Sinister Vibes Only

Bismihi Ta’ala

Saaliha

Part 79

”Can you stop stressing?”

Imraan was looking at me with his eyebrow raised as I bit my lip, trying hard not to think of the thing that had been bothering me the last two days.

“It’s not good for the baby.”

He came toward me, rubbing his hands vigorously up and down the sides of my arms as if to comfort me.

It wasn’t doing much good.

“How do you know that I’m stressing?” I asked with a frown, rolling my eyes at him as I breathed out.

“You do that weird thing with your lips,” he said, shaking his head, his brown eyes twinkling playfully. “As if you’re going to nibble them off.”

I narrowed my eyes and he grinned at me humourlessly. I stuck my tongue out at him. Sometimes I wondered if we were still kids.

He was watching me carefully before I finally snapped. I couldn’t hold this in. I had to tell him.

But not yet.

“I just feel like we should be doing something!” I suddenly exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air and feeling exasperated. “You just sit around and watch me being all riled up, as if you’re not bothered. Aren’t you worried, Imraan? Can you imagine what this is going to do to Hamzah? Remember he took like fifty steps forward when he changed his life and got married. What’s going to happen after?”

Imraan merely shrugged at me before looking away, avoiding the obvious.

“I’d like to believe that it’s only a paper but with those two I really can’t be certain…”

He honestly didn’t know what else to say. My mother-in-law had retreated into her own kind of shell after Mohsina had told her about the court case. My father-in-law said nothing at all.

As for Rabia, I couldn’t help but notice something frisky in her eyes that day Mohsina told us about this nightmare they were experiencing. Well, after she literally forced them to tell her what was going on in their marriage, as if she was part of it.

And then there were the messages.

“What about Zaid?” I had asked the day before, my entire world feeling like if was spinning as I recalled what Mohsina had said about the court case. A divorce was imminent. There was no other way. “What will happen to him?!”

I was getting a little panicky. In situations like this, I tend to get prickly and not manage emotions very well. Being pregnant didn’t help the situation. Everything was like fifteen times more intense.

”He will be in between us for now,” Mohsina had said, her voice sounding strained. “He’s not feeding so much anyway. I don’t know if it’s the stress or if the milk is just drying up in the past two weeks… But without needing me all the time and us being apart… I think it’s Allah’s way of showing me that he’ll be okay.”

I watched her as her expression remained stoic, like Mohsina’s often was, but there was a certain vulnerability that seeped through the hardened exterior that she was trying to portray.

She was emotional. Unquestionably. Maybe she was feeling it that Zaid was self-weaning. She looked worn and pale and I could see that she was probably barely sleeping. All this must be taking a toll on her.

I glanced at Zaid who was sitting in the feeding chair that my father-in-law bought for him. He was family. Part of our family, and no one dared ever say otherwise. He was sucking his brocolli covered hands with such concentration that I couldn’t help but smile at him, despite the somber situation.

My mother-in-law was fussing over him and my father-in-law was alternating between watching Zaid and looking out at Hamzah and Imraan talking outside.

”So when’s it all happening?” I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know.

“After the Nikah,” she said simply, but with a tiny smile at the mention of Nikah. “My sisters  insisting that they have it this weekend. She’s such a hopeless romantic that she literally cannot wait. I thought it would be best if Hamzah and I were together for the wedding and the functions. Too many questions otherwise…”

I heard her concerns but my heart felt like it was going to crack open.

My eyes drifted to Hamzah, who was leaning against the balustrade outside while Imraan sat in front of him, speaking about something animatedly. I could see from my husbands hand gestures that they were talking  pretty seriously and I just had a hunch that they were discussing the same issues that were on my mind.

I wanted to ask her what exactly happened to make it so bad. I knew that it had to do with her old boss and that there had been some foul play involved. Imraan wasn’t the type to air anyone’s dirty laundry, no matter what it entailed, but I got the idea that Mohsina and the old boss weren’t just having a professional relationship. I had heard Rabia’s theories too, who claimed that Mohsina was very much seriously involved with him, but listening to Rabia always caused problems. She was also looking a little too smug about the entire situation for me to actually take her seriously.

Rabia had just sauntered in at that point, and from her body language I could tell that she was looking to start an argument. I’d been living with her long enough to tell.

“What time are we even eating?” She scowled, glancing at the two salads on the counter as if they annoyed her. “Do you guys even know how hungry I am? I need some protein. Like. STAT.”

I almost rolled my eyes, but Mohsina’s raised eyebrows still portrayed enough annoyance for both of us.

”Help yourself,” Mohsina said, nudging one of the salads towards her. “There’s cheese in there.”

I wanted to giggle but Mos’s straight face was too serious to even try. She had quite the quirky sense of humour, and I also got the feeling that she was upset about how Rabia had pushed them in the spotlight the day before when they told us about the courtcase.

“Not enough protein,” Rabia said with a flip of her hair. “Plus, I’m like starving. I only had my protein shake this morning and it’s been like 7 hours.”

”Ah,” Mohsina said, something unreadable in her eyes as she looked back at her, hands propped up on the counter against her face. “And where do you get your special protein shakes from?”

The question seemed innocent enough and Rabia looked pretty flattered that she was asking about her dietary requirements and restrictions. There was a certain attitude she adopted when she replied, trying to make her lifestyle sound as glamorous as possible.I always noticed it.

”Oh it’s that place near Melrose arch,” she said with an easy smile. “You know, they sell all those organic things that make you feel like your life is soooo unhealthy. Near the ice cream place that you-“

She cut herself short and quickly re-adjusted her head band as she paused awkwardly.

She had stopped mid sentence and was now shifting around and adjusting her phone cover.

