the silent treatment… but nothing could prepared me for the guilt that hit like a punch in my stomach when I looked at my wife properly after all this time.

Yes, I had seen her on Eid day in passing when she came to leave Zaid, but now that I really looked at her, her face devoid of make up and her hair in a simple plait, I was literally taken aback.

Though still beautiful to me, Mos looked exhausted, and very un-Mohsina like. It wasn’t my guilt for not letting her explain, as I covertly scanned my wife’s form, her weight loss was evidently visible, that got me.

How was it even normal for people to visibly show weight loss in a month? And yea, I knew it was Ramadhaan, but how bad a toll did the last month take on her for that to happen? I won’t lie, I still blamed Mos for part of this mess.. but now that the blinding anger had worn off, and I realised that I may have also been wrong in what I had said, I could see the situation more rationally.

The thing is, as humans, we are very quick to hold others accountable, forgetting that we too are humans. People hurt us, even more so people we love, and even those of us with a forgiving nature have our limits. I never thought I’d ever be one of those people who could harbour a grudge, but here I was, standing at the door of my wife’s house, realising, that in nursing my grudge, I’d done an equal injustice to my wife leaving her to bear a burden alone that evidently wore even my unbeatable wife down.

I watched as my wife’s eyes widened, and then she closed the door. And then, with bated breath, I waited while I heard her unlatching the door, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. I could barely believe that I was actually holding my breath, after the way I had stormed out of our home those weeks ago.

She pulled the door open again and instantly moved further away, like she didn’t want to even stand in close proximity to me. Can’t say I blamed her. The words I said to her made me feel sick to my stomach.

“Let’s talk in the lounge.”

Her voice was cold and flat, and I went ahead of her to enter our open plan living area, looking around for any signs of what she had been up to these past weeks.

And what I saw, was a sure sign that Mohsina was very possibly mourning in her own way. She probably wasn’t even aware of it, but her new disregard for things to be on tip top condition was clearly evident.

Curtains were drawn, blankets were strewn over the couch, and in the middle of the coffee table was the only evidence of  life, with multiple coffee mugs and popcorn bowls.

I knew I was being nosy and presumptuous, but my heart was already feeling like there was a huge void in it, since I knew nothing about her life anymore.

It was so unlike Mohsina, who always made sure she was tidy to a fault, and accessorised with the latest trends because that’s what she did,

I suppose it came with her passion for Instagram. The nature of social media was to get people on trends, and she had always lived for that. These platforms shape us in more ways than we know, and sometimes we’re not even aware of the worldly obsessed messages they were sending us.

To be so simplistic and unbothered was extremely welcomed to me, but under the circumstances, it also made me a bit worried.

Even her dressing had become simpler. No fusses and frills. Plain and simple, with no brands.

It was as if something within her had been altered.

I didn’t have want to make any assumptions but it definitely made me think… How true was it that when the valuable things in life are threatened, then everything else in life loses value? How much is everything else worth when we don’t have peace?

All the fancy cushions, trendy curtains, ornamental pieces and matching throws, meant nothing now that Mohsina had been thrown into a corner where no one was really there for her.

And the Hadith this world is like a woman who is extremely attractive but has no morals or ethics whatsoever, came to mind. It bluffs people with its lister and leads people toward destruction.

It was narrated that Isa AS saw a very old and ugly woman who was full of makeup and jewelry.  He asked her: ‘How many times were you married?’

She replied ‘So many times that I can’t even remember.’

Isa AS said ‘What happened to your husbands, did they die or were you divorced?’

She replied ‘No, I killed them all.’

Isa AS stated ‘How unfortunate your current husband is, for he lives with you and is not cautious that you will do the same to him. (Fadhaail Sadaqaat)

This world. An empty promise, a great lie.

We think that the world can make us happy but when our world is rocked, we see the truth in what really matters.

I turned around as I reached the couch, watching her as she kept a careful distance behind me until I sat down, and then walked to the opposite side of the room, and perched herself on the barstool near the kitchen nook.

“How are you?”

It was all I could say to her, while she watched me back, a stoic expression on her face as she shrugged.

I waited a few minutes, for a response that never came.

“Can you talk to me, please?” I demanded, feeling edgy at how this whole day was turning out. “At least look at me.”

First Rabia and her tantrum about how I needed to be more of a man and stand up to my wife, just because she was feeling insecure about her lies, then the realisation that maybe Mohsina was right about Rabia and I needed to fix things.. and now the hard reality that it may all be harder than I thought.

“How do you think I am, Hamza?” The expression on her face was hard to decipher. A mixture of yearning, sadness, and anger. “Where’s my baby?”

If the guilt was packing a punch before this, now it was like a twisting a knife into my gut.

“I left him with my parents, so we could sort out this mess.”

The amount of responsiveness I was receiving was like I was talking to a wall.

I still couldn’t believe that we were at this place where we didn’t know how to be near each other without feeling angry.

Well, that’s what it looked like.

“I’ll bring him over as soon as we done talking if you want,” I added to soften her up, calming down and taking in a deep breath. “I’ll even grant you those overnight stays you wanted. I just want to talk.”

Her posture was firm and erect, as she sat in the stool, her hands placed on her lap.

“Wow, thanks, Hamzah, that’s so generous,” she said sarcastically, her gaze not wavering from me. “But I don’t see what there is to talk about a marriage that you only contracted out of a sense of duty anyway. Let’s face it, honey… We tried it out, realised we were a mistake, now you can rid yourself of me and my baggage.”

Her voice was dripping with venom, and I sucked my breath in because I knew that she was using my own words against me, and it sucked.

One time. The one time I’d let myself slip, I said something that broke us.

She had warned me. Told me I can’t take back the words, but I didn’t care.

I had messed up. Badly.

I remember hearing a lecture once where the shaykh said Shaytaan will use our good deeds to draw us to bad. Its such a strange statement, but then he went on to explain, the spouse who is tolerant to their respective other, or the daughter-in-law who tactfully deals with a critical mother-in-law, or a mother-in-law who patiently deals with a lazy daughter-in-law… all these people are following a path of goodness and gaining reward.

However, often, a day comes when something pushes you over your precipice, and in a moment of anger, you throw back your patience into that person’s face, or you express favour over them for you tolerance, or some words of gossip about how they’ve wronged you and how much you endure slips out and you badmouth the person… all those days and days of goodness and rewards can be wiped out by few moments of carelessness. This is Shaytaans ploy.

And damn, it was working well.

In anger, I had said things I never meant, but that’s the thing, we never do mean it. But words, once heard, cannot be erased, backspaced or deleted.

There’s a Ḥadīth Rabia had painted in really beautiful calligraphy before her first marriage, that truly deserved to be be written in gold, deserves to be written in gold.

Rasulullah ﷺ said, “Whoever stayed quiet, is saved.”

I wished that I had saved it myself as a daily reminder.

I got up, she following me with her eyes as I moved forward to a seat closer to her, because besides wanting to, it was ridiculous having a serious conversation from the opposite side of the room.

Immediately, her blank, flippant facade faded.

Instead, her entire expression morphed into some kind of aversive reaction.

“Just stay there, please,” she muttered, her voice sounding strained. “Don’t come closer to me.”

Really? Now she was going to punish me. Great.

“We’re still married Mos. Stop acting like we’re boardroom associates,” I rubbed my jaw in frustration, knowing that I’d hit a nerve with her by mentioning her second favourite place to be. At work. “If we’re going to solve anything, we need to have complete honesty, and we need to talk.”

“Fine,” she shot back, obviously not impressed by my references. “You want honesty? The truth is, I can’t stand you sitting nearer to me, because these past few weeks have seriously accelerated my anxiety level, and every time you come close to me, I can feel it shoot up even higher. Like literally. Right in my throat.”

“So now you’re using your anxiety levels as a hiding place?” I was holding back the urge to raise my voice, but I had forgotten how utterly frustrated an argument with my wife could make me. Mohsina had a way of pressing my most unfounded buttons.

“I’m serious, Hamzah,” she retorted, covering her mouth with her hand, almost as if that would shield her from me. “When you’re too close to me, I start feeling physically sick.. almost nauseous. Please. Just. Stop fighting with me on this.”

“Wha- Mos, what on earth are you even saying?”

No response. I moved to the chair closest to her and sat down. And much to my dismay, Mos jumped up and started walking away.

Feeling ridiculous, like some kind of puppy, I followed.

“Mos, can you be reasonable please?”

“STOP FOLLOWING ME.”

She wasn’t yelling, but she wasn’t far from it.

But my patience was dwindling. I had come here with a serious goal in mind. I didn’t expect to find the same grovelling Mohsina who I shut the door on, but this level of snubbing was just unreasonable.

We needed to talk.

I increased the lengths of my strides to catch up with her and grabbed her arm, just before she entered the bedroom.

“Let me go, Hamzah. Please, ” she begged, but I couldn’t.

“Mos, just listen, please.”

I was becoming desperate. The same way thaf she had become the day I had left her.

And while I was thinking of how ironic it was, nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared me for the succeeding response, as I spun her around to face me, and she immediately pushed me backwards with such a force that I was a little disoriented.

One minute I was speaking, hoping she could see sense and treat me like a human at least, and the very next, I was looking at my wife burst into tears, hold her mouth as she had done those weeks before, storm to her bedroom and lock the door, while I stood in shock in the passageway, wondering what on earth that was all about.

And that’s when I saw the trail of something that resembled… vomit on the floor.

“Mohsina,” I called, my voice a little less aggressive now because seeing her like this, unwell and in tears, was something I couldn’t take.

I could hear her coughing, gagging, and after some silence, soft sobs could heard from behind the door. I wanted to break that door down, take her in my arms, and tell her that I never wanted her to hurt again.

But I couldn’t. Not when I was the source of all her pain.

So instead, I grabbed some paper towels, cleaned up what I could and asked her if she wanted me to help her out.

There was still no reply.

“Mohsina,” I almost whispered, my head against the door when everything had become a little quieter. “Please. Open the door.”

”No.”

Her response was unwavering, despite her probable state.

“I’ll do anything,” I begged, my voice even more gentle. “I just need to talk.”

”Take off your kurta if you want me to come out of here.”

Her voice was stiff and completely formal, despite the connotation of the statement. I felt my ears redden slightly because I really didn’t expect that.

“Mohsina, I-” I started, but she didn’t let me finish.

“And your t-shirt,” her voice cut out again. “Actually, just have a shower. I’ll pass you some clothes. I can’t take that… whatever you’re wearing. That Oud scent you like so much.”

Now, it made sense.

Well, kind of. But it never bothered her before.

“I’m taking you to the doctor early tomorrow,” I said, not believing that she was unwell for so long and she actually never did a thing about it.

”You’re not,” she said, still from behind the door. “I’m perfectly fine. It’s only when I’m around you that I feel like this. Now are you going to scrub off that stench or not?”

She said it like I was stinking.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. At least Mohsina and her attitude was still intact.

”I will, but I want some time with you,” I said strategically. “And I am taking you to the doctor in the morning. Or I’ll call Nani and tell her exactly what’s going on with you. Including the Netflix.”

It was no secret. My wife had her weaknesses. Now and then, when I’d check her phone, I would see the app there. We all have our things that we do. We have to make tawbah, and ask for a way to pull ourselves out of our sins before then take over our hearts.

I could feel her shifting around behind the door, before she settled down again.

I figured that she was probably sitting against it.

And there was nothing else I could do besides slide down with my own back to the door as well, wishing I could see her face as I spoke.

“Rabia and I had a fight,” I said quietly, knowing that she could hear me, and needing to let her know why I was here. “A big one. She is speaking to Faadil. I don’t believe that they are just friends who met randomly and neither do I believe that she never shared things about you with him. I think she’s been very open with him for reasons unknown to me and you know how that makes me angry. I don’t trust him one bit. I don’t trust anything he says. I’m hoping you don’t either.”

There was silence from the other side of the door, but I knew she was listening because of the slight shuffling I could hear.

I wanted an answer but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it. Maybe I didn’t deserve it.

”I feel like I don’t know who to trust,” I said, hanging my head and closing my eyes. “Every way I turn, there’s been some kind of obstacle. I do know that I owe you an apology for not believing you. I have to be honest. I was shocked and upset, but I know that I crossed a line.”

”Hamzah,” her voice sounded strained. “You don’t owe me anything. I understand that you were just doing what you needed to do, because Liyaket and you were best friends, I understand that you felt indebted to him because Zaid is his child and I was part of the package-“

”Mohsina.”

My voice dipped low as I warned her, hoping she would stop saying all those things that I had said to make me feel like we were nothing.

The thing is, she didn’t understand. We were anything but nothing. We were everything. But so much had happened and now the lines were just so blurry.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

It was all she said, and I didn’t know what else to tell her. My heart was aching for her, with her, but I couldn’t tell her everything on my mind because her and Faadil still happened and I still felt that betrayal. It was just that, right then, knowing that she was here with me now, and not with him… I didn’t feel it so much.

“Go and shower,” her voice said through the door. “I’m going to the lounge. I’ll leave your clothes on the bed. We can talk after.”

Her voice had lost its fire, and I got up slowly, peeling off my kurta and hanging it up in the front while I made my way to the bathroom.

I wasn’t sure what was up with Mohsina, but I made up my mind that I was going to get to the bottom of this. She wasn’t the type who was supposed to be so cut up and broken over a situation. Mohsina was an army. She was strong and feisty. Fierce and determined.

I missed that part of her.

I changed quickly, eager to get back to her and continue our conversation. Coming back to the lounge, I was surprised to see two toasted sandwiches on a plate, waiting for me.

A peace offering? I hoped so.

Maybe not the best outcome here. But it was progress. It was most certainly progress.

I had returned from the ijtima trip that same day, but was forced to storm off the table and come here when Rabia’s comments had become too much for me. In short, I was starving.

I took a seat and watched my wife come closer, half expecting her to retreat, but was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t.

“Cheese and tomato,” she said as she poured us both a glass of water, and I recited Bismillah before taking a sip. “Simple, but my new fave.”

I smiled as I tucked in, enjoying the chillies she had put into it as I ate, stealing glances at her as she nibbled on half a slice.

Something was definitely amiss, and I needed to get to the bottom of it, but I had full faith that it was still going to be okay.

“Sometimes the simple things are the best,” I commented, thinking of how we sometimes aim for big gestures and expensive gifts when peace was priceless. I watched her as she frowned slightly, almost as if she wanted to ask something, but decided to be quiet again.

For a moment, as we sat there, it felt as if no one could touch us. I didn’t want to think of what happened or what was to come. I just wanted to be there, with her, and enjoy the moment.

I didn’t know what was going to happen after.

“We have a lot to talk about,” I said, watching as a strand of hair fell over her face, and I was tempted to reach out and tuck it away. But I didn’t. “Can I bring Zaid tomorrow? He can be here for the night. I’m just hesitant to leave here until we talk this through.”

It was true. I felt that if I had to leave for Zaid, this entire thing would just get postponed. Something would happen that would prevent us from figuring things out. We needed to talk about what happened between us. About how she felt. About whether there was ever a possibility of us reconciling. About what we needed to do from here.

Even if it took the whole night.

Mohsina looked at me, and nodded slowly. She looked slightly deflated, but at least she wasn’t putting a fight up about this.

I already had the plan in my mind. I was going to somehow get us to have a normal grown up conversation. Figure out some things at least.

I was already planning to talk, stay there till the morning, even if it was on the couch, and then take her to the doctor to figure out exactly what was going on with her.

Tomorrow seemed worlds away. As much I wanted to speak about anything and everything, I knew that if we had to start arguing, I would have to leave, and that was the last thing I wanted.

I couldn’t even think about aborting this mission without feeling like scum.

From the blurry lines… now, everything was suddenly looking so much clearer. And maybe I was being overly optimistic, but I was quite certain that tomorrow everything would make sense. That the hope I had invested in us was not completely unfounded.

I reached out as Mohsina watched me, touching the top of her hand with mine, watching her look at me, as if she was startled.

Hold on, my eyes were telling hers.

I don’t know how to, hers were saying back.

Hope.

I didn’t have to say it. My eyes were full of it.

A beautiful analogy.

H.O.P.E.

Hold on.

Pain ends.

And it did end. Well, at least for now, it did. I held on to a sliver of hope, and my heart was already so much fuller.

Nothing was certain in this life, but all I knew was that for tonight, the pain had dulled, and it was going to be okay.

Tomorrow would be another day, and I was just ‘hoping’ that we would have enough hope to pull us through.

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

Hosting and entertaining guests is indeed a significant deed in Islam. The first man to entertain a guest was Nabi Ibrahim (‘alayhis salam).

This quality is directly linked to the level of one’s Iman.

As seen in the above narration, Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wasallam) coupled honouring the guest with Belief in Allah and the Day of Qiyamah, which are two fundamental aspects of our Din.

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

When things Work Out

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 91

Sometimes what didn’t work out for you, really worked out for you.

Okay. I know I sound looney. But when I looked at everything in my life, and how difficult it was to actually get hold of some things, I knew that I was right.

Nothing in this life is perfect. When I cry or lose or bruise, so long as I am still alive, nothing is ultimate. So long as there is still a tomorrow, a next moment, there is hope, there is change, and there is redemption.

What is lost is not lost forever.

So what I always wanted to know was – in answering the question of whether what is lost comes back, I recalled the most beautiful examples that I had read in the books of Islamic history.

Did Musaa AS return to his mother? Did Hajar (AS) return to Ibrahim (AS)? Did Yusuf (AS) return to his father? Did health, wealth and children return to Nabi Ayoub AS?

And yes. Yes, to all. From these examples we learn a powerful and beautiful lesson: what is taken by Allah Ta’ala is never lost.

Being able to say “Alhamdulillah for everything” and “It is what it is” was such a powerful mindset, that when you adapt it, there’s nothing more effective to get you through everything life has offered.

And while Ramadhaan had come as a cleansing, the month after had been a bitter battle of sorts between my nafs and every challenge that I had ever faced, and completely forgot the value of Allahs gifts to me.

The restlessness, the unease. Although my whole life, I was the lucky one, the one who had it together, the one who knew all the answers, the one who had peace.

There’s something wrong when we can’t perform good deeds anymore, due to our own silly hang ups. And that was where I was headed. It was a slow but steady road to destruction, and I couldn’t even seem to take the detour.

Earth to Mos. Are u stil alive and kicking? 

She had included Jameela in on the chat, and though my sister had been a little quiet the past few days, I expected it. She and Zubair had escaped to some villa with sea view and signal wasn’t always optimal when she was out.

I glared at the message from Maahira, feeling only a little annoyed that it wasn’t anything Hamzah related.

I typed out the message with only a tiny sardonic grin on my face.

Me: Pretty much alive. Unfortunately.

Jameela: ah Mos, we love you. You don’t need a man when you have us. *kissey smiley emoji*

I smiled, despite the aching in my chest.

Me: I don’t think Zubair will appreciate that. He might want to start using those weapons again (on me) if I threaten to steal back my sister.

Jameela: *rolling eyes emoji* you’re right. And I love him for that. We’re going to test the icy waters. Catch you guys later.

Jameela has left the chat.

Me: Ob. Sessed. 

Maahi: Duh. Mos, why don’t u come and visit me here? Bring your bro and take some time off. I’m waiting to spoil you with all the yummy treats you need to fatten you up and keep those blues away. I’m worried abt u. 

Enough pity-partying. Time to move on.

Me: Hows Mr Chunkster?

It was the only response I had for her that would shut her up and make her swoon instead.

Mr Chunkster, aka Chunks, whose actual name was Ismail, was Maahi’s Samoosa run that had gone very wrong and then very right. She didn’t like him at first because of superficial aspects. She found him a tad bit overweight and a lot but over bubbly, and judged him because of it. And then, she met him again at a work thing, and somehow, their bickering about the other had turned to some kind of conversation and she agreed that maybe there was something there.

Chunks is good, and completely pulling all the moves right now to get into my good books, how’s Mr Tiger?

I know you’ve been seeing him so it’s no use you hiding your shenanigans from me. I’m the only gal u have so spill, what in the world is going on with the 2 of u?

Not the response I was looking for. And wait, what?

I typed a response as quick as I can.

Faadil and I have a strictly professional working relationship. There are no hidden agendas. And what do you mean, Chunks is good? Are you guys like an it…

I’m wasn’t too sure how I felt about that. This was way too fast for me.

Maahira: honestly, Mos, 4 someone who passed their board exams the first time around, u r exceptionally dense. The man doesn’t want professional with u. He’s after you for the whole package and u cannot see it.

I sighed, knowing I had to differ in her opinion. Lesley (who was now Aaliya) had the same opinion, when I had met her the previous week, after she had messaged me about the situation at hand, wanting the full low down about what was going on. I had humoured her because I wanted to know what she knew and everything that was going on in her firm too. She had filled me in the office news and given me some hope too. To see the change in her after these months of marriage, after she had married Muslim guy from HR, and then started taking Qur’ān classes and learning so much about Deen, was something that made me feel like a fraud. It was like she was ten steps ahead of me.

Me: Im telling you that F does not have any ulterior motives. Not with me, at least. He’s being absolutely gentlemanly.

I wanted to add, unlike Hamzah; who acted like we never met before and he might have seen me on the underside of his running shoe.

I mean, also, I would know if Faadil was really pulling the moves. I had been to the office more than a dozen times in the past few weeks and if Faadil wanted to pull a move, I know he would have already.

He was most definitely not the slow type.

And I had just seen him a few days before. He had very politely stood outside the board room, his daunting figure hovering, watching me from a good distance while I filed away the last of the paperwork that dropped charges against me.

Even though he was no longer officially employed by Hammonds, somehow, he still found a way to frequent the place without anyone kicking him out. I wasn’t even sure what was going on. All I knew was that he had somehow convinced them that I was innocent and I was no longer guilty.

“Hey.”

His voice was  flat and unfamiliar. I hadn’t actually spoken to him since everything went down. Yes, I saw him every day, but it was in passing. Always by the way.