Wait.

Did I miss something?

A sinister look passed between the two of them that involved Mohsina’s narrowed eyes and Rabia’s fidgety fingers, and I immediately got the feeling that there was something glaring at me here.

”I meant,” Rabia reiterated, taking a deep breath and finally looking up. “The place that I posted about that sells the most amazing flavours of ice cream.”

”The same one that has the guava and mint one, right?” Mohsina asked with a cock of her head, not missing a beat, despite Rabia’s pinched face. “I mean, I always wondered… who on earth even eats such weird flavours? Do you know how unpalatable that is, Sawls?”

Mohsina’s gaze switched to me and I frowned and shook my head at the mention of guava. I’ve never been a fan of the fruit so ordering the ice cream flavour for me was kind of out of the question.

”I-“

I turned to look at Rabia who has stopped her sentence, and I could actually see her entire body suddenly rigid, as if frozen in place after Mohsina’s gaze landed on her. She looked like she had been struck senseless by whatever Mohsina had just said.

”I used to know a guy who actually loved that flavour,” Mohsina said, ignoring her, but her face riddled with suspicion as she said it. “I wonder if he still eats it…”

She was looking distinctly uncomfortable but before I could even ask what was up, and Mohsina could continue the conversation, Imraan and Hamzah made their way inside, both looking a little frazzled by whatever they had been speaking so intensely about.

My husband, being the everlasting peacemaker, landed his gaze on Rabia’s stiffened shoulders questionably, not able to be quiet.

”Whatsup sis?” He asked animatedly. “All okay?”

He ruffled her open hair playfully and

Rabia’s entire demanour seemed to suddenly morph again as she looked at Imraan and huffed.

”Nothing,” she said stiffly, looking all tensed up and unsure of what she should do next. Her hands were twisted around each other and I watched her flatten her bouncy hair as she looked at him.

I barely even noticed it, but she had changed so much in the past year. Where she had been really strict about hijab, now Rabia didn’t bother much, especially if she was going out to gym or for her runs.

Mohsina’s face was as stony as ever as she watched Rabia, and as for Rabia… It was like Mohsina had rattled her in a way she never knew before.

Something about the ice cream place had shifted something in the atmosphere. I wish I knew what was going on.

“Your face doesn’t seem like nothings up,” Hamzah said with a small grin, the serious expression I had seen on him earlier as he spoke to Imraan slightly lifted.

It was like he didn’t want Mohsina to see his true feelings.

“I have a masters in reading your expressions and I can see when something’s unsettled.”

I looked at Mohsina who was now seated on the opposite side of the room, also watching Rabia curiously. All eyes were on her and she was feeling the pressure. For the first time in months, I actually felt sorry for Rabia.

“I’m fine!” Rabia almost shouted, throwing her hands up into the air, glaring at us. “Stop trying to read me and force me to feel stuff. What the hell is your vibe?!”

Hamzah’s expression was now completely lost as Rabia stormed off, in all her unpredictable fury. He was looking from Rabia to Mohsina and then to me, as if trying to find some answers that he wasn’t getting.

I shrugged. I was honestly just as lost.

“What on earth?”

Hamzah was looking at Mohsina, who was  unreadable, but I could tell that he had no idea either of what was going on.

“Vibe,” Imraan said as he watched he retreat up the stairs. “What the hell is a vibe anyway?”

He frowned slightly, scratching his head. Honestly, sometimes he acted ten years older than he actually was.

“It’s like a mood,” I said with a small smile, trying to move on from the outburst. “Intuition? Like something you have. I don’t know. Positive, negative. Sinister. Cool.  Good vibes only is like a thing people say right?”

I turned to Mohsina but she was spaced out as i looked at her. Sinister. Why did I even say that?

Oh yes, because that’s how Rabia had been acting.

Hamzah had been frowning at her questioningly just before he moved into the lounge to check on Zaid, who my father-in-law was very busy entertaining. As he walked forward, I couldn’t help but notice Mohsina following them both with her eyes, watching Hamzah as he picked Zaid up and kissed his face unreservedly.

I could practically see her swooning.

It was obvious that she still felt for him. A lot.

Besides, when I watched Hamzah and Mohsina, I could tell that they weren’t ready for this. As strong as they were trying to be, I could see the glances that passed between them that betrayed their words.

They were both, undoubtedly, in love. But what’s love got to do with destructive law suits that can ruin your life, right?

I didn’t understand much about the corporate world but I did know that Mohsina had been pretty deep in it. I just wished that there was an answer for her to get out of it.

“Jannah vibes!” Imraan almost shouted randomly as he held his hand up in the air. “That makes sense, right?”

Oh yes, we were still on the vibes thing.

”I mean, technically, we should all be having Jannah vibes right?”

I smiled at that. Jannah vibes for sure. I mean, no one’s ever asked me what’s my vibe before. It wasn’t like a basic conversation anyone would have. But our entire aim in this world is suppose  to be Jannah.

The thing is, in everything that we do, our core question should always be to ask: what does Allah expect of me regarding this?

Society is warped and social media has got everyone into sheep mentality, but Qur’ān and Sunnah is always unchanging and forms the best anchor. Through the lens of the hereafter, we let ourselves understand the true kind of vibes we should all have.

Abu Huraira reported: The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “Whoever is kind, affable, and easy-going, Allah will forbid him from entering Hellfire.”

Source: al-Sunan al-Kubrá lil-Bayhaqī 20806

Grade: Sahih (authentic) according to Al-Albani

And it was simple. To be good, to be humble, to be easy going and kind to everyone was part of our path to attain Jannah. And most definitely everyone’s path isn’t the same, but what I did know was that to strive to be who Allah Ta’ala wants us to be, despite how hard it may be, is goals for me.