And that’s the way it should stay, I reminded myself. Keep your distance.

I mean, it was awkward because besides the fact that the last time he was down on his knees, asking me to marry him, but also, he was the sole reason for my marriage having fallen apart.

“Hey, everything okay?”

I nodded, hoping that he would turn and leave. Chatting to him felt disloyal to Hamzah, even though said husband wasn’t exactly grovelling at my feet, I didn’t want to give him reason not to.

“Mohsina, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for all this has caused.”

I froze momentarily, a little shocked that an apology was actually coming out of Faadil’s mouth. I definitely didn’t expect that. Not today.

“What’s done is done,” I said flatly, still keeping my gaze down consciously. “I suppose now that my name is nearly cleared, we can move forward.”

I allowed myself a glance at him, seeing an assistant entering the room now, and the way he watched her walk, and taking some comfort in the fact that we weren’t alone, as he gave a curt nod, and then took a long look at her legs before looking back at me.

Could he be less of a perv at least? 

“I’m starting a company. Something small but well networked. It would be good-“

”Faadil,” I said, cutting him off mid sentence, knowing that he was offering me a job but not needing any handouts. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He nodded again, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly, but getting the message. In his eyes, I saw something I never saw before, besides the obvious infatuation with Miss Long Legs.

Was it compassion? No. Understanding. He understood why I couldn’t. And he was okay with it.

And though I didn’t want to tell him this, I knew that I didn’t have to worry because it was just the week before that I got the message from another company telling me that they got my number from Lesley and they were looking for part time applicants to take on positions in their firm. It was an older firm with a new faculty, looking to employ part time CAs, and it seemed perfect for me.

I knew that I should thank Lesley at least, for hooking me up. She had good contacts and I didn’t realise that she would work so fast.

”How is the baby?”

I couldn’t believe that Faadil actually asked about a child.

Small talk. Faadil was never one for that. He was also not one for kids. He was always convinced that he would never really want one of his own, unless he was forced to get one for purposes of having someone to inherit his swindled fortune. I didn’t quite believe that he could be so business like even in those aspects of his life. I wasn’t sure why I had ever wanted to marry him.

He was ambling around, not quite knowing what to do after I rejected his offer. And of course I couldn’t.

“Not much of a baby anymore,” I said with a hint of a smile, still not meeting his gaze, thinking of Zaid and his new wobbles and uncharacteristic conversation. “Walking. Talking. I see him every day- literally cannot live without him.”

I could see Faadil’s posture tense up slightly as I spoke about Zaid and how he had taken over my life, and I assumed it had to do with the fact that him coming into my life had changed what we had, and made it what it was.  Still, I didn’t have any regrets.

And I knew that I was talking a bit too much but I had to make it clear that there was a reason why I couldn’t take a full time job. I didn’t want to miss out on all of that, even if I was missing out on a lot anyway. I wanted to take Zaid home for a night a week, but since Hamzah refused to budge from our arrangement, I knew it was futile to ask. He was being difficult and he seemed to enjoy it.

I loved Zaid more than anything in this world and leaving work for him was the best thing I did.

Leaving Faadil? Well. That too. Especially since it seemed like him and long legs had a thing. I just felt bad now that there was a 0.01 percent chance that he had gotten hurt in the process. It was obvious that when he came back to propose then he had some regrets. I wasn’t sure whether I could ever believe that he had loved me, even remotely.

Now, well… he seemed pretty much over it, and probably onto other things, or rather, people, and it gave me some relief.

Now that Zaid was growing up and I was probably venturing into unknown territories with Hamzah, I knew I might have to think of work again, but most definitely not with Faadil.

”If you need anything,” Faadil’s voice said, and I looked up to see him watching me intently, hands still in pocket, almost as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, actually looking slightly edgy now. Maybe he was thinking of Long Legs. “Anything. You know you can still ask me right?”

I breathed in, immediately relieved that he didn’t hold any of our past against me. He was being friendly, which was not exactly good, but at least it was not suggestive, and I appreciated it. I gave him a tight smile, closing the folder I was holding and reaching for my bag to leave.

As always, I was there for necessity. Not there for a scandal or his comfort.

”Thanks.”

And that was it. No more small talk that was unnecessary. I was ready to head home. He had nodded, and turned and left, and I knew that Maahira was exaggerating because there was nothing remotely suggestive about the one real conversation we had. The only thing suggestive was the way he ogled the PA‘s legs.

And that’s when I realised that I still loved Hamzah. I know that it sounded sad and pathetic, but I did. He was a hard nut to crack, but in all fairness, maybe I should have tried again. Maybe I should have gone back to him, and begged him to take me back.

But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t bring myself to forget what he told me. I just couldn’t believe that he thought we were a mistake. The one person who I thought believed in me and loved me for me, was the one who had very blatantly said that our marriage was a sham and he only married me because it made sense for Zaid at the time.

That stung. It hurt a lot.

And the pain was something that pierced my soul to an extent that after I had seen Zaid, and got back to the flat, it was really hard to forget. Ramadhaan had gone by, and I took refuge in Duaa and Qur’ān while it lasted. Now that it was over, it wasn’t that easy. I was slipping. Badly.

It started with one movie, that I decided to watch on a whim, when I was missing Hamzah was too much for words, and then eased into one of those Korean series were my new obsession.

The thing with these types of traps is that from one thing, you just slide into another and another and the list doesn’t end.

We are repeatedly asked in the Quraan Majeed to ponder and reflect, as this is the means to recognize Allah Ta‘ala. However, the science and technology that man uses to bring pleasure and entertainment into his life, has unfortunately taken over his heart and switched off his mind, hence his ability to ponder and reflect becomes paralyzed.

I didn’t realise how these things sucked you in, until you were hooked. I didn’t even let myself think about how I was sitting and nurturing my smartphone instead of my son, who I should have been trying every effort to get more time with him.

I even ignored my phone for the hours that I sat on my laptop, snacking on popcorn and ignoring the familiar feeling of an unsettled tummy that sometimes annoyed me since Hamzah had left. I figured that it had to do with anxiety. The one time I had brought up my Eid breakfast was when Hamzah answered the door, and if that wasn’t enough to tip me off that it was all related to him and the hold that he had over me that made me increasingly edgy, well, I don’t know what was.

I sighed, hoping that Hamzah and his mother didn’t think anything else when I had to rush to the bathroom.

Oh, and damn that stupid stomach bug that didn’t want to leave. It had thrown me completely off course. Also, after fasting, Eid day had been one day when I had probably over-eaten, and I knew that my stomach was probably revolting because of it.

And now, yet again, it was probably revolting because I hadn’t put any real food into it. I just didn’t seem to have an appetite after everything. My body was feeling like a bus had ridden over it, and I knew it was exhaustion combined with intense anxiety and all I wanted to do was huddle up on the couch and sleep till I forgot all the problems of the world. I wanted to forget the past. The promises. The hope I had held onto only because the man I loved had convinced me that hope was never a mistake.

I fell off to sleep with those thoughts flooding my mind, wishing that I could forget it all.

When I woke up, scrambling to read Asr because there were literally 10 minutes before Maghrib salaah, I couldn’t quite believe that just a month ago I had been an almost perfect Muslimah. I made a rushed whudhu, an even more rushed salaah, and spent a good ten minutes kicking myself for my negligence.

Negligence. It was that sole factor. It led to sins, and I knew it – I had been so complacent, but I just couldn’t seem to help myself because I was slipping deeper and deeper into indifference. I made a firm intention to stop being also negligent. To focus more on Qur’ān. To be punctual and mindful of salaah. I had to start somewhere, but I was just feeling so low, all of a sudden.

It was a good half hour after I read maghrib, made myself a cheese and tomato sandwich (because it was the only thing I seemed to be able to keep down), and then checked my phone to see if the lawyer had messaged with any ho. That was when I saw the messages from Saaliha, which was what Jameela was telling me to reply to me a few days ago when I last spoke to her, and Nani, who was surprisingly still messaging me with a very obvious intention.

I was still sitting in half oblivion, diligently fighting my nafs, but also really wanting to use Netflix anymore to drown out that voice in my head that kept going over and over everything that had gone wrong.

I wanted to be good. I wanted to attend the taaleem that Nani had been nagging me to come back to.

I was relieved that she was still WhatsApping me, even if it was only to nag me about Taaleem and getting onto Zoom for the online course she and I had once started, but I figured that she would rather keep tabs on me than lose me altogether, and it kind of made sense.

I wanted to stay clean, and just avoid all distractions, but I just couldn’t seem to pull myself out of the hole I was in. I had sunken into a place that was difficult to crawl out of, so instead, I turned to social media to drown my sorrows, hoping that seeing everyone else enjoying their lives may give me some comfort.

I could almost picture Nani’s face as she screamed at me to stop being such a ‘pakka Shaytaan’. And on top of that, she kept sending me those typical inspiration like images that made you want to sit on your musalla the whole day and cry your eyes out. I mean, at least I wanted to. I never thought Nani would get what I was feeling, after all her telling me off, but somehow, she was the only one who did.

I missed her. I actually missed Nani.

She made me understand that these were tests. We always assume that all the tests and challenges we are faced with are because of Allah’s wrath….
Do we ever stop to think that perhaps it’s our Creator’s mercy upon us? That he’s trying to tell us something?
Often we miss the signs that Allah Ta’ala sends because we’re blinded by what is already distracting us.

And I didn’t even realise what I was doing as I flipped through previous messages that Nani first sent me, angry and upset as ever, and then calmed down slightly as the days went by and we kind of forgot how much I had messed up, but as my head jolted to the doorbell ringing, the tears that wet my cheeks felt a little more intrusive than normal. I had let everyone down.

I knew why she was doing this. All Nani had was hope to hold onto. At least she had that.

Hope, he had said, was never a mistake. I couldn’t help but feel that he had lied. I wanted to forget that last day. The love that I felt, whilst my heart was brimming over with it. I wanted to forget that there was someone who once stole so much of me, that now that he had left, I felt like a shell of a person who just existed.

I usually never cried. Never. But since Hamzah left, it was all I wanted to do.

And knowing that I barely got visitors, and as I shifted off the couch, I could feel myself almost calibrating as I headed to the door, trying to figure out exactly what I was feeling.

I didn’t even think it strange that they had bypassed the main gate.

I pulled open the door slightly, keeping the chain in place as I peeped out, nearly having a heart attack as I saw Hamzah’s face in the tiny gap I had looked out from.

He didn’t waste a second, probably in case I decided to shut the door right in his face. After his last words to me, I was tempted, but something in my heat was literally holding me back, so I stood there, frozen, just staring at him, wondering if he was real or not.

His face was serious as he looked at me, his brown eyes shining with emotion, and I could almost see the absolute caution that he approached me with, almost as if he was afraid of what it would bring. I didn’t even hear him the first time he spoke.

It was the second time he said it, that I really processed, my heart contracting as he said it.

”Mos, did you hear me?” His voice said, in that usual soft tone that pulled at my heart strings. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

Hosting and entertaining guests is indeed a significant deed in Islam. The first man to entertain a guest was Nabi Ibrahim (‘alayhis salam).

This quality is directly linked to the level of one’s Iman.

As seen in the above narration, Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wasallam) coupled honouring the guest with Belief in Allah and the Day of Qiyamah, which are two fundamental aspects of our Din.

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

Exposed Agendas

Bismihi Ta’ala

Rabia

Part 90

I didn’t mean for it to get that far.

Okay, maybe I did. Maybe I meant for it to go very far.

But don’t judge me, okay. My heart wasn’t as black as it seemed, or at least, that’s what I thought.

Just hear me out, because it’s only natural that different people see the same things from many different angles and perspectives. And okay, maybe my different is a little unorthodox, but it made good sense to me until it didn’t anymore, but by then… it was too late to do anything about it.

You see, how I see it was… for me, Hamzah was always good. Maybe not always the best. But good.

A good guy. A nice person, most times, until he went through his bad patch at Hammonds. Someone who some of my nicest friends even had silent crushes on as we grew up, and though he was oblivious, he wasn’t ever the type of guy to hurt or take advantage of someone on purpose. He knew his limits and where he needed to stop.

And even though I would never tell him that he wasn’t exactly a complete kachra to his face, it was no secret that at twenty-three, before he had tied the knot, was one of the few good decent ones left.

I still had a few friends in mind that could have worked for him. Even if Hamzah didn’t pick one of them, he was then supposed to so the normal thing and surprise us with a nice, homely girl that one of his friends wives may know who could actually take care of him.

You know that ayat that states that good women and for good men and vice versa? I justified it, knowing that there had to be no other way. Saving Hamzah from an ill-suited partner was my duty.

All I was doing was showing my love for my brother. I wanted the best for him. I wanted him to be happy. What he didn’t know when he chose Mohsina, was that she could never make him happy, and that’s precisely what I wanted to show him.

It was meant innocent at first. A little bit of snooping and posting. The defaming post from my spamming account was meant to be deleted after a while. The additional comments I posted from two other accounts were just a little catalyst. It had been a small scandal, but it had unsettled my sister-in-law. And it worked, for what I needed at that time.

She was thrown. I knew that Hamzah didn’t care about social media, but he thought that he loved her, so where she hurt, he would also naturally get upset, but no one knew it was me.

It was just a small interference. But posting that had opened up a channel for me. One person had messaged, promising to give me the scoop on how Mohsina had lost her job, for me to when I realised that it may have not been true.

And then, meeting up with my lawyer friend had opened up a door for me. She happened to see Faadil stop by for a latte at the coffee shop we were at near Melrose Arch and meeting him was something that I never actually anticipated happening till that point. When we had spoke, and he heard that I was Hamzah’s sister, his eyes lit up in a way that I didn’t understand. The fact that he wanted to get back at Mohsina had thrilled me in a way that I couldn’t quite explain. It’s not that I wanted to see her crumble. I just wanted the social media diva part of her to know that there was no guaranteeing that her entire feed and influencer profile that she spent so long perfecting was going to last forever.

Also, now that it was probably well on the way to going as planned and Faadil and Mohsina were possibly patching some things up at least, I found myself feeling like a dead loss. I felt like an extra branch, drifting in the wind, not quite sure which way to sway. I hadn’t heard from Faadil, who had become my new BFF for the time I was helping him to get somewhere in his new aspiration of gaining Mohsina’s trust again, and I had a feeling that I probably wasn’t going to anytime soon. His agenda was already sorely exposed to me.

I sighed, wondering how everything had gone so wrong. How I hadn’t foreseen this minor factor, that was that once I had broken Hamzah and Mohsina apart, the link with Mohsina and I would also be severed, which meant that Faadil would simply not need me or what I could offer anymore.

I tapped out a message to one of my instafriends, wondering if they were free to meet up the next week for coffee. I desperately needed a diversion and some good foodie pics. I also needed to spill my story to convince myself that I wasn’t as bad as I was feeling. To assure myself that I wasn’t as foul as I thought I was.

I wasn’t always a bad person. Somehow, that just happened. Maybe I had forgotten what it was like to happy and contented. Maybe I was being ungrateful for my mediocre life. Or maybe, I had just lost hope after everything that had gone down with my marriage and the love that I was so desperately trying to hang onto, despite accepting that maybe I had also messed up a bit.

And now, I found myself stuck in the hope that perhaps I would somehow still be able to overcome the pit I’d sunken into, even when it seemed like it was bottomless.

“Rabia, can you put down that phone, and go and do some reading at least. It’s Eid day. It’s not acceptable you sitting here with the phone all alone, ignoring everyone else.”

As usual, it was my mother, going bayaan-mode on me, and I knew that the only valid response I would have for her was an eye-roll.

She didn’t get it. I needed something to fill my life up, and social media made me happy. Seeing people happy, made me happy. Even though it sometimes made me grumpy and disagreeable, somehow, that also made me happy.

“The phone doesn’t go down,” Hamzah said to her as he finished his meal and walked past me to go outside, and I could already see him search in his pockets for a lighter. Forever story. “It’s attached to her fingers, Ma.”

“Just like your damn cigarettes,” I shot back, while Hamzah tut-tutted and my mother gave me the stink eye.

“Rabia,” my molther hissed on cue. “We have visitors. You lucky they arent close by. I keep telling you to watch your language. You waste so much of time on your phone, don’t you realise how important this time is? You don’t even have to worry about a husband or any of those things, but you don’t realise how important this time is to just throw it away in useless pursuits.”

Oh my goodness, it was that lecture again.

“I don’t have to worry about a husband because he ran away with another woman, mother,” I said, my face as deadpan as I could manage.

My mothers face, on the contrary, did the whole disgusted and outraged thing, and then I knew where I was headed in this talk.

“Everything happens for a reason,” she said, shaking her head, and definitely not falling for my pity party. Given, I’d had quite a few in the past few months. “I know it seems so unfair, but you don’t realise how much you have going for you. You’re healthy, you are intelligent and you have all this time on your hands because you don’t have to worry about running household yet. You young girls have way too much of free time on your hands. I think I need to get rid of the helper and actually let you learn life the hard way.”

Oh great. It was the don’t-you-realise-how-lucky-you-are lecture, only, I didn’t feel lucky at all. I was the one who had to deal with divorce stigma, the third wheel and the other woman who didn’t deserve to be the woman because apparently I wasn’t worthy of it.

I failed at everything in my life. Marriage. Studies. Friends. The one time I ran a household, I thought I was doing okay, until I was divorced for not being the right kind of woman.

“Don’t give me that look,” my mother said, her voice dropping as my Masie entered the kitchen. “You have so much of time on your hands. Do something. There are so many classes you can go for. Tafseer? Qur’ān classes? It doesn’t even have to be Deeni. What about sewing. Or knitting? Cooking?
Do something, Rabia.”

”No thanks,” I shot back, not liking the bayaan mode but also knowing that she may be a little obsessed with household chores because that was all my mother did.

I mean, who cares if I could run a household or not? I did everything for he-whose-name-shall-not-be-mentioned and he stabbed me in the back with his infidelity.

Bibi Masie had a twinkle in her eye and Zaid in her arms, and seeing him was already enough for me to want to stop moping and cyber stalking people and rather pinch his chubby cheeks.

I put my phone down and grabbed him, blowing raspberries on his neck until he was forced to giggle. He was the only person I really liked here. Oh, and Uthman, because he stayed out of my business and didn’t judge me when I sat on my phone the whole day.

Small people were so much easier to please. Adulting was a huge pain in the behind.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but did you guys hear that bayaan about how we are growing our kids into spoilt adults who will be incapable of running a household and living independent lives?”

Oh my gawd, Masie was onto another bayaan. She wasn’t even done.

“Like every kid of age is living in this fantasy world – thinking life is one big fairy tale, with no awareness of what real life entails. It’s all these instagram stories, this illusion that makes people think that life is one huge dream world.”

My mother was nodding and lapping it up as Bibi Masie gave her the lowdown about how people were fighting about it and saying that it was sexist when it fact it refers to both our younger male and female generations who are so lazy and incapable of basic household tasks that it is embarrassing. Take away was becoming the new household cooking and the Barakah in the home was basically non-existent because there was no awareness of what was expected of the people of the household.

My mother was nodding and shaking her head at all the appropriate times, blatantly glancing at me from time to time, as if trying to show me exactly how useless I was as a housewife, and that was probably the reason why I was the the D-word.

And I beg to differ. Maybe it was debatable. Okay, so I didn’t always know how to run a household. But I did try. Being the only daughter gave me a good chance at being spoilt, but being married to an ogre was a reality that shook me. I didn’t want to relive how much I had failed. What I had maybe done wrong. Maybe my divorce was actually more to do with my inability to run a house properly and some other stuff too and not so much about how attractive the other woman was. Maybe my husband just had another agenda that I had mistakenly exposed when I married him.

I grabbed Zaid and left the room, not wanting to dwell and happy that Mohsina had left him with us again that morning, after her puking incident, remembering that my mother had said that she was sick gave me an idea. It meant that I could finally have something valid to message Faadil about, and not sound like I was desperate for his conversation.

And just as I was about to pick up my phone and ask Faadil whether Mohsina had been sick at any point when she had come into the office, the doorbell that rang was kind of unexpected right then.

Being Eid day, it wasn’t like it was unexpected. My mother was obsessed with having visitors, as much as I abhorred it, because to welcome people into our home was like her life ambition.

The Mehmaan talk that Ma and her always have was starting to get on my nerves already. All I wanted to do was sit in peace and enjoy my free time.

I mean, who had the time to entertain guests, feed them, and then see them to the door these days? My Ma and Dadi had always stressed it, but it was so extra and old-fashioned to wait on people who could do things for themselves. Back in the day, all that stuff was normal, but now with cell phones and WhatsApp, there really was no need for all that admin.

Sayyiduna Abu Hurayrah (radiyallahu ‘anhu) reported that Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wasallam) said:

‘Whosoever believes in Allah and the Last Day should honour his guest.’

(Sahih Bukhari, Hadith: 601

“Can you please check who it is?”

My mother was calling from the kitchen, and I assumed that I was the only person she would take advantage of right then. I mean, that’s what I was there for, right? The rejected one.
I didn’t have a job or any real tasks to do, so I might as well be the damn butler.

I sighed as I plopped Zaid on the floor with a toy, knowing I wouldn’t win the argument anyway, hoping he would stay there while I quickly checked the intercom. It was only after I answered that I smelt the cigarette stench behind me, and I knew Hamzah was behind me to see who it was, but I was already halfway through the task to give it up.

Plus, it was a huge delivery of flowers and I simply wasn’t just going to leave without seeing who it was from.

“I got it,” I hissed at my brother. “Zaid’s in the lounge with his hammer toy. Check on him.”

Hamzah and his disgusting stench retreated into the next room, while I unlocked the gate, my sense already overwhelmed by the deliciously aromatic scent of the lilies that were bunched together with multiple other gorgeous blooms. I loved flowers. Loved getting them. Loved receiving them. I loved how they made me feel. How they made my heart burst with happiness.