That’s definitely some amazing kind of Jannah vibe.

”No Jannah vibes coming from that direction,” I murmured light heartedly, nodding toward the nook where Rabia was and remembering her sullen face as she left.

She didn’t come out again till the evening, and no one really asked. In fact, I kind of appreciated the peace.

If was after Hamzah and Mohsina left that Imraan and my in-laws were sitting in the lounge while Uthman had pulled out a pack of uno cards. I sat on the carpet and played with him mindlessly as I heard the conversation surrounding me, feeling myself lose any of the hope that I’d had about them sorting out the problem.

It seemed that the more time passed, the more complicated it became.

We were in the city for the week since Imraan had some work, and being Mohsina’s sisters wedding, Imraan thought that it would be best to stay till the main even, especially since Hamzah seemed to be a littel stressed out.

Mohsina had told us that we would all be invited but since her sister wanted a simple and quick affair, dates and times would be decided in the week and she would let us know from there.

And though the wedding was so exciting and fun to plan, even for me as she tasked me with baking a few dozen mini cakes for tea, I couldn’t help but feel the impending doom of what was to come after it was all over. I knew for a fact that this event was keeping them together and that it was afterwards when Mohsina and Hamzah would be forced to part ways, no matter what happened in between.

The talk was too depressing. If I heard about legal divorce and embezzlement one more time, I would probably start getting emotional. I needed a diversion and

I loved to bake. Knowing that I would be tasked with making mini cakes with a Nikah theme got me all excited. Though I kept most of my baking supplies at the farm now, I did still have some at the main house where we used to stay in Joburg. I felt myself gravitating toward the kitchen, wanting to check on what was still okay to use and make a list of what I would still need to get.

I barely noticed Rabia sitting on the corner nook, next to the grocery cupboard, until I heard her little snort of laughter. I whipped my head around to see her watching her phone. She was sitting away from the family, as usual, stuck on social media and whatever else was on that device of delusion. It was weird how people would forsake an actual conversation for something that was virtual, but with Rabia, nothing seemed to even surprise me anymore.

“All okay?” I said lightly, opening the drawers below the oven as I glanced at her.

”Mhmm,” she murmured, nodding blankly. She barely even lifted her head. She was obviously not into actual socialising today.

And it was so sad because that kind of behaviour was actually becoming so normal, that it scared me. While I thrived on visitors, actual meetings and functions that happened, the newer generation were far too comfortable sitting on their phones having fake relationships that have no depth. We are so obsessed with media, building and things, that we’ve stopped worrying about the things in life that really matter.

There is a slightly sinister side (depending on how you look at it) to how social media shapes what you care about.

“Mark Zuckerberg, a journalist was asking him a question about the news feed. And the journalist was asking him,

“Why is this so important?” And Zuckerberg said, “A squirrel dying in your front yard may be more relevant to your interests right now than people dying in Africa.” And I want to talk about what a Web based on that idea of relevance might look like.”1 -Eli Pariser

The glaring truth is: social media companies decide, for example, which tragedies will provide the option of updating your profile picture in solidarity. As we consume content about one issue, or similar types of issues, algorithms then kick in. They note our interest, and then continue to serve up similar content.

Without realizing it, we are in the ultimate brainless echo chamber.

Everyone we know is talking about the same thing and from the same point of view. It is then unfathomable for anyone to not take part, or have a differing opinion. We assume that if people simply saw the things we saw, they would think the way we think. Hours are then invested into debates over group text and comments sections sharing and resharing the content that supports our views while ignoring everything else.

People think that posting something to 100 strangers or 20 friends is going to somehow completely counteract the effects of the politico-me-dia complex.

That’s not going to happen.

What we need to do instead is focus on our more personal networks. We need to have   deeper relationships with actual people… have frank discussions with and challenge each other’s views. We need to switch off that Wi-Fi connection and build our family bonds.

Rabia was obsessed with the exact opposite.

I ignored her as I continued to search for some pastel coloured cake flora that I was so sure I had bought a few weeks ago. She was humming to herself and me, being so busy with my own task, I barely even noticed that she had something on the stove. I mean, there was plenty of food left over from earlier, but Rabia had been so annoyed with us all, for Allah knows what reason, that she didn’t even come eat.

Not only that, it was obvious that the food didn’t meet her standards, hence the reason why she was actually here, making her own packet of those ever-popular extra hot noodles that everyone had been raving about months ago.

“Something on the stove?” I asked, sniffing something a little odd but not quite sure if I was just being paranoid.

”Oh shit,” she said immediately, her eyes widening at me as I closed the cupboard and watched her literally blast off the bar stool she was sitting on.

In seconds, her phone had literally fallen onto the counter next to me as I tossed the few cake toppers I had found onto it, sorting through the lot while I heard her mumble a whole lot of incoherent words under her breath.

She was so busy trying to do damage control as she wiped the overboiled mess off the stove, that she didn’t even hear her phone ping.

And I didn’t mean to look. I just happened to be there at the time, and her phone was right next to me. It was almost like a reflex reaction. The phone buzzed as I sorted the mess on the counter, and my eyes literally shifted over to the suddenly brightened screen as I saw the sender.

The F Factor: So are you sure that she’s onto you because of that post? Wasn’t that the plan?

I blinked and looked away.

I mean who names someone the ‘F factor’? It sounded so… sinister. Not to mention, slightly crude.

It buzzed again.

And before you call me a creep and a nosy housewife with nothing better to do, let me just explain that I really never did this.

Let me make it clear. I never spied on peoples phones before.