And I was so enamoured by the gorgeous bunch as I placed it on the counter and looked for the card, that maybe my mind was already going into overdrive, hoping and wishing that this was my reward for all my patience and endurance and I finally gotten.

I was living in the dream that someone had finally realised my worth and sent me flowers to prove it, and lo and behold, as I pulled the card out from the two flowers it was stuck between, I guess was I was a little overwhelmed to actually take note of what I was saying.

It was a simple Eid message, a greeting with wishing you all an amazing day, and though the greeting sounded a little generic and impersonal, I knew that the sending name wouldn’t disappoint.

At the end, it simply said:

Love from

Fardil and Family 

And my heart was already bursting with pride and appreciation (not with love because I knew that he was hung up over my ex-sister-in-law) but still feeling very much impressed by this big show, that I couldn’t help but murmur blissfully to myself.

“I can’t believe he remembered me.”

“Who did?”

“Faadil,” I said without thinking. “After so-“

Shit. Shit shit shit.

It was Hamzah and I was so shocked at seeing his name, albeit misspelled, probably by the florist who packed the flowers, that I didn’t even realise that Hamzah had come up behind me with Zaid in his arms.

And call it twinstinct, but somehow, even without looking at my twin brothers face, I already knew that he was extremely, irrevocably pissed off right then.

Just catching a glimpse of his reddening ears was enough to get me stuttering and stumbling over my mistaken words, in a poor attempt to erase the past few minutes.

”It’s not- I didn’t mean that guy- you know, the one who was in the office, Hamzah- Faadil, I mean, the one I’m talking about…”

I didn’t even know what I was saying.

My jumbled up words were falling on Hamzah’s reddened ears and the more I said, ten more stormy his face got. And oh my word, I knew I was in deep trouble, because there was barely any way that he was going to believe me.

“How the hell do you know Faadil?!”

His tone was even but definitely intimidating as he watched me, his stare a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

“I don’t!” I said, a little too quickly, holding up my hands, and then placing them down again, not knowing what else to say. “I mean, which Faadil? It’s not like there’s only one Faadil in the -“

”Rabia.”

His tone was so menacing that even Zaid stopped slurping on his own fingers for all of five seconds while Hamzah’s eyes bored into mine.

My silence was all he needed to confirm what we both already knew.

Hamzah’s head hung now, as he shook his head, turning around hastily while he stopped to dump Zaid in a passing Saaliha’s arms, just before he stalked up the stairs, while I tried to maintain a poker face.

Where he was going, I don’t know. What I did know was that he probably had a lot to figure out now that I had more or less admitted to being an accomplice to whatever Faadil had done. And I was. I was, and I knew it. The thing was, I wasn’t even that sorry about it. All I felt was a little regretful that I had revealed myself so easily.

Saaliha was watching us both, her eyes slightly bulging as she processes Hamzah’s inaudible hissy fit, and then immediately looked at the bunch in flowers in my hand.

“Is that from my sister?”

I stood there, my entire stance completely frozen for a minute, as I wondered why she would ever think her sister would send that. And then it clicked, because as always, Saaliha’s family always sent something for our Eid table every Eid, and oh-my-word, I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.

Fareeha and Aadil. Far and Aadil. Oh crap. That was why it said family. Fardil. I could only expect that stupid celebrity type nickname from Saaliha’s looney sister… And the message was so generic… so of course it made sense.

The entire thing was completely screwed up, and I locked my gaze on Saaliha, knowing that my goodie two shoes sister-in-law was way too unassuming to ever conspire against me, but helpless against everything this would bring.

Hamzah took two hours to re-emerge from the room, even knowing that everyone was there waiting for him.

And knowing that I could do nothing more, I buried my nose in my phone for the rest of the night, catching up with friends Eid outfits and double tapping on plate settings, even though my tummy was completely revolted by the thought of what had happened earlier that day.

My mother continued nagging, and I couldn’t put my phone away any longer. Well, sue me while I escape the messed up reality for a bit. Even though we all do it in one form or the other, I knew it was time for me to also check in on how the plan that Faadil and I had worked out was actually going.

I needed to know more. If Mohsina was actually buying it. If anything had worked. If me chatting to Faadil, and if Hamzah finding out, was all worth it. I was panicking inside, but I forced myself e to breathe and calm down. After all, there was nothing else that he knew besides the fact that I knew Faadil. That alone wasn’t an incriminating fact, and I knew that I had been really careful and deleted all evidence of my involvement in the whole necklace saga too.

It took a few days for Hamzah to say a word to me, and I still hadn’t received a reply from Faadil either. I pretended like I didn’t care about either. I was pretty much in the dark, and I hated it.

I had tried to convince myself that my entire existence didn’t depend on that. I was way past Hamzah’s stupid tantrums too. I still believed that I had done him a favour by getting Mohsina out of all our lives.

After all, she didn’t truly love him. Aren’t we all attracted to people because of superficial aspects anyway? Money, looks, what status they may represent. Everyone had their own agendas, and they were pretty transparent here.

For Hamzah, he probably just liked her pretty features and ability to swindle him where no one else could. For Mohsina, her agenda was only Zaid and my brothers generosity in footing the bills for her high flying lifestyle. It’s precisely what made her say yes to him, and the sooner he saw that, the better it would be for them both.

He would probably move on and find a better mother for Zaid anyway. The way she carried on, I found it hard to believe that she really cared about them both.

It was a few days later when he was leaving for the ijtima, and I wanted to tell him that he rather not go. I mean, what was the use of going for it when he had all this dirt in his heart, but there was some distant part of me that was actually stopping me from lashing out at him and wanting to strangle him.

I didn’t realise that the dirt that had been building up on my heart was so thick that it was already ingrained on mine. All I could see was how stupid Hamzah was beeing, and as he rolled his bag to the door, glanced at me briefly, and I wanted to strangle him again for the next words he said.

”I don’t know what you were playing at, Rabia, but when I get back, I expect you to have contacted Mohsina and let her know exactly what happened with my old boss.”

And with that, he greeted my parents, turned his back, and left me narrowing my eyes at him in utter exasperation.

I had already made my mind up that I would never do it. There was no way I was ever going to be blackmailed into talking to Mohsina. She was the one who had caused all this.

There was no way that I would ever admit defeat. What I didn’t know was that when Hamzah returned a week later, finding me still in an unfazed state, my deepest secrets were going to be explosively exposed in a way I didn’t quite expect…

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

Hosting and entertaining guests is indeed a significant deed in Islam. The first man to entertain a guest was Nabi Ibrahim (‘alayhis salam).

This quality is directly linked to the level of one’s Iman.

As seen in the above narration, Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wasallam) coupled honouring the guest with Belief in Allah and the Day of Qiyamah, which are two fundamental aspects of our Din.

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

 

Chasing Sunsets

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 89

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her reply only came now, hours later.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gestured to my painting as I watched him.

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

Zubair sighed, shaking his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I bit back a gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever told anyone about this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next sentence was almost a whisper.

“He threatened to kill you.”

---

Mission Sunnah revival: Sunnah of Duaa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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

Tugs of War

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 87

Saaliha

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is Hamzah coming for the weekend?”

I had to ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was quick to reply.

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

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

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

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

My heart clenched painfully at her words.

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

But I was extremely hopeful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sighed and looked at her, raising my eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wanted to kick myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was exaggerating. As always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”What exactly should I have done?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Assalamualaikum

Dearest readers.

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

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

Duaas

Much Love

A x

Sunnah of Duaa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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

Shattering Secrets

Bismihi Taala

Mohsina

Part 85

Leaving is hard. Losing is harder.

I once heard someone say that the very same worldly attribute that causes us pain is also what gives us relief: Nothing here lasts.

And while I found myself at war with my heart, I knew that I couldn’t give in, just because it said so. Just like the feeling of being hopelessly in love didn’t last, so too, the feeling of pain and agony also won’t last.

The thing is, we all make mistakes. Yes, we all  need to restart, sometimes over and over again, only to lose ourselves once again. Yes, there are days when we feel consumed by the world and it weighs heavy on our shoulders. There are times when we forget that this life is temporary and fleeting and insignificant in comparison to the next life. Yes, there are days when we feel so distant from Allah. Days when we don’t raise our hands to Him, days when we are ungrateful and thankless and days when we are an embarrassingly bad version of us, that even we can’t quite come to terms with…

But for all those times that we are heedless and complacent and broken by the world, by Allah, we are never forgotten, and Allah always has our back; in whatever means or form He provides.

For me…. there was Hamzah… who was my personal spiritual booster, who was trying his utmost to pull me out of the hole I had crept into and keep me floating.

And it was working. Somehow. It was working.

After Hamzah’s little stint, I couldn’t help but feel all my barriers collapse with no resolve. It was like his sincerity had crept right into the midst of my soul, but yet, when I agreed to his request, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being a little too hopeful that after all this, Hamzah would still want me back.

Though my stance was still neutral and distant, I had a feeling that brick by brick, the wall was coming down, and I didn’t even want to hold it up anymore.

The truth was, I loved this guy. I didn’t want to lose him, and when he dished out words that made me feel so much more, I couldn’t help but cave.

We drove in semi-silence after I had dissolved in his arms, and then quickly recovered, vowing to keep up the facade that I felt nothing for him anymore. The way Hamzah drove, as if he knew what exactly where he was going, made me a feel a little nervous. I didn’t want to get all flustered and overwhelmed by emotion again. I had calmed down, but Hamzah’s request to me still hung over my head like a cloud above my head.

His free hand rested in the middle of us, waiting for me to tangle my fingers with his in a silent truce. But I couldn’t do it.

I knew what he was silently saying. It was time to let this be. To love him unreservedly. To stop holding back just on the off-chance that everything was meant to be perfect.

And though I would never admit it, it felt like my heart had been shifted. I wasn’t even sure what had happened after being at Hamzah’s Madrassa but I knew that Qur’ān had amazing effects. I had once heard that Qur’ān is the cure to any problem and will do miracles to hearts. I honestly felt like my heart had undergone some kind of miracle. I felt like it had been deep cleansed and flushed out, and now all I saw was positivity and everything good that could be.

“Are you ready for our next stop?” Hamzah said quietly, his gaze not leaving the road as he spoke.

I avoided his eyes too as he pulled off the main road, onto a smaller road that took us another minute of driving, the blue skies even more glorious as we got closer to the coast.

The car served slightly to the right as the shoreline came into view, and catching sight of the deepest blue waters contrasting against the light blue of the sky, the beauty of it made me gasp in absolute wonder.

Now, I know that I hadn’t exactly been to Maldives yet, but I knew for sure that there weren’t many places in the world that had such amazingly blue waters. I watched in awe as Hamzah drive along the coastal route, amazed that there was such a stunning view from where we were. The sea seemed so vast and glorious as I watched it, waves crashing along with such ferocity that it made you wonder about the Creator of that kind of power. There was just something about having an ocean view that gave you a soothing within your soul.

The scene was a picture perfect kind. Mountains in the distance. Driving into the horizon, or breaking into the jaw-dropping sunsets. No visible limits to where the oceans ended.

I knew Hamzah had a special affinity to this place where the land met the seas, and this was where he found his base, got his focus and explored his true ambition.

My eyes were fixated on the beauty before me until we pullled off the road and Hamzah killed the engine, and I couldn’t help but feel myself flush under his intense gaze. While I watched the amazing view, Hamzah was gauging my reaction with a certain interest that made me shift under his scrutiny.

“Stop,” I said, shifting uncomfortably as I glanced at him again. “You’re making me nervous.”

He had this disturbing smile on his face, as if he knew was more than he let on, and how his stance remained so positive and unnerving was beyond me. I wished that I could somehow distract him, but before I could think of something, he had pushed open the door and stepped out into the openness, pulling off his kurta as he did so, almost as if he was getting ready for a swim.

I honestly wondered if he was going to take a dip in the waters, and while I was contemplating on whether to reprimand him for his crazy behaviour or not, before I knew it, the passenger door was open and Hamzah was next to me, with an expectant smile on his face.

”You don’t expect to sit in the car with such a beautiful view ahead of you, do you?”

Before I could even begin to argue, he had already extended his arm to lift me out the car, and I could feel my resolve weakening each moment as he did so. And I was already bought by this place that Hamzah loved. The salty air. The view of limitless beauty. The feel of the wind through my scarf was simply gorgeous.

I trudged forward as he pulled me along, not giving me any choice but to enjoy his proximity and the feeling of my hand in his as he edged me along silently.

Hamzah just had a way to snap me out of my stupor, and I knew that I had no chance when it came to him. I never quite admitted if before, but now, I understood how Allah Ta’ala compliments people through their other halves. For me, he was the type of personality who balanced all my inadequacies. While I lay low, Hamzah coaxed my inner adventurer. While I usually preferred isolation, Hamzah pushed me to interact. He was the icing on my cupcake. He brought out the best of me, and when I recalled Layy once saying that he filled in all my blanks, I now understood exactly what she meant.

Hamzah was like a uncontained proton. With him around, life just felt so… charged.

We paused as he stopped to pull off his shoes and socks, me hoping that he wouldn’t pull any drastic moves or throw me in, quickly acceding to his request for me to pull out my own shoes as I stepped onto the sandy part of the beach, enjoying the peace and quiet that existed there. It was very much deserted, but still a sight to behold, as we stood there, hands together, just taking in this moment as the splendour of sky meeting the seas spread before us. It was like it was lit up in some kind of brightly kindled fire as the day was coming to a close, and the sight literally took my breath away.

”Are you reading more Qur’ān for me?” I breathed, my voice hopeful as it cut through the air, and Hamzah turned to look at me.

Him reciting to me was something that made me ache for more. It had brought a sense of tranquility and clarity… a state of mind that I hadn’t had in way too long, but ached to attain once again. Not only had he recited, but the deep knowledge of the Qur’ān he had, about the verses where Allah tells us we will be tested, and our ability to be patient is something that is inherent. Somehow, Allah puts that patience in our hearts and enables us through understanding.

And We will surely test you with something of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth and lives and fruits, but give good tidings to the patient, (Surah 2:155)

It had given me an insight, and a small hope that was at the back of my mind, waiting to be rekindled.

”That’s for special occasions,” he murmured with a slight grin before pulling out a tasbeeh counter from his pocket and handing it to me.

“But when we say SubhanAllah, and that can sometimes feel like we are the kings of the world,” he continued with a one dimpled smile, while I took his counter.

It was one of those larger new ones, black with a pretty pattern, and I kept it in my forefinger as I took his advice and mouthed the words, praising Allah for everything He had so graciously blessed me with.

Just being there, knowing that Hamzah had faith in me… in us… gave me a most amazing sense of renewed hope… and reciting SubhaanAllah made me feel like I was touching base again.

Connecting with my surroundings. Acknowledging that all glory before me, from the bluest waters to the foamy seas, and everything that my eyes feasted on, was only due to the One who Created.

We had moved along to the edge of the seas now, stopping just before the colours of the sand got darker with moistureit, and I couldn’t help but halt to immediately plop myself down on the sand, digging my toes in, thinking about when the last time was that I had enjoyed sitting on the open beach like this.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly, his hand holding the top of my knee while he stopped my foot from wriggling. “You’re hiding your toes.”

I couldn’t help but feel my cheeks heat up, although I barely got frazzled, remembering the first time we had been at a beach together, and recalling how toe obsessed I was. For some reason, right then, the picture gamer, instagram obsessed version of me felt so far away.

It was all purely coincidental that we had ended up being each others company that morning, and even though we were wrong to be so freely mixing, it made me appreciate that we knew so much better now.

“Do you remember the time we were at a beach in the days of Jahelia?” His voice broke out, almost reading my thoughts as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket, and sat down next to me.

I grinned and nodded regretfully at his reference to those days when work took preference over everything and Liyaket and Layyanah were still in their romancing phase.

“Do you know how I loathed you?” I said with narrowed eyes, remembering how he used to annoy me about my social media apps.

“Ditto,” he said quietly with a wink. “But after that, something changed. And I felt like irritating you even more. Every day. Till forever.”

I shook my head at him. He was such a kid. Like the old boy likes girl and makes fun at her story.  He acted as if we were in primary school.

“I think I was in denial,” he said softly, and I looked at him with my eyebrows raised.

Ahem. What?

”But why,” I said, not understanding why he would even like the instagram obsessed @mostlymohsina who barely gave time of day to anyone else but her feed.

He grinned as I looked at him, his brown eyes avoiding mine as I wondered if he was going to backtrack on his words.

But no. Hamzah was going for the kill today.

“You were the only girl who had game,” he said with a shrug, as if it was obvious. “And you know why? Girls think that being open and approachable makes them a better catch. But you… Mos, you were hard on yourself in ways you didn’t know. Ways that made you stand out.  You didn’t give a crap about what anyone thought about your hijab. You didn’t entertain the guys or any of the mundane chit chat. Even on the trips… You were always careful about what you ate and how you behaved. You know what I was like. Liyaket would call me out for my ways all the time.”

I snorted, remembering how he was once in a disciplinary hearing for something that had happened with some office girl in the archives room.

I could see the embarrassment on his face as I almost laughed at the recollection.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said cheekily. “I know I was a rotter. And you were like one of those girls who were out of my league and unattainable… until I spoke to you and realised that maybe you were exactly what I needed to keep me grounded. And then, next I knew, there was Liyaket to tell me that he was certain that you were the right girl for me, and I knew I was a goner.”

I shook my head, thinking that hilarious because I had gone so haraami and off track afterwards with all my that he should probably take those words back. And it was so ironic because I felt that he was the one who had gone all Maulana-type and became out of reach for me.

Anyhoo, then the unmentioned stuff happened and we were both stuck in a space where none of us could understand what the other was even thinking…

If only we had known all the things that we hid so well from each other, because we felt too vulnerable to say, but I knew it didn’t matter now because Allah knew where our paths would take us, and I knew now for sure that there was a reason for this.

Even right now, everything that’s happened.. I knew that there was no way that I could deny that some goodness was going to come out of it. I just knew that I had to stick this out and hope that it would come through sooner rather than later.

But in the meantime, I couldn’t help but feel that hole in my gut as I looked at my husband, the mention of the past now bringing hope in his eyes, as I took a deep breath and turned my gaze away to the spectacular seas.

Today, they were steady and relaxed, and my heart immediately felt contented as I watched the ebb and flow of the tide, the sound of swishing waters soothing my soul beautifully.

But all this soothing was making me relax too much, when I shouldn’t be.

“What if you’re making a mistake,” I said to him suddenly, my mind on our conversation back at the madrassa, turning my face to watch his expression change, knowing that he was going to regret putting so much effort into this when it was already doomed to fail. “By having so much of faith in me. You’ve got way too much of hope. It’s not fair on you.”

“It’s not fair on either of us,” he said, his fingers twiddling with each other as I watched him, sitting with his knees up. “And it’s not silly or naive either. It’s because even in the darkness, I see that my Rabb is greater than everything else. Watching this… the sky and the earth holding hands on the horizon… well… doesn’t it fill you with hope?”

The sight ahead felt like stab of love, a blaze of color – oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples spread before us, almost like the blended colors of love. I was mesmerised for a second, not realising how quickly the sky had morphed into such glory, taking in every fiery red, bold orange and carnivorous yellow as we watched horizon spread out before us from the sea sand. As I did so, I couldn’t help but feel my soul lighten. My heart was opening in a way it hadn’t before. The sight of that, contrasting with the blissfully blue waters that calmed my soul, was what gifted me with something that I hadn’t realised was creeping up on me, and that’s when I understood what Hamzah had said.

Hope. We find it even in the most unexpected places, and I hadn’t felt it more than I felt it right then, and I wanted to take that moment and pocket it so I could keep it close to my heart forever.

I wanted to remember the moment that things had shifted.

I didn’t need to ask him why anymore. I knew why he had brought me here. It was the beauty of Allahs creation- scenic and gorgeous and I wished that we could stay there, in our happy bubble forever, although I knew that reality was only a road trip away.

And when he said it, I knew exactly what he meant.

“Hope, my love,” he whispered softly, his face next to mine as he spoke close to my ear. “Is never a mistake.”

My tummy flipped as he said it, making me wonder how he still did that to me, even after all this time and the fact that this was supposed to be some kind of farewell journey.

And it made my heart ache. This has been so hard. And I was spent. I had sobbed and cried, I had prayed and tried to come to terms with how I felt, but it felt like I was still where I began…. Still hurting. Still nursing the heart aches. Still trying to pull myself out of the hole of misery I had sunk into.

I was tired of fighting. Tired of having nothing to hold onto… and I couldn’t help but wonder… what if?

So what if I said I’ll come back to him? So what if I put my own fears aside, and let myself believe that this man wanted me more than all my flaws? So what if I gave in and stopped steeling my heart, so that to I could actually feel something for once? So what.

All this had done was reinforce to me that everything he meant was for real and I knew that sooner or later, I’d have no more excuses.

I sighed as he took my hand in his, and wordlessly, he looked up at me, and then at the skies, almost as if he was still awaiting that answer, and the sight before us was just what he needed to get it.

I didn’t want to read what was in his eyes as we got up and started walking back to the car, but his eyes held the message that I couldn’t deny.

If the sun and the sky can meet on the horizon, then so can we.

Of course we could. No matter how long it took. No matter how much was lost in between. At some stage, I would return to him and I know that I would still have as much love as I had for him right then.

”I’ll come back to you,” I said softly, after a few steps, my voice barely audible as I said it, feeling as if my heart would burst from the emotion it brought.

I could already feel the shift in the air as he processed it, and without even a seconds warning, strong arms literally lifted me off the ground and twirled me around, and the only thing I could do was hold onto Hamzah and giggle as his head nuzzled against my neck and he put me down, his breathing emphatic from all that weight lifting he had done a few seconds before.