Kinky texts or coded messages weren’t my thing anymore than pumpkin spice latte but with the second message coming in literally seconds after the first, my eyes already glided over again and I couldn’t help but suck my breath in as the next message came in.

The F Factor: Better question. After everything you said… you think Mos is onto me?

I stared at the phone for around three seconds before it registered.

Oh my goodness. I had just seen something that I wasn’t supposed to see.

Correction: I had just seen something that involved someone I cared about, that I wasn’t supposed to see.

I had witnessed something that was supposed to only be meant for Rabia’s eyes, and in that it was almost like I had incriminated her of something I never thought she would be capable of.

I glanced at my sister-in-law, oblivious to my findings, quickly scooping up the packets of edible decor before I moved along on the counter, my heart beating like never before as I recalled the message in my mind.

What in the world did it mean? It was obvious that Rabia was talking to someone about Mohsina but what wasn’t so obvious was what her whole motive behind this was. Was she trying to help Mohsina or was she trying to make things worse? The whole exchange earlier was definitely something but the bigger question was, who on earth was this ‘F factor’ person who she was feeding all this information to? I had only seen two messages but it was obvious that there was a lot more than just those two.

I couldn’t quite believe that Rabia actually had in in her to sabotage someone’s marriage and life but looking at her lately, I wasn’t quite sure anymore. It felt like the only thing that mattered to her was her social media feed and all the posts she hankered after to impress people.

Family, relationships and actual people in her life meant nothing to her. I could feel myself shaking with anger as I registered all that, feeling like I was about to explode any second with fury.

And just when I felt like I was about to boil over, and shoot questions at her like never before, when I realised that there was no way I could do that. There was no way I could confront her.

And okay. Maybe I was scared, but come on. Hear me out. This was Rabia we were talking about. At the mention of anything even remotely incriminating, she would probably hate me like never before.

I had to think about this. Really carefully. I mean, I just saw one sinister message – okay two- that could mean that this entire thing is a huge set up for Hamzah and Mohsina’s marriage to fail, but I couldn’t just jump to conclusions. As much as my gut was telling me that it was highly likely, my brain was telling me to lower the accusations down a notch before jumping to conclusions.

I had to get my ducks in a row. It was possible that I had a lot more than just baking some fairy cakes this week… and it was highly possible that Rabia was not going to like what all this would expose…

---

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

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When Hope is Hidden

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 66

Sometimes you just have to be kind.

Treat people the way you want to be treated. Be good to even the nasty people. If serving people is below you, leadership is beyond you.

And honestly speaking, service wasn’t exactly my forté. I would rather be in out in the wilderness, breeze caressing my skin, blinking beneath the cherry blossom trees and basking in the glorious sunshine, than stuck serving stuck-up corporates in a coffee shop.

But such was life at times. Sometimes we just humble ourselves, even when it’s hard.

The thing is, there were just a few valuable lessons I was learning from not being my usual lazy self.

Some people are never happy, no matter what. Some people are grateful, no matter what. There’s no feeling quite like making a someone’s day. Oh, and comfortable work shoes are worth their weight in gold.

“One latte. One carrot muffin. I’m in a hurry.”

I’ve messed up two macchiatos and spilled an entire litre of hazelnut syrup on the ground. The outdoors is looking like an awesome, unfiltered escape and the coffee machine was being an absolute horror this morning. I really could do without the added pressure that this man was persisting on giving me as he watched me nervously fiddle with the gadgets, and looked at his chunky watch again.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…”

It’s already been a few minutes since I swiped his card and I can see his patience dwindling.

Today is definitely not my day. For some reason, I can’t do a single task without messing something up.

He didn’t like to leave me here, but Zubair was apparently gone out for some emergency and Papa said he had some errands to do too. All I knew was that Papa had predicted it to be a pretty uneventful morning but as predictions go, it was anything but.

I filled his coffee just as there is a noise from the back, the sound making me stumble slightly, hoping that Papa had arrived. Before I can turn my head, my foot slips on the little residues of hazelnut sauce from earlier causing me to tip backward, the burn from the sloshing coffee scalding my skin.

In the rush, I had just spilled whatever little coffee I had managed to get out onto my dress.

“Is there anyone here who’s competent enough to get me my order?”

The guy’s haughty tone is unnerving and the sting from the coffee mixes with the tears collecting behind my lids.

What do I tell him? I can’t figure out the machine? Why did it choose now to act up? Of all times.

Why was I so useless? Give me a book under the flawless blue skies and I would sit and read it till night falls, but when asked to do something productive- I was utterly  unproductive.

Everything was going wrong.

“Am I going to get some service today?” He asked, now full on irritated as I pressed another button, water from the machine splurging out, looking up from his device as he watched  the progress with his order.

I hated dealing with male customers, especially these type. The rude type. It wasn’t very often, especially during the day, but well… wasn’t today just my lucky day?

I swallowed back my emotion and pushed up my chin. Customer service. I had to numb my emotions.

“I’m so sorry about that. I’ll make you another one, on the house.”

His lips are pursed together as he glares at me.

“I already paid. Just make the damn drink!”

I flushed. I feel like making the drink and throwing it in his face. But of course I couldn’t.

“I’ll take over,” a deep voice says from behind me, and my body freezes, wet coffee-soaked dress sticking to me as I tried to hide it with my scarf, but I knew it was no use.

I couldn’t help but spin around, watching him avert his gaze as he moved forward gracefully, pulling out another cup as I had no choice but to move aside. His unusually coloured eyes were scanning the machine and expertly I looked away as he tapped something and did some magic with it.

He was wearing his Friday attire, kurta and hat, as if he had just come in, and not the usual uniform I saw him in. Catching a glimpse of the  tasbeeh counter he had just released from his hand that was already showing quadruple digits, and I felt a stab of envy as I realised that I was still sitting in the three hundreds for my Friday Durood counter. Perhaps he went somewhere far? 

I had no idea where he was but he had probably saw the customers car from outside and thought that no-one would be helping him. Except I was. It’s just that I wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

The angry customer scoffed, his gaudy watch counting the seconds.

“I just thought I’d be able to get a cup of coffee without it becoming some kind of circus performance.”

I could see Zubairs jaw tightening as he said it, effortlessly pressing in the tray that wasn’t clicking earlier and watching the steaming water with milk shoot out through the spout.

I moved along near the till to pack the muffin, careful to use the tongs carefully before he gave me scores about that.

”Sir, I’m so sorry about -“ I started, as I placed the muffin on the counter.

”It’s ready,” Zubair cut in abruptly, and I swore I could see him shoot me a glance of annoyance as he passed the cup over, and I hurried to grab a serviette from underneath the counter, packing the muffin into an eco-packet, always aiming to please.

The customer is always right.

And though ‘customers’ can be very difficult and might not respond to you in the way you expect, despite your good attitude, customer service is never about the results or the sales. It was hard being on this side of the counter. Customer service is about the experience you create when that person is with you.

But I tried to keep in mind that every time you meet somebody, you’re selling them yourself – your image, your personality, your goals, your personal brand but most importantly … you’re also selling Deen. You are in a mode of exchange with that person through every interaction.

I just wished that people could treat others, especially in the service industry, with a little more dignity. Sometimes a simple hello and thank you can go a long, long way. Sometimes a little overlooking can also be a saving grace.

Character was gold. Whether the customer or the person who is serving, I do feel like whichever position you find yourselves in… you had to just turn it around to your benefit. It was easy to be good to people who were good to you. But people who tested your patience and gave you uphill were the greatest test. It’s just that even with that, there is a limit to what I could take.

I had to keep telling myself that.

”Thanks,” the guy said to Zubair, not even sparing me a glance as he picked up his wallet from the counter. “Next time I’ll just ask for you.”

“Next time, try and be more polite to the lady,” Zubair said back, without missing a beat, and my eyes widened involuntarily as I wondered if I had really just heard him say that.

He was looking the customer squarely in the face with a fierce look as he said it, and I could see the customers eyes flashing angrily at me before he spun around and walked out.

I took a few steps backward as I watched Zubair’s entire posture morph, almost as as if he had just put on one persona, and was slowly gearing himself to go back to the usual.

I was shocked. And I didn’t even know why I was still even standing there. That was completely unexpected.

I never thought I’d see this side of him. In fact, I didn’t even know that this side of him existed. Up until now, he had been so… passive.

Conservative. Polite. Ihsaan kind of character.

Never had I heard Papa ever mention once about Zubair even raising his voice to a single person. This was completely out of character for him, and as I took a few steps backward to escape to where the single helper was working in the back, I couldn’t help but remember what I had found in that room two weeks ago.

Perhaps now that I knew… and he knew that I knew… he didn’t have to pretend. Maybe this was the real him. Maybe he was a violent and dangerous mafia killer who lost his mind and went off in a tangent. If maybe it was just certain things that ticked him off…

I felt like asking him how and when and why, but of course I couldn’t. I couldn’t get into the nitty gritty of these things. They would just bring up more uncomfortable topics that’s I wasn’t ready to delve into. It was an opening that would lead to other sins, and I was wiser than that. I couldn’t risk more.

I shook my head at my own craziness as I grabbed my phone from next to the till, trying to dispel all the weird thoughts as I glanced to the front to see Zubair was gone, probably to change, but knowing that he would be back soon to take over.

Mohsina had been messaging me from the morning, with something about Hamzah and his strange behaviour.

He had disappeared early that morning and Mohsina couldn’t reach him. She was going crazy with worry, and though I felt for my sister, I honestly didn’t know what to tell her. Hamzah and her had way too many secrets and I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to know them all.

He’s not at work.

It was her latest message, she had sent before the rude man walked in. I tapped quickly, wanting to know if she phoned the office.

Are you sure?

Her reply was quick.

I called. They said he didn’t come in today. He’s hiding something, Jamz. You think it’s someone else? Someone from his past?

I sighed. Of all things.

Hamzah won’t do that. Maybe it’s something else. A family matter? Something to do with Liyakets estate?

Her reply didn’t come fast enough. It was at least a few minutes before she  finally messaged to say:

He just got home. Rabia is with him. Wish me luck.

I instantly wondered if that was the case, why he was being so secretive. Could he have just gone to fetch Rabia?

It was weird… this whole thing that was happening. There was Zubair and his big secret, that I could tell no one because there really was no way that I could tell anyone that Papa’s favourite worker is an arms dealer or mafia member.

Plus, I had no proof. And then there was Hamzah, who had his own secrets and was also somewhere from the morning.

The message from Mohsina came through and I found myself looking at the time.

Hmmm, interesting.

Was it just a coincidence that both of them were gone at the same odd times? Zubair usually never left in the week. Hamzah too.

It was exactly 20 minutes ago that Zubair had arrived to save the day and that was the time it took to get the Mohsina’s new place in the North.

Were they perhaps together? I wasn’t even sure if they spoke but I had an idea that they did cross paths on the farm a few times. Hamzah was always outside and Zubair didn’t really have many places to go.

I wasn’t sure if I should tell Mohsina. What I did know was that she may just hyperventilate and then we would have more problems. Where my sister and her marriage was concerned, I rather just keep quiet and mind my own business. What I did want to desperately find out was if they were together.

And as I walked along the rose bushes, drying my dampened dress, breathing in the scent of outdoors as my mind cleared slightly, I couldn’t help but set my phone aside and let my roses distract me for a while. The afternoon sun was blazing down on my covered head and I didn’t even have a hat on, but I didn’t care. I was in my element right then and that’s all that mattered.

“Hey you,” a familiar voice had called behind me, a baby perched on her hip as she smiled. “I can feel the nature vibes bouncing off you. Thought I’d find you here.

I plunged my garden fork into the ground and slowly got up, dusting my hands off onto my baggy jeans as I smiled at the little munchkin in Nusaybah’s arms. She was a few months older than Zaid and she was super adorable, with these fat cheeks and black locks.

“I had to ask Zubz where the roses were and there you are, looking as stunning as they are this spring…”

She grinned as I had blushed, well… as red as I could go, given that my skin resembled a slightly coppery colour due to all those hours in the sun. Almost like that burnt peach rose. I was actually glad that my skin burned painlessly, unlike my sister, who would peel at the slightest touch of sunlight.

Nusaybah smelt of lavender and fabric softener as I leaned in for an hug, and I couldn’t help but hug her a little tighter before she leaned back again. She had become something of a sister to me too.

”You’re embarrassing me,” I moaned with a smile, shaking my head at her and taking the baby from her. “Why don’t you come in for some tea?”

And though I didn’t know much about Zubair and his past, I did know a few things about the present. Like with his sister leaving back for London this week, it was highly probable that she was the only other person that he would have been with this morning. Maybe I could somehow find out if they were together.

It was amazing spending time with her and her dolly when she was around. She was such a natural and easy-going person to be around.

Nusaybah’s husband was here trying to get a medical post in one of the nearby hospitals and assumed that it may be good to spend a few years closer to their family here. It was just proving to be more difficult than they thought. Going back to London was a temporary fix. From what Nusaybah had said, she really wanted to be close to family, especially with her little one growing so fast.

“I would have loved to but I cannot even spare a  minute,” she said emphatically, answering my request and shaking her head. “I literally just came to see Zubair because he wasn’t around this morning and I needed to speak to him about my grandfather’s condition.”

“Ah okay,” I said softly, hoping it wasn’t too bad.

Also, that meant that Zubair wasn’t with her this morning. So who was he with? 

“I promise I’ll stay longer one day,” she said sincerely. “ I have to meet your mother properly as well… you have no idea how grateful I am that my brother is here with such an amazing family and so much of stability. You don’t know what it means to me.”

Time and time again, this girl just got me.

She was grateful? Without Zubair, Papa would be so lost and unfocused. Even though we had a few workers, it was them who breathed life into the walls of our home and business and kept the momentum going.

And though we sometimes took our extra help for granted, sometimes we genuinely disregard the amount of time they actually put into giving us the best of themselves. They sacrifice family, sleep, even their comfort in many cases, just to make sure that things run smoothly in our homes and businesses.

Now and then, a simple smile, greeting or just a thank you was something that wouldn’t hurt us to give them. The thing is, we will be accountable for how we treat the employees who work for us.

Plus, the value of trustworthiness was something that was invaluable.

It made me think of the Sahaba, and in particular, Abu Dharr Ghifari (RA) who was known for being one of the most trusted and honest Sahaba.

After the light of Islam found its way to his heart, our Prophet Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam asked him, ‘Where are you from, my Arab brother?’

Abu Dharr (RA) answered, ‘From Ghifar.’

A broad smile appeared on the Prophet’s lips SAW and his face was filled with wonder and astonishment.

However, Abu Dharr (RA) was also smiling, for he knew well that the reason behind the Prophet’s (Sallahu Alaihi wa Salam) astonishment was because the man who had just embraced Islam in front of him was from Ghifar. Ghifar was a tribe with a notorious reputation for highway robbery. Its people were famous for theft and were known as allies of darkness and night.

But as time went on, Abu Dharr’s (RA) reward was going to be abundant and his greeting blessed. He was known to have attained the highest, most honourable, and most respectable medals. Generations and centuries will pass away, but the Prophet’s opinion about Abu Dharr will always stay alive in people’s memory: ‘The earth never carried above it, nor did the sky ever shade under it a more truthful tongue than Abu Dharr’s’.

SubhaanAllah. There was no way to even honour such rare character.

“My father treasures your brother,” I said softly, shaking my head. “We should be thanking you.”

She had briefly mentioned that Zubair and his uncle had been close for a few years before the huge fall out happened just before he came to work for Papa. She had mentioned that her brother was pretty capable of looking after himself and kept apologising for the inconvenience, which I didn’t even understand. For Papa, Zubair helped us out so much that he actually felt indebted to him.

”No ways, it’s his job and he needs to keep it,” she insisted, taking a seat on the bench as her daughter started playing with my garden set.
A familiar feeling of despair arose in my gut as I wondered how on earth I could ever do anything to sabotage his job? Nusaybah was so grateful. I sighed softly and looked back at her, seeing a small smile on her face.

I switched off my thoughts to watch her daughter, finding it so cute that there was no way you could keep the garden from kids. They were just inherently magical and full of opportunity. They were drawn to it like moths to a flame.

”So, I’ve been meaning to ask… how was your weekend?”

The way she said it, with and her eyes all curious with hidden hope and her eyebrows raised, immediately got me a little suspicious. She smiled mischievously as she watched me, and I wondered how she knew. Did Zubair even know about the doctor who came to see me?

“Err,” I started, biting my lip and not wanting to say anything bad. “It was interesting…”

I could see her face transforming from excited to suspenseful and I wanted to laugh too, because somehow, the situation was just really funny.

Thinking about Muneer and his biceps were also getting me all giggly now. I’m sure Nusaybah didn’t know about that, but it really was something.

”Sorry,” she finally said, covering her mouth secretively. “I was really not supposed to say anything but I couldn’t resist. My brother will kill me if he knows that I mentioned it. I’m so sorry. I was just curious to know…”

I smiled, feeling a bit awkward that Zubair knew that I had seen someone last weekend. Actually, I shouldn’t have been surprised because Zubair was probably the one who opened for them. I’m sure Papa was the one who mentioned it and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“Do you like him?”

Nusaybah’s question caught me unaware.

My heart hammered as she asked me and I couldn’t help but look away. I knew that she was asking about he doctor but here I was, thinking about her brother instead.

Astagh.

What was wrong with me?

”He was fine,” I said non-committedly, hiding my true feelings. “He seemed nice. He’s a doctor too.”

She smiled but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Since her husband was also a doctor, it seemed like she may have been slightly appeased, but not entirely.

There was something on her mind and as I looked at her… something unsaid in the way she looked at me as I answered and although I wanted to ask her, but a bellowing from across the rose bushes sounded as I whipped my head around, immediately spotting Nani at the kitchen door.

Where did Nani come from? She was supposed to be at my uncle’s this weekend. There must be a reason why she decided to crop up here unexpectedly.

And before Nusaybah could even chip in and say anything further, Nani’s stern voice was already in top form.

”Jameeela!” She screeched, in our true family-renown fish-wife style, and I grimaced as I saw the amused look on Nusaybahs face.

She obviously did not know that I had company. Or she just didn’t care.

“Come quickly. Aunty Khairoon phoned back. We have news!”

I smiled awkwardly at my new friend, nervousness creeping in as I wondered how I was going to react to Nani and what she had to say. Perhaps she had some hidden hopes of something I was oblivious to.

Was it news for her or news for me?

Great. Doctorsaab was back in the picture, and I really wondered what Nani would have to say about him…

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: 

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

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

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

Keep in mind:

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

Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 6446, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 1051

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

All Exposed

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

It was one of the awkwardest and longest few seconds, as we sat on the white leather three-seater, contemplating what to do next.

Sit here indefinitely? Leave? Or find out exactly was going on?

I weighed the choices in my mind, deciding on the most Zee-type of thing to do. Obviously, if I had to leave now, I wouldn’t know the juicy story behind this whole meeting. I would have no idea how this dramatically impressive Maulana Dude knew my brother’s wife. Was there a deep, dark secret somewhere in the works?

I got up, ignoring Waseem’s obvious ‘don’t you dare’ stare, and followed the other three down the passage.

What else could I do? I couldn’t help myself. I had an inquiring mind.

I could hear voices, and made my way to them, knowing that I was probably going to get a lot of my unanswered questions answered. Well, I hoped.

I stood back before the half-open doorway, able to see both my brother and that ‘Umar’ dude outside the bathroom door of the guest room.

“Aasiya, please come out,” Muhammed was begging, looking completely stressed.  Maulana Dude was sitting back on the bed, chin in his hand, looking like he was probably going to be stuck there for a while.

I stifled laughter, finding the whole scene hilarious.

Muhammed turned around after a few unsuccessful attempts, looking almost accusingly at Maulana Dude.

“Listen,” Maulana Dude started, getting up slowly. “I didn’t mean to-”

Muhammed didn’t give him a chance. I could see his ears changing colour. Kind of like what happens to my father when a deal goes wrong.

“What?!” Muhammed snapped. “You didn’t mean to what? What is going on here, bru? How do you even know my wife?”

Maulana Dude looked down, and I could see him thinking about his next words.

“I’m sorry.”

The statement was flat compared to Muhammed’s. He sounded defeated, and started looking toward the open doorway. I slunk back, not wanting them to see me.

In all fairness, though, Maulana Dude didn’t even do anything. Aasiya was the one who caused the drama, and now he was getting the slack. The most amazing part was that he didn’t even refute Muhammed’s words. It was like he just accepted that he was wrong. No argument.

And it wasn’t because he didn’t want to cause a fight. I doubt that it was because he was worried about Muhammed’s reaction to him if he had to say anything back. It definitely wasn’t that, because I was sure that this guy wasn’t afraid of much.

That day was a day that I learnt one of the biggest lessons of my existence. Humility. It never fails. It always raises you.

The Prophet, sallallahu alayhe wa sallam, has said: “He who is humble for the sake of Allah by a degree, Allah will elevate him one degree, until he reaches the highest degrees and he who is arrogant toward Allah, Allah will lower him one degree until he reaches the lowest of low degrees” (Bukhari).

And it was amazing how it held so true. How it all worked out. For the pious people, I was sure, everything just seemed to come together that much quicker for them. There was no mistaking that Muhammed was immediately regretful, as he spoke again.

“How do you know her?” He said, gesturing for Umar to sit, sounding much calmer than before.

Maulana Dude rubbed his temples, still standing, staying silent for a at least a minute.

“She’s my sister,” he said, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself.

I couldn’t help myself. Just when I thought that life was settling into something less bumpy, another curve-ball gets thrown in. And now, I found myself wondering… Did Aasiya have any other sisters?

“Idiot!” The voice said into my ear as I jumped, immediately pulling me back further into the hallway.

Waseem. Yoh. He gave me a fright.

“What?!” I said, spinning around in clear irritation.

Waseem was still pulling me backwards as I protested, determined to get me out of hearing range. It was super annoying, because I really wanted to see Muhammed’s reaction to that revelation.

It was like mind-boggling. Made me think that we honestly had no idea where on earth Aasiya came from. I mean, she could have even been like an axe murderer or a serial killer or something. We would have never known.

The questions were filling my head as Waseem continued to drag me with him, back into the lounge. I broke my hand free, rubbing it in the spot Waseem had gripped.

What a revelation. Who was she? Where was the rest of her family? Why did no-one know what happened to her? Like… Did they think she had just disappeared into thin air? The whole thing was so… So strange.

“He’s her brother,” I said, almost to myself.

“What?”

I knew Waseem had heard me. He just needed clarification. I gave him a look, just so he knew that I wasn’t going to repeat myself.

Now was Waseem’s turn to go into shock. He sat down, leaning forward on the recliner. He was pulling at his beard.

It was proper Sunnah style. This was no designer knock-off. I wish I realised earlier how important it was to actually keep the real thing.

“What..? But… But that’s not even possible…” Waseem was saying.

Poor Waseem. He looked completely confused. I shook my head at him. I mean, it wasn’t rocket science.

He looked up at me, weirdly, speaking again.

“His sister is supposed to be dead.”

Say what?!

Dead? Well, after what I’d heard, I wasn’t quite sure about that.

Now I was just as baffled as he was. This whole drama was like a soapie. And the last thing I needed was more drama in my upside-down life.

“They’re related?” He said again, completely disbelieving. “But…”

I got up at that point, leaving him to dwell on it. As for me, I didn’t have time to stick around and make more assumptions. I was sure the truth would come out at some point, and all would be revealed. Maybe tomorrow, when everyone could think properly, the truth behind everything would be all exposed.

Besides that, I had plenty of other stuff on my mind. I needed to sift and sort through the batch of consuming information that was occupying a substantial part of my thoughts.

The new discovery about Farah was really a shocker, but I could always use diversions to stop myself thinking about it. As I drove though, probably with the influence of my inner self and Shaytaan, my mind kept going back to ‘us’. To the parts that were somehow so clear in my mind. To the time we spent together. To every detail, including the smell of her perfume that was just so damn intense.

I sighed, pulling into a service station for cigarettes, since that was the only vice I had allowed myself to have.

Though my mind was boggled with all the new information, my senses were alerted as soon as I parked off, glimpsing a familiar face that I couldn’t immediately place. It was a pretty girl wearing a scarf, jumping off a tatty Toyota next to me. Another girl who was completely covered up jumped off next, followed by a kid, and as I caught a view of the driver of the car, I immediately realised who it was.

The ‘bombshell girls’ was the first name that came to my mind, and I crouched down slightly in my seat, hoping that they wouldn’t see me. I wasn’t sure if they would recognise me with the additions on my face, but I was taling no chances about it either way. I watched them, not yet thinking that I shouldn’t be, as they walked in and out quickly to buy bread, and found myself thinking one of the most unexpected things.

I suddenly reached an understanding that I never thought I would.

That, I realised, was what I had wanted in the girl that I had so thoughtlessly put all my hopes into. I remembered it as clear as day. That was exactly what I had wanted when I had looked at her that ‘morning after’, realising the true nature of everything that had come crashing down.

I had wanted a girl who would be only belonging to me… For no-one else to see. A girl who I could actually say was completely mine, without any fear of broken promises or half-hearted words. The type of relationship that wasn’t based on a lie, and wouldn’t just give me the type of satisfaction that was ‘just so temporary’.

It was truly a light-bulb moment.

That was it, I said to myself, suddenly awakening within myself. That was the gold.

And it was awesome how amazingly my religion had encompassed every one of these aspects so  effortlessly. That was exactly what Islam brought altogether. The beauty of Deen was never only half-way there. It brought together everything that had goodness in it so perfectly.

Honestly, now I fully understood when people spoke so passionately about this. I agreed completely now with people when I had them say: If the entire world lived by Islamic law, most definitely, this world would be a perfect place to live in.

It was like a door that had been closed all along was suddenly ajar, allowing me to glimpse into the flowing stream of sunshine that I was being shaded from all along. I understood the thirst that came with learning, and with wanting to know more. I now understood the fervour to embrace it, like I was a completely new person.

My mind was still racing as I went into the shop, consumed by these new realisations.

But Shaytaan is always one step ahead in his dealings, because in just a few minutes, I would be tested in a way that I had previously failed.

I grabbed a cold drink, making my way to the till to get my cigarrettes and pay. iPhone in hand, I browsed through Instagram, maybe engaging in a little bit of futile activity. I closed the application quickly and slid my phone into my pocket, reaching for my wallet as I reached the front of the queue.

“And a box of Dunhill Menthol,” I said, still checking for my card somewhere in my wallet.

Placing my stuff on the counter, it was only then that I looked up at the cashier, only to see a very familiar face practically staring back at me.

It was like re-living some of the worst days of my life, as I gazed back at her, completely unaware of myself.

Farah was standing next to the lady behind the counter, scrutinising me in a way that made me feel completely uncomfortable. Her penetrating gaze was unexpected, and I could just imagine the thoughts that occupied her mind. The attention she was giving me was less appreciated than before. I really felt all exposed, as I stood there.

The nagging question here, though, was: How was I going to handle this ordeal?

The easiest thing would have been to walk away, and just leave my stuff on the counter, but I was stunted. I didn’t expect her to say anything, but the words were out of her mouth quicker than I expected.

This was all wrong, I was telling myself. So wrong. 

I could practically hear my heart thudding away.

“Zee,” she said, in that oh-so-familiar tone.

I looked up again, momentarily.

“Gosh,” she said, sounding a little different now. “Is that really you?!”