“I love you, Mos,” he said into my ear, his voice sounding like he couldn’t quite believe what I’d just told him, assuring me that whatever was in store, it will always be me. And just like that, every barrier was broken down as we walked, hand in hand to the car, feeling emotionally exhausted with everything that had happened that day.

Salaah was glorious, under the open skies, with the sound of crashing waves, and I revelled in the feeling before crawling back into the car and smiling sleepily at Hamzah as he started his car.

I knew that I had plenty of messages, from Sawleha and Maahira in particular, but I barely had a chance to catch up with them before my eyelids felt heavy, and with the soothing feel of the car and of everything between us finally settled, sleep overcame me sooner than I thought.

We knew that we would reach late but I was still hoping that we would make it back home to fetch Zaid for the night.

And I barely expected to be so tired, to fall into such a deep sleep, but the next thing I knew,  Hamzah was stroking my arm lightly in an effort to wake me as we entered our apartment block. I felt drained. Almost as if I had been out hiking the entire day, when in actuality, we’d done no real physical activity. I yawned as I looked at my husband, concentrating as he reversed into his parking; remembering that we hadn’t fetched Zaid.

“Where’s my baby?” I asked softly, stifling another yawn.

”Imraan said he will bring him,” he said, switching off the car power. “I think he’s giving Saaliha a hard time to sleep and she wasn’t feeling too great either?”

I sat up, suddenly wide awake.

“What happened?” I asked, already concerned for her wellbeing. “Is she okay?”

Hamzah lifted a shoulder up noncommittally.

“Don’t know,” he said, but I didn’t miss the flicker of concern in his eyes. “He didn’t say. But he’s already left.”

I nodded and opened the car door, stepping out tentatively as I grabbed my bag and the stuff Hamzah had packed to keep us nourished. I was actually starving, and I wondered if I had enough cheese in the fridge to whip up a cheese and tomato sandwich. I usually didn’t enjoy tomatoes in cheese but for some reason, I was completely bought today.

Hamzah had already got into the lift, and I stood next to him as he smiled at me, enjoying the calmness of that moment, where we both understood what it was that we needed to do from here. Even though things may not be perfect, the understanding that we had was something that I knew was only possible because of Hamzah’s insistence to spend this day together.

I couldn’t help but think of how lucky I was to have him, rooting for us the way he did. We had already reached our floor, and as he gestured for me to walk, I fell into step with him as we went toward our home together, talking softly as we passed the neighbours flat, enjoying the ease that we could deal with each other right then.

And I wished I hadn’t done what I did. I wished I hadn’t stopped so that he could walk with me. I wished that I’d gone first, so that when I reached the end of the passage where our door was, I would have been the one to see the box that sat on our step, so I could take it and keep it away, as far as I ever could. I wished that I had been the one to open it and scrutinise its contents before it came to rock our world.

But of course, it didn’t happen that way.

“Hey,” Hamzah smiled, a comical expression on his face as he spotted it. “Someone left us a gift. Bit late for housewarming though.”

My eyes zoned onto the parcel, realising that it was a gift of some sort, but not quite processing the name of the shop that was on the bag. Some jewellery shop in Sandton. People get fancy sometimes.

“Oh,” I said half-heartedly, watching him put down the cooler bag he had with him and picking up the packet. “That’s nice of them.”

It took a few seconds before he opened the packet and took out a box, and I couldn’t help but feel an icky sensation creep over me as I realised that it looked nothing like how a housewarming gift should look. I was a small, long box, with a ribbon around it, and as he pulled it out, and opened it, a little note stuck out of it, that he promptly caught just before his eyes widened at the contents of the actual box.

It took him a few seconds before there was any reaction. It felt like time was frozen for a few seconds as I watched him switch gazes from the now opened note, to the contents of the box, and as I realised exactly what was in the box, my heart did this thing where it felt like it was going to shatter into millions of tiny pieces, just glimpsing the haunted expression on his face.

It was the necklace. The eternal flame necklace, with its one carat diamond, in all its loathsome glory, staring up at me in traitorous glee as I gathered the wits to look up at him once again.

His enraged expression was all it took for me to notice the note still in his hand, and immediately, as I took it from him and read it, I knew that there was something disturbingly coincidental about the way this had all panned out, right then.

I also knew that this was something that I would need an immense amount of intervention to fix, if I ever could.

Hot tears welled up in my eyes as I read it, once again, knowing that there was no way I could ever explain my way out of this one.

I meant to return this to you when I saw you the day of your wedding. It will always belong with you. 

Faadil 

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

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

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

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

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

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

The Not so Little Things

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 84

Life is so uncertain.

If nothing else, it was one amazing lesson that I learnt from Zubair… the days when everything felt so new and amazing and I couldn’t imagine how I was so blessed to finally be there with him, that he wouldn’t miss a single chance to show me everything that he needed to, when it came to how he felt for me.

One thing I learnt during those days was that to keep going strong, didn’t always mean big, grand gestures that shifted the world. Girls get carried away by diamonds and perfumes and all the expensive stuff that are meant to prove love, but Zubair showed me that sometimes there was more truth in small, consistent things that made the world of a difference.

Little things like 5am sunrises and 7pm sunsets where you’ll be blown away by. Little things like Sunday morning motor-bike rides and on-a-whim road trips, and the feeling of wind in your open hair. Little things like the high you get off making someone else feel good, and for being the kind of people who make others realise that maybe the world is not such a harsh and cruel place after all…

It was always a tough call to make, but whether it’s a small act of kindness that was shown, or a little deed that is done that may just make your Jannah… living for the little things sometimes will make you realise that its those small things that make you feel alive…

There were tiny, beautiful gestures that he always made a habit. From the Tahajjud wakings, to the breakfasts in bed, and the post it notes that had the most amazing inspiration, Zubair’s character shone through in even through the not so little things he did.

And while I wished that I had a longer honeymoon period where I could just enjoy it and be with him unreservedly, soaking him in, but I knew that reality would intervene sooner than I thought, and his busy life would take over.

And although real life was quick to come into play, what helped was that in between, there were always the moments of fairy-tale like bliss and the cutest Fajr time conversations that made me feel like I was living a Muslim couple goals blog.

It was the little things like that that made me feel like I really was living a world where every problem that existed was so far away from us. When I lay next to him, in the dead of the night, while he would whisper to me incidents of his past, and sweet nothings as I curled up in his arms, it felt as if no one could ever touch us.

I didn’t know that life had a sneaky way of surprising us when we least expected it.

Just when I thought that things would be blissful forever, the next morning; his bed was already half empty, and instead, was the cutest little post it that was stuck on the lamp shade next to our bed, with a perfect sunflower right next to it.

I had no idea where he had found a fresh sunflower right then but reading the note made my heart bloom in more ways than the beautiful flower that was in front of me.

The past is the past. You and I are the future. Sometimes we find happiness in the most unassuming places. So grateful for you and everything you do for me. Alhumdulillah – Z 

My heart was already beating crazily as I read it, remembering the conversation we had the night before about his life and how he didn’t expect to get to where he was right then. Though we spent any free moment he had getting to know about each other, me pushing him to tell me about his childhood, his ambitions and everything I didn’t know, it didn’t ease the pain I felt when I heard it.

His life story was long and tragic and just thinking about it made me feel all sorts of emotional for the little boy that was once so lost. Every trial he faced, every time he felt hurt or rejected, and every little encounter that made him feel less than he was, was designed to build him into a better and stronger person. But it didn’t make it any less pitiful.

It explained why he didn’t always share what he did, or give more of himself. He was secretive to the point of exhaustion, and even thought I desperately wanted to know what he was doing for Hamzah, I knew he would never tell me, which made me resort to sneaky methods of finding out.

That day, Zubair had already left for his early morning routine in the gym Papa had once used at the end of the barn, and I knew that this meant that this was Zubair trying to say that it was time for him to get back to his usual routine, because he was a man who thrived in a disciplined kind of lifestyle.

But the little things still remained, as even in terms of my ibaadat, as I started my day with the Qur’ān that I had brought from home because the one Zubair owned was the one that he took everywhere with him. I had learnt that the reason he did that his reason for this was because whenever there came a time that he needed an answer, all he had to do was open the Qur’ān and all answers would come to him without even having to ask.  All we had to do was trust our Rabb and everything would sort itself out.

And though I missed Zubair already, I ignored the lovesick puppy vibes and dove into my recitation because I knew that whatever trials today would hold could only be solved through that. All success was from Allah. Through the little time we dedicated to Allahs worship during the mornings, we always make intention that it will build the foundation for a successful day.

And that’s what I was psyching myself up for today.

As I peeped in to the coffee shop, watching him see to customers, I couldn’t resist popping in between to offer him little spurts of affection in intermittent doses, despite his protests that I was distracting him.

My heart had been irrevocably stolen by the stories of who he was once… a young boy who lost his mother far too young, and grew up far too jaded than I’d like to think. I wanted to save him, to win him over, and to fix all those broken pieces of him that he couldn’t seem to fit back together himself. But first, I just wanted my sisters marriage to be okay, as much as Zubair himself wanted it.

That said, there were two things that I learnt about Zubair that I knew were most important for the current situation:

One. Zubair was trying every thing he could to save my sisters marriage.

Two. Zubair had painful secrets from the past that he hid excessively well.

What I learnt about myself was that I would stop at nothing to find out every one of those secrets that weighed him down, only so that I could shift the weight off those shoulders off his once and for all.

I had loitered around the coffee shop for most of the day, technically on my day off, but not able to stay away because of who was on duty.

Yes. I was officially obsessed.

Plus, those little love post-it’s were kind of making me swoon every time I caught a glimpse of them.

My mind was also consumed by everything I knew and even what I didn’t yet know, yet the urge to do something about it all was overwhelming me. I wanted Zubair to so badly make up with his father. It was something that I recognised as a deep desire in his heart, but there was something else that I recognised about them. They were both but from the same cloth, and that meant that neither of them was going to make the first move when it came to making up. His father seemed like he was a decent man who had just been scarred by the past. I refused to believe that he wanted nothing to do with his son.

What irked me more was that when I told Zubair that I wanted him to work things out, he had pinched my cheeks and told me that I was too cute for words. And I wanted to hit him.

Zubair was only three years older than I but he acted as if I was a little child. I would show him that I wasn’t. I would show him that I wasn’t a little girl with idealistic ideas and rose tinted glasses. That somehow, those dreams I had and idealistic thoughts would somehow materialise.

Most of all, I wanted Zubair to be the one who would benefit from it. He was the one who ultimately needed the saving. How do I help him, without actually interfering in his life?

I had retreated to the entrance of the kitchen later that morning, bored and needing to see my parents as a distraction. I sat for a few minutes at the back of the garden, under my favourite jacaranda tree, watching the stillness in the distance as the birds teetered around me, digesting everything before I entered the house again. It was weird to stay on the same property as my parents but Papa loved that I was there. Although Zubair had said that he wanted to give me my own house at some stage, he was worried about safety, and there was nowhere else that he felt safer right then.

A single flick of my scarf had loosened a sticky note that was probably stuck on me, and I couldn’t help but smile as I saw it.

You are my favourite place to be. – Z

Swoon.

I blushed and peeled it off to stick it at the back of my phone, catching the arrival of a new message a few minutes ago, hoping it would be my sister who didn’t reply to me from yesterday, but seeing Maahira’s name instead.

I instantly opened the message because it had been that long since I heard from her, and I really had missed her since I came from London. We’d barely chatted.

Maahira: Jamz. R u done swooning over your new man? Are the pyjamas stil in one piece? *winking emoji*
Where is my friend? I have some big news 2share.

I typed back a quick reply.

Stop. You’re making me blush. Mos is awol. I’m hoping her husband romanced her into oblivion. Tell me instead.

I knew it wasn’t fair but Maahira was making me curious and I really wanted to know her big news.

Maahira: Der have been some developments in the Samoosa run dept. I wanted her opinion.

Me: What about my opinion?

I waited a few seconds for Maahira’s reply.

We love you, Jameela, but you’re way too sweet and unassuming 2 handle this kind of drama.

Should I have been offended? This sweet and innocent perception of me was actually starting to get to me. Literally everyone …. And that means from my parents, to Mos and even Zubair, felt this insane and unfair need to shelter me from the world. It was as if they didn’t believe that I could handle reality.

My phone buzzed again.

Maahira: Let me know when you chat 2 her.  N tel her 2 stop ignoring her social media apps. I hav a feelin that Hamzah’s non-existence is rubbing off onto her. She hasn’t been online since yest.

Hamzah hated social media, and everyone knew that. And also, I was beginning to hate everyone treating me like a child.

I typed back quickly. Although she had literally called me an inexperienced infant, I needed to desperately confide in someone. I didn’t have many friends that I could speak to about this, and Mohsina was completely ignoring her phone.

Me: Wait, don’t go.

I typed quickly before she could ignore me. There was so much on my mind and there was no one better to ask right now but Maahi. It was a moment of truth.

I need to ask you about something important. I heard Zubair talking to Faadil on the phone. I wanted to know something.

Maahira’s reply took a while.

Maahira: Mhm. Can’t say I kno awl the answers..

But she may know this one.

Me: I just wanted to know who broke it off between him and Mos. He seemed to think that he was the one who didn’t want it anymore. But I remember otherwise when he came back for her. I feel he’s covering something up and Zubair is telling me nothing so I can’t even clear it up. 

Somehow, after knowing that Zubair was onto Faadil, I got this strange feeling that it was really important that I knew the truth. The fear that Faadil was actually sabotaging her relationship, with the help of who-knows-what-else, was haunting me.

Maahira’s reply took a while to come, but when it did, it was a lot to digest.

All I remember was Mos waiting for him at the apartment da one night after he met up with some woman (don’t ask, you’re too young for this talk and it was awkward asl to bring it up with her), and the next morning, she was at da hospital when Layyanah passed away, and she never mentioned him after. If I know Mos, I assumed she would have told the tiger on the prowl to take a hike coz she had too much else on her mind than to worry about him gettin what he wanted elsewhere. The next thing, her and Hamzah were fighting over who would be da better parent to Zaidoo n the rest is history.

I smiled at the last part, ignoring the wrenching in my gut at the mention of Faadil’s constant infidelity. Haraam always comes back to bite you in the behind, and I made a silent Duaa thanking Allah Ta’ala that I hadn’t went with my nafs and got to know Zubair before Nikah. The fact that everything was halaal and untainted was something that brought me immense comfort. I could not imagine the torment that Hamzah and Mohsina sometimes went through. Yes, they had both been wrong and been involved in haraam, but they made it right and I just hoped that they didn’t have to pay for it.

Even though it was history, from what I heard overheard Zubair say on the phone, it seemed like it wasn’t history to Faadil. He seemed to think that it was still unfinished business that desperately needed digging up.

I got up and typed in a quick reply to Maahira, thanking her for telling me and knowing that I would have to dig up more from Zubair if I wanted to help. I just wished that he trusted me more to let me in on everything that he was doing.

I slowly ventured into the house as I tucked my phone in my pocket, feeling a little out of sorts as I thought about everything Maahira had said. Hamzah and Mohsina were perfect for each other. Everything had proven that, and now that Mohsina had changed so much, I knew that if things were to go back to her being alone, she would become that distant and unreachable career woman once again.

Pushing the kitchen door open, I had to blink again before I noticed Nani sitting on the chair in the middle of the kitchen, silently getting on with her task.

“Oh,” Nani said as she heard my greeting, her voice slightly strained as she looked up at me with a toss of her dupatta and she studied me way too briefly for my liking, walking into the kitchen with loose sweat pants and a tee. “So you decide to make appearance now. After two days, it’s like we don’t know who you are anymore.”

I rolled my eyes to myself as I came around to greet her. It was technically one full day. But if Nani saw me with my eyeballs halfway into my head, I would have never heard the end of it.

I peeped over her shoulder as I went to switch the kettle on, watching her rolling something, her fingers folding some new type of Samoosa. Now that the wedding was over, Nani had immediately gone back into Ramadhaan mode and the preparations put a sweet sense of tranquility in the air.

I loved this time of the year, that held so much of hope and opportunity. When the hearts would be cured from worldly obsessions, and the starving souls would be nourished once again.

Ramadhaan was coming and I could feel the sweetness seeping into the pores of my skin, hoping that my body would take the message and start sowing the seeds for the new month that was to come. I had to rid myself of all evil thoughts and throw myself into the parts where I prepared myself for nights of ibaadat and days of soul-cleansing. I could feel the illness in my heart that needed to be cured.  I was deeply in need of reformation and I could barely wait for the effect penetrate. I knew that I had to start somehow, and I made intention to start sowing now, so that I could reap the fruits in Ramadhaan.

Trying to shove away all putrid thoughts was step number one and as I tried my best to stop judging Nani’s obsession with savouries, and start to focus on myself. In fact, I was becoming so good at focusing on my own faults for those few minutes, as I rounded the corner of the kitchen isle, that I didn’t even notice how quiet the house was right then.

I hadn’t spoke to my parents from the previous evening and I had been pretty much absorbed in the dramas that Zubair had uncovered about Mohsina and Hamzah’s marriage. It was all still on my mind, that I barely even noticed Nani’s eyes looking slightly puffy and red, as she dabbed it with a tissue.

It took me a few minutes to actually process what was going on, as I watched her, eyes squinted, still not able to fully comprehend the situation. Whatever I thought I was seeing was a very rare occurrence, and were it not for the obvious signs, I would have probably thought I was seeing things, but very clearly noting that Nani was emotional, was an absolute shock to me.

Nani didn’t usually get emotional. Ever. Yes, she did have tantrums and get upset when we didn’t listen to her. She sometimes even manipulated us into doing things we never really wanted to do. But for her to actually express an emotion that spelt some kind of grief, was extremely rare. To see it, in the flesh, was something that literally sent a shiver down my spine.

What on earth was going on?

I had missed out something major while I was busy honeymooning with Zubair, and for the first time, I actually regretted being so obsessed with my roguishly handsome husband.

Perhaps if I’d paid a little attention other members in the household, I would have known exactly what was going on. I looked at Nani, questions swimming in my eyes as she refused to meet my eye, understanding that there was probably a deeper reason for Ma and Papa being absent this morning.

“Nani,” I said, my voice shaky as I watched her almost robotically folding the square Samoosa, her gestures stunted and almost involuntary. I hadn’t noticed when I first entered, but now it was clear as day.

She sniffed and looked up at me, and I could tell without a doubt, that something major had happened.

“Nani, what’s happened?!” I asked, my voice almost frantic as I turned her shoulders to me, desperate for an answer. “Is everything okay? Where’s Papa?!”

Obviously, my first thought went to Papa, because there really was no other reason that could have evoked such a reaction.

”Papa is gone to Mohsina,” she said, her voice steady but feeling like a knife slicing through the air as she said my sister’s name. “To try and talk to her to change Hamzah’s mind.”

The puzzle pieces were slowly fitting into place.

Oh no. They knew about Hamzah and Mohsina. This explained it. It was all falling into place until I remembered what Nani had just said. As far as I knew, Hamzah wasn’t the one who wanted to leave. Why would they change his mind?

“To change Hamzah’s mind?!” I asked, looking at her in confusion. I understood the anger but Nani was just a little bit too bitter for me to digest. “Shouldn’t he be telling Mohsina to reconsider?”

Nani glared at me as I said it, shaking her head and clenching her fist as she said her next words.

”Hamzah was just here,” she whimpered in despair. “He came to greet me, and your parents. For good. He’s taking Zaid to his parents. Too much has happened, Jameela. It’s all Mohsina’s fault. I don’t know why Allah is punishing me like this…”

She broke down as she said it, and my heart contracted painfully as I watched her, holding my Nani as she wept into my shoulder, not even knowing what to say as I glimpsed a shadow at the back door.

“It’s just a test, Nani,” I said softly, not able to control the tears running down my own cheeks. “It’s only a test, and we’ll get through this. It will all be okay…”

Doesnt Allah say that He will test us? Are not all our luxuries just favours Allah has given us out of His mercy?

Indeed, He says that He will test us. With every single thing we own.

And certainly, We shall test you with something of fear, hunger, loss of wealth, lives and fruits, but give glad tidings to As-Sabirun (the patient).

Who, when afflicted with calamity, say: “Truly! To Allah we belong and truly, to Him we shall return.”

They are those on whom are the Salawat (i.e. who are blessed and will be forgiven) from their Lord, and (they are those who) receive His Mercy, and it is they who are the guided ones.”

(Quran, Surah al-Baqarah, 2:155-157)

“Make Sabr, Nani,” I whispered, trying to coax myself at the same time, not knowing if I could hold it together much longer. Hoping that this was just a little speedbump that would be sorted out when I spoke to Mohsina.

My own voice was shaky and uncertain as Zubair’s face rounded the corner right then, and it shocked me that I already knew him so well just by seeing his expression.

From by the slight slumping of his shoulders, I could already see the defeatist attitude that had overcome him, and that wasn’t something that Zubair often wore. I wasn’t sure how I had missed him, but it was as if the visit of Hamzah had brought so much more than he had ever imagined, and not in a positive way.

I breathed in as I consoled Nani, hoping that my parents could work some miracles, but knowing from the look in my husband’s eyes as he approached us, that this was a dead loss.

“Zubair, tell me it’s not true,” I murmured, swallowing back the emotion that was threatening to overcome me as I let go of Nani, reaching out to grasp his hand. “Tell me that Hamzah hasn’t changed his mind about saving their marriage.”

Zubair merely shook his head, avoiding my gaze as his browner iris lightened as he looked up at Nani’s emotional state, knowing that this wasn’t such a littel thing after all.

“I’m so sorry, Jameela,” he said softly. “I tried to do everything I can, but Hamzah already made up his mind. Something else came up last night.  He’s already signed the papers.”

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Dearest Readers

My sincerest apologies about the delayed post. I could just not stay awake last night.

My deepest appreciation for all the readers who love this blog and await the posts and my only hope is that we all go home with the lessons that we learn and try and implement them. Please keep this weak author in your Duaas.

Much Love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

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

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

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

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

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand