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

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Suspicious Encounters

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 77

It was the Instagram post that first got me suspicious about Rabia.

And okay. Maybe I had been in a particularly suspicious kind of mood since the entire thing went down, and even the slightest thing made me feel said emotion, but I called it a hunch.

I mean, even Hamzah’s whole open love confession at the minute I was ready to throw in the towel made me a teeny bit out of sorts and thinking that something may be off with his brain alignment.

Like, what on earth was with his whole love declaration that felt like it set my entire heart on fire? I didn’t even understand how someone could even have words like that and not belong in some kind of romcom kind of screenplay that made you weak in the knees.

Hamzah knew that he had to go, if he wanted what was good for him. He had agreed with me that he couldn’t lose his job. But now, emotions were coming into play and he was confused, and that’s all. I just needed to keep steering him that direction. The one that would be best for him.

And then there was going back to work for the meeting with Hammonds, when I glimpsed the new woman who had taken my place as external auditor, and the suspicion started again. The good news was that seeing Faadil made me realise how truly over him I really was.

All I felt when I looked at it, was annoyance. The bad news was that the new girl was skinny and semi-attractive, and what got to me was the way that she looked at me as Faadil walked up to join me in the meeting room that day.

There was an outright scowl in my direction,  she seemed highly invested in him who was seemingly oblivious, and I couldn’t help but be quite certain that she had also fallen under the Faadil spell. My suspicion was kind of confirmed everytime she battered her eyelashes at him, and it kind of made me want to puke.

And all that aside, I couldn’t help the prickly kind of feeling that overcame me as I lay awake in bed two days after I had caved and decided to let Hamzah stay a bit longer in our home and my life, as I scrolled through my instagram feed and snuck disbelieving looks at him. Maybe it was just a hunch.

The star husband was laying next to me, one arm slung over me as he slept as if there was no evil that existed in this world, and on the other side of me was Zaid, arms and legs splayed out in the summers heat, with blankets all kicked off.

I wanted to log this onto my memory, never to be erased, so I could keep coming back and revisiting the moment. I didn’t know how many of these mornings I would have. I didn’t want to think about it.

And as much as I tried to get Hamzah to keep his distance, all it took was his swoon-worthy words and I had already melted like ghee on a thawa, and I wanted to kick myself for it. And yes, we were in Nikah and even though Hamzah had made it clear that even if he did sign, no papers would change that… the fact was that, sooner or later, I knew that Hamzah had to go. If not, it would be scandalous.

There was no way I was going to let him risk everything he had worked so hard for once this case goes to court. Though he promised that he would stand by me with fierce loyalty, our marriage would make him a complete target for every kind of treacherous assumption. A divorce on paper and distance between us would be the only solution. For now, it was the only way.

I sighed as I gently edged away from him, lifting his arm so I could move off the bed. So much for distance. All aspirations were out the window.

And I knew that Instagram was not exactly the wisest thing to be scrolling through mindlessly at 7am but sometimes, my overwhelming nafs got the better off me, especially when it came to escapism. I knew that I should at least put the phone down, engage in some dhikr at least, and my entire day would take a turn because of it.

And I did. I wanted to make it a habit of remembering Allah when I first woke up, and not see someone’s pouty, fake-lashed filtered face instead. I had to try and at least rid myself of the dust that had collected over the past few weeks. I had been so absorbed in the allegations and everything it had brought, even my Hifdh had taken a back seat for a while.

But the amazing thing with Hamzah was that since things had erupted, he was the one who had made sure that the Qur’ān was the one constant, even during the days we were at loggerheads with each other. He kept solemnly to his promise of helping me memorise parts of the Qur’ān. It had been doing its thing… cleaning and polishing my soil from all the dirt that had overcome it. Maybe it was a hope he had that Qur’ān would bring us together, like it had before, and whatever he intended, such was the miracle of Qur’ān… that I could most certainly feel the affect on my heart.

The heart was being polished. The grime was being removed. The dust was definitely being wiped off.

And there was nothing more I needed, because the phone had taken over our lives to such an extent that we slept with it and woke up with it, and before even remembering the purpose of our creation, our limbs would stretch out for the gadget that ruled and ruined lives, without even thinking.

The thing was, I always loved social media. Always have. It was an amazing tool for marketing and networking, but a not so amazing too for making me feel great about myself.

Social media is designed to curate and promote highlights. We post the best snapshots of our days, the best meals we eat, and the best places we visit. When you have a stretch of a tough few days, it can be easy to feel like everyone else has it easy and
Dnly you are dealing with this type of difficulty.
It creates a type of insecurity. A person starts to wonder why they cannot get things together when it appears to be so easy.

Although I knew how horrible it was and that it would only feed my silly insecurities, I still couldn’t seem to wean myself off it or delete it completely. Like a drug, it would draw me back to it, craving just one more hit of juiciness until I felt a little satiated.

In fact, everything I opened the app, Instagram just made me feel crappy.

That morning, after my dhikr counter had reached 500, I squinted my eyes slightly in the darkened room, trying to figure out how Rabias social life had suddenly gotten so … quirky.

There it was. The post that made me suspicious. That would raise all the questions in my mind. A picture of the favourite ice cream place that I had been obsessed with just months ago, and a picture of three cones, two sugar and one normal, in three different flavours, snapped together.

And okay, I knew that it was a very popular place at the sometimes trendy Melrose Arch but the guava and mint flavour ice cream that had been snapped in the picture made my heart kind of contract momentarily.

And I knew that I had no damn right to feel even the slightest bit nostalgic, having this gorgeous and amazing man next to me, and the cutest baby in the world snoring like an adorable little steam engine, but the emotion came without warning.

That was Faadil’s favourite flavour. His favourite flavour, always in a normal wafer cone (never sugared, he just had this weird-so weird- thing from childhood that made him hate sugar cones). A most odd flavour, I always thought one of the least popular, and although I didn’t want to go back to that space mentally, it was the place we frequented at least three times during those few months I was with him.

It was also the place where he always said that it dawned on him that he apparently didn’t want to just be friends.

And I had no idea he allegedly felt that way of course, but it was the day he had lent me the Porsche and before that had treated us all to ice creams, before some of the less demure girls jumped into the car with him.

It had flattered me of course. How much of it was real, I still didn’t know. The tune after was that the reason he had let those girls take a ride in his car was that he was waiting for me to be the one to get in, and when I didn’t, he had to find a way to get my attention somehow.

I never did the throwing myself at guys thing, no matter what car they drove. Personally, I feel the elusive, hard-to-get factor was probably what made the chase more exciting for him.

Whatever it was, for him that’s when everything kind of kicked off in his head, and despite me regretting every bit of it months after, I couldn’t help but feel the rising suspicion as I closed the app.

How could Rabia know who Faadil was? Could the instagram snapshots that incriminated me been her doing?

No ways. She couldn’t have been acquainted with him. How could she know who she is?

I shook my head as I put my phone down, sneaking a guilty look at Hamzah because I was suspecting his sister of such lowly things.

Just glimpsing him momentarily, while he slept so peacefully, made my heart burst with all sorts of overwhelming emotion as I shoved the thought out of my mind.

I shook my head. No.

Maybe I was being a little paranoid.

Just to be sure, I would try and suss her out later when I saw her. Ask her a thing or two about the gram. Or ice cream. After all, guilty people usually act a little nice than they’re supposed to. After the whole fall out with her, I had barely seen her, but with Saaliha around in Joburg for this weekend l, I knew that Rabia was bound to be around when they give everyone their amazing pregnancy news.

I had been so excited for them that I yelped crazily when Hamzah had told me the previous night, especially since I was well aware that Saaliha couldn’t fall pregnant for years. Allah was so merciful. Rabia was definitely bound to be there, even if it was only to suck the joy out of the occasion.

I sighed as I tried to think happy thoughts that morning, and although the morning had started off on a little bit of a questionable note, Hamzah shifting around as he woke up immediately lifted my spirits.

I had made him a special breakfast (well, as special as it gets with me, who allegedly can’t really cook) and I was trying to be as nice as I could be considering the awkward circumstances. We were at this very weird stage in our relationship where we were avoiding each other but trying to spend time together at the same time. Hamzah was doing his best to respect my wishes, but he was still holding onto hope that I would change my mind and I was so close to throwing in the towel on my plans, but I knew, for his own sake that I couldn’t just abort mission.

All I knew was that no matter how hard I had tried to push him away, he always found a way to rebound, and proved himself over and over again.

And since we usually ended up in my parents area on Saturdays because of dropping Zaid with Liyaket’s mother, I knew that there was no better time to pop in at my parents and Jameela, before the big day for her tomorrow. I had been so absorbed in my life, but seeing Hamzah was a bigger gossip than I was, and after Nani’s call the other day, he desperately wanted to find out what was going on from Zubair myself. I knew that my parents were preparing for Jameela but what I didn’t know was the Nani also had her own preparations going on.

And after she had huffed and puffed about it like the big bad wolf, I really didn’t expect her to be there as yet.

And so, if course, you could understand my utmost shock when I glimpsed Nani standing at the counter in all dedication, mixing something vigorously, considering that she had so much to say about the upcoming events, the delicious smell coming from the stove made me completely suspicious.

I mean, what on earth was she up to, when she had clearly said that she was completely against that ‘aloo’ coming to see Jameela. I mean, I couldn’t believe that she was calling him a potato. Her entire reaction was enough for me to understand that there were no samoosas coming from her this time, and my parents weren’t in the least surprised. I was just glad that my parents weren’t adopting the same stance, and were actually giving Jameela scores about actually wanting to meet Zubair.

“Hey Naans,” Hamzah said sweetly, his one-dimpled smile genuine as he saw her. I had to look away when I saw the pure affection in his gaze because knowing that he would become off-limits to me soon made me feel completely out of sorts. “We’ve missed you.”

Nani immediately looked up as she saw him, and her star grandson-in-law planted a kiss on her cheek as she continued with her exaggerated gestures and gorgeous smelling treats. He was so good with swindling her that it made me jealous.

”Mos,” Hamzah said, turning to me and raising his eyebrows, holding a squiggly orange thing in his hand.

I met his eye hesitantly as he watched me. He knew what he was doing. Making this entire thing harder for me was apparently his sole objective.

“How could you not tell me that Nani makes Jalebi? This stuff is a winner.”

I rolled my eyes at him, concealing my true emotions, but I couldn’t help but smile, watching Hamzah devouring the jalebi as if it was the most delectable treat in the world.

His brown eyes twinkled as he munched, and I could see from his face that he wasn’t just throwing Nani up.

“To what do we owe the honour?”

My humoured question lost its effect as soon as Nani heard it.

“Nadeema asked me to make it,” Nani said proudly, as if my dear cousins requests were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Nadeema was still one of Nani’s favourites, despite what she did to me. Of course, I couldn’t expect Nani to understand. In her eyes, I was the married one so I wasn’t worthy of pity, and Nadeema wasn’t… so she deserved sympathy plus a kilo of jalebi for extra effect.

Jameela had entered the kitchen at that point and was standing at the door, waiting to catch my attention, but Nani had already caught it. Now, I needed to know more, and I wouldn’t let this rest.

If Nadeema wanted to Jalebi, why on earth was it here?

”So is this all going to her?” I asked with a raise eyebrow, gesturing to the pile of orangey sweet stuff that was on the counter next to the stove. The thought made me want to smash it all up so Nani could serve her jalebi syrup.

Crushed. Orange. Jalebi. Syrup.

It’s not that I hated Nadeema. It’s just that, after the incident where she literally broke off my proposal, I wasn’t exactly obliged to like her. The thought that Nani would make her stuff in our home, with our cooking oil, made me want to cry. Oil was expensive, okay. And Nadeema was not worth it.

I could see Jameela trying to gesture to me, and whilst Hamzah saw her and tried to signal me too, but I was far too vested in this conversation to pay attention.

Since Nani mentioned Nadeema, all I saw was red.

”Of course no, Mohsina,” Nani said nonchalantly, sounding oh-so-reasonable. “This is extra batter. Nadeema’s jalebi is at her house, ready for the boy who is coming to see her tomorrow.”

It took me a few seconds to process that one. Wait. Jameela’s proposal was also tomorrow. With Zubair. His sister and brother-in-law will also be there. She knew this. She had told me. Did that mean Nani won’t be here for it?

Jameela’s gestures were becoming a little more vigorous, and with it were tiny little hisses that accompanied it, solely intended to draw my attention that was refusing to be diverted from Nani.

And who could blame me?

“She’s also getting a proposal tomorrow?” I asked incredulously.

I mean, what were the odds. I wonder who was the (un)lucky guy.

My poor baby sister was now jumping up and down with pure purpose, but now that I was onto something, I averted my eyes and wouldn’t back down. Jameela knew that I was never the type to turn down a challenge. Nani was about to show her displeasure about the situation by being there for Nadeema, and acting as if Jameela’s proposal wasn’t happening.

What I didn’t know was that she had gone one step further.

“Muneer will see her tomorrow,” Nani said, her face turning slightly so I could see her beam. “After Jameela broke poor boys heart I knew that I had to try and fix it.”

”Wha-“ I was cut off as she turned back to her frying and at the point that the rage in me was threatening to boil over, Hamzah had literally steered  me out of the room, whilst Jameela grabbed my arm to pull me away.

I was so angry, I could not believe it. Nani had completely lost her mind. She was doing the exact same thing to Jameela as happened to me.

“Just leave it,” Jameela warned through gritted teeth.

I didn’t want to. I wanted to scream at Nani for being so superficial, and claw at Nadeema’s face for being such a spoilt brat, but Hamzah had wisely blocked me off so I couldn’t go back to the kitchen. The look in his eyes told me that he knew me way too well, and what I was thinking was a really bad idea.

He had called to Nani that he would be back in fifteen minutes, sending me off with Jameela to safety and was already headed to the door for his ritual smoke break, grinning at us as he grabbed his lighter near the door.

”You didn’t tell her anything?” I hissed to my sister as I was shoved up the stairs.

”I figured that some things are not worth fighting over,” she said with an exaggerated sigh.”If Nani doesn’t want to be here, so be it. She doesn’t invalidate the Nikah and it’s not like I’m being a disrespectful grandchild by marrying someone below her expected income bracket. All that aside, it’s great seeing you and Hamzah together. Do you know how much of Duaa I am making for this to be okay. And it’s so amazing because I can see it being accepted right before me. You guys are so strong.”

If only she knew we were just stringing ourselves and everyone else along. She didn’t know that by us staying together we were risking so much. It had to be temporary.

”We’re trying to be amicable,” I said simply, not wanting to explain the whole arrangement we had. “When the court case goes public he will move out. I offered but Hamzah said he won’t let me leave. So…”

She looked at me suspiciously, and then raised her eyebrows.

”So you’re basically waiting for everything to head south before you kick him out?” She asked incredulously. “Mos, are we even related? How are you this horrible?!”

I frowned at her, wondering since when my sister gave me these intensely judgemental looks that made me feel worse than what’s under her shoe.

”Jams,” I said, trying to justify myself. “He will lose everything he worked so hard for if I don’t. Then, I’ll be really mean.”

Jameela’s eyes flared at me as I said it.

”Yes, yes, you said all that, but do you really think he cares?!” She scoffs as she glares at me.

“He has to care!” I said incredulously. “How can he not? This is his entire life. His degree, career, his repuation… Everything he worked so hard for! And he agreed to go.”

“Haven’t you realised that all that stuff is barely important to him?” She was pointing a finger at me accusingly as she said it.

I sighed. But she doesn’t get it.

“It is important,” I retorted obviously.

“Says who? Has the world taken over your heart Mohsina?” she said quietly. “Is that the only thing thats important right now? Status and position and how much money you’re worth. Because if it has, you have to let the Duniyaa go. You have to claim it back and give your heart to its rightful owner.”

My heart was slowly cracking at its seams anyway. It was a searing pain that penetrated right through because I realised that I was going back to that place that I had been at months ago.

”But how?” I said to her breathlessly. “How do I even get there? I’m so weak and hopeless… and now Hamzah’s going through so much because of me and he has to leave so what hope is there for me?”

I didn’t even know what I was saying anymore. I was just getting so emotional thinking of it all.

Somewhere along the way my bond that I had worked so hard at with Allah Ta’ala had been compromised. Maybe I hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe I wasn’t sincere enough. Maybe I didn’t make enough istighfaar.

All I knew was that I wanted to make this right again, but I didn’t know how to.

“The only reason he’s going is because you threatening to leave him if he doesn’t go himself,” Jameela said to me resentfully. “He won’t be able to bear you being back to that point where you have to ask anyone for anything. Where you have to rely on someone. Even when you’re putting him through so much of pain, his only concern is for you. He only wants you to be happy, Mos. Even if he has to go and make himself miserable in the process.”

“What?” I said, narrowing my eyes at her as she looked back at me, now avoiding eye contact as  if she said something she was never meant to disclose.

“How do you know all that?”

My voice was low and disbelieving. It sounded too close to the truth that I didn’t yet know. All this talk was making me suspicious. But then again, I was being a tad bit too intense on those very emotions that week.

“I don’t,” she said, her gaze immediately faltering and I knew that she was lying.

I narrowed my eyes at her, wondering what she would be hiding.

“Spit it out, Jams!” I barked at her, swallowing back my emotion. I could see her face turning a shade of whatever she turned when she was flustered.

“Okay, fine,” she said softly, still avoiding my stare. “Zubair said so.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. Zubair said so?! Is that all she had? She’s dropped a bomb and then stopped. How on earth could I just leave it at that?

“You spoke to him?” I asked, completely gobsmacked that my usually shy and evasive sister would actually talk to a guy. And not just a guy. The guy. Handsome stranger who she’s been going gaga over for way longer than she cared to admit.

Was she talking to him now? Like talking talking?!

“You and Zubair?”I asked, widening my eyes. “Are you guys….”

Wait.

“Papa was there,” she explained hastily, her bashfulness very evident. “He wanted to see Papa and Papa thought it would be good if I was there as well. We chatted. A little. We didn’t have long but. I know certain people look down on him because they think that he’s poor but it doesn’t matter to me. Why do people think that wealth makes you someone? Sometimes people get swayed by the charms of the world as if it’s everything that ever mattered and will matter. We think we can find constancy in all these things but what we hold onto is inconstant and perishing. Money and status and everything the world presents is just a mirage….”

“You make it sound so easy Jams,” I said softly, wondering how my sister had become so wise. She was so…. pious.

On the day of Qiyaamah, Allah Ta’ala will apologise to the poor in the same was as a person does to another person in this life, by saying, “I swear by My Honour and Greatness that I did not keep away the worldly wealth from you because you were disgraced in My eyes, I did so for the sake of bestowing on you the great honours of this day; you go and look into the rows of Jahannamis for those who fed you or clothed you for My sake, they are all yours.

When the poor approach such persons they will all be drowned in their own sweat and the poor people will pull them out and lead them to Jannah. (Rodh-ar-Rayahim)

We look at wealth as if it’s the be all and end all of life. As if someone without money is not worth anything. Little do we know that there are people in this world who not a soul knows, but in the heavens, there is not an angel who does not know that blessed slaves name.

”He really likes Hamzah,” she said softly, looking all dreamy-eyed. “Thinks he’s one of the few people he can actually trust. We don’t want to lose him…”

Oh my word, they were a ‘we’ now. What. Wait. Did I miss so much? They discussed Hamzah and I as if we were something that was so important to ‘them’.

I narrowed my eyes and she looked away again and I knew that she was done for.

My word. My little sister hopelessly besotted was doing things to my insides

”I want to know everything,” I pressed, my eyes narrowing even more at her. “About what he said. About what Hamzah told him. And about what on earth you guys were chatting about. Was he pushing for this? Are we having a Nikah at the same time.. just tell me what’s going on?!”

I was completely in shock. While caught up in my own world I had completely sidelined the spicy masala moments that may have been happening at home. I was now an obsessed women, hanging onto every thread of information. And Jameela was looking frightfully suspicious when I mentioned the word Nikah.

My heart felt like it was about to explode with emotion, despite the looming clouds above.

“Relax,” she said steadily, a smile creeping on her face. “Zubair is a good guy and he’s not forcing me into anything. It’s me who wants to do this fast. Like, really fast. Make it halaal. And yes, Papa did agree that we can have the Nikah this week. It’s taken so long to get to this point and we’ve both felt this way for a while so….”

If I knew how to do a double take, I probably would. What?!

They both felt what way for so long?!

Oh my word, I couldn’t breathe.

“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” I breathed, still partly in shock.

Jameela and her bloody romancing. It was just too utopian-like.

She honestly could not wait to get married and I knew it wasn’t about the glitzy parts of the whole event for her. Jameela was too obsessed with Zubair to see beyond that.

She nodded eagerly, and I felt like somehow, this was always supposed to happen. But there was still a niggling feeling of hesitation as she said it, and I knew that there was still early days.

Nani still wasn’t okay with this. Zubair still had an awkwardly unmentionable history. Hamzah and I were still buying time.

All this time, this kind of ending for her was merely an idea but now that things were wrapping up, I couldn’t help but feel that something was completely amiss…

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Thinking Good about others  

We’re so quick to assume bad things about people, even when we have no idea what’s the real story. Thinking the best about others is part of the Sunnah of Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) and is a great way to give us a positive outlook and always be good to others.

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When we Buy some Time

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 76

Time.

“Your life comprises a few breaths that can be counted; when one of them is sent out, a part of your life has diminished.”

Once lost, it’s never found.

You never quite realise the value with it until you’re at war with it. Until it feels like you’ve lost your mind, and you’re running out of it.

Deadlines, cut-off times and final dates. It was all a matter of time, before the chances would be up. And it’s no wonder that Allah Ta’ala takes an oath by it, to declare its importance.

In Surah Asr, it’s started that the only way to escape loss is to take every moment of his life as valuable, and use it for the four acts mentioned in the Surah.

Imam Shafi’I (RA) says that if people thought about Surah Al-’Asr carefully, it would be enough for their guidance. It’s a concise but comprehensive Surah, which outlines a complete way of human life based on the Islamic perspective.

Not only that, it drives the fact that each moment goes by, every second, minute, hour or day of the passage of time is nothing but a sword that is slashing away at your life of this world, reminding me that my time was running out.

Reminding you that every thing you do in that time is going to determine what’s going to occur after time is up.

Fresh starts, thanks to the calendar- they happen every year. A reminder that theres a new beginning. A new chance to start.

Sometimes it’s just a simple nudge to put your past behind you and start over.

At that time of my life, when the year had begun, my heart was at war with itself. It felt too deeply. Hurt too much. And I couldn’t understand why I was going through this.

While my brother secretly celebrated the news of Saaliha’s pregnancy, which made me so happy for him, with the beginning of the new year for Mos and I, was a new feeling that felt like a cloud waiting to open its doors and let loose on us.

I sat gravely on the kitchen nook, glancing at the block whilst waiting for my wife to enter the kitchen again, my Qur’ān recital the only thing that could calm the storm that was brewing within me.

It was just what I needed to heal my own heart, and to right everything that had gone wrong.

It was just what I needed to remind of the war I was fighting for the greater good… to keep everything afloat.

“How was it?”

I closed my Qur’ān softly just after concluding the recital, glancing up at my wife as she walked from the room, wearing a light coloured modest dress as she repositioned Zaid’s feeding chair.

She had rushed to the room when she had gotten home from her day, and it was only after a few minutes when hearing  the droning of the breast pump, did I realise that it was the first time she had been away from Zaid for so long.

I couldn’t help but marvel at what an amazing mother she had become. It was the first time that she had left him since her resignation and though I really felt that I should have gone with her, Mohsina’s reason for keeping me out of it of made some sense.

Though I tried to fight her on it, I knew if I persisted it would just make her fight me more, and I didn’t need more of that. Already, her fingers were bare as she busied herself with Zaid, and I couldn’t help but feel gutted about it.

”You’re still here,” she said to me unhappily with Zaid perched contentedly  on her hip.

It wasn’t a question. It was a warning and a reprimand for me, but I ignored it.

And I wanted to kick myself because I hated that I agreed to her request of me leaving today. I hated the entire idea but with every passing day, Mohsina was pushing me further away, trying to keep me as far away from her as possible.

”I was waiting for you.”

I wasn’t afraid to say it. Maybe I was making this harder than it should have been. But maybe I was a little upset because of everything that had happened.

It wasn’t that I blamed Mohsina for the situation. I was just upset at how she was dealing with it.

Taking off work with the excuse of seeing to my wife’s law suit would raise bigger questions and we had bigger fish to fry right then. Instead we got Zaid a nanny and left them with Liyaket’s mother for a few hours, and since her day had taken longer than anticipated, I had fetched him on my way back from work.

Now it was time for me to leave, but I was only hoping that Mohsina would somehow have some good news or a change of heart, and things would go back to normal.

Somehow we could just pretend that the past two weeks never happened and things could go back to how we always knew it.

Every minute, every moment spent without my family as a single unit felt like some sort of torture.

I watched Mohsina shoot me a frown before tugging at her scarf before she walked across the room, barely looking at me.

I watched her as I wondered what had happened. Did she manage to get them to settle? Did she manage to get her name off the nasty payments? Did any other evidence come up about the documents she signed?

I wanted to know everything but she was determined to tell me nothing. The unsaid war was mounting between us, and while I was hoping to hold onto our marriage as long as I could, Mohsina was already giving up, saying she didn’t want to make it harder for us by being around each other much longer.

I got her point, but damn… why was it still so hard?

“I missed you so much, baby boy,” Mohsina cooed softly, ignoring me while she settled Zaid into his chair with affection as he grabbed fistfuls of her tied up hair, and blabbered away.

He was so cute when he was like this, and I wanted to so badly pretend that everything was normal.

He lived for her. Sometimes I felt like Zaid was betraying me by being so attached to her, but I knew that this was how babies were. I sought refuge in the fact that once he got older, we would be best buds like his father and I.

My stagnant expression gave nothing away as I watched them both. There was a silent battle going on between the two of us, and one of us was going to back down.

I was refusing to let it be me.

Time was slipping away and I was aware that I had none left, but I was still holding on. Buying as much as I could while I scrounged around for some hope.

“Did you manage to make a settlement?”

It was my second question directed at her as I stood up, and I could see her flinching as I asked it. After all, it would solve everything. If the case would go away, none of this would have to change. We wouldn’t have to change.

“Can we not talk about this?” She mumbled, not looking at me. “I want to finish feeding Zaid. I haven’t see him the whole day. Can you just…”

She stopped awkwardly in mid sentence but I knew what she wanted to say, and my heart contracted painfully.

Leave.

She wanted me to leave.

What about me? I wanted to ask. You haven’t seen me the whole day either.

And I knew that she was doing this to make it easier, but it felt a thousand times harder. She wanted me to cut off all ties with her, so it wouldn’t affect me. What she didn’t know was that what she was doing was hurting me more than anything else.

And it was just as well that I didn’t go with Mohsina that day because besides wanting to punch Faadil in the face, I had a feeling that the entire thing wouldn’t have gone very well if I did.

And I wasn’t the type to hold a grudge but the guy had been a bad boss. A bad employee. A bad whatever-he-was-to-Mohsina.

I wasn’t an insecure guy, but the odds were against him. There was no chance I could ever warm up to him now.

Still, all that didn’t matter that much. What mattered was that he proved to be a Muslim who led his life as if he wasn’t even Muslim. He did horrible things. He stole money and got up to shady side deals in clubs, took random women as toys, and all this was playing on my mind the entire day while I thought of Mohsina going back and facing this guy once again.

I had plunged myself into audits that day, while Mohsina left to meet lawyers, keeping my mind off what the worst case scenario here could be, making much Duaa and trying to surrender to the concept of Taqdeer.

Trying to have full faith that Allah will still see this all through, and come out with the best solution for us all.

And in doing so, I had hope. Hope that she would tell me it’s all sorted, and I didn’t have to worry. Hope that this would all blow over, without any consequences. Hope that it would all just disappear.

And here she was, despite my own hopes, offering me no assurance that this was going to be okay.

That’s all I wanted for now, and she was giving me nothing to work with with.

“Mos,” I  said, grabbing my keys and moving now to stand right in front her, making her look at me while she tried to feed Zaid some mashed up looking carrots.

I wanted to reach out to her. To yank her pony. To pull her close. To make her laugh. To take her hand and assure her that it would be okay.

But I didn’t dare. This was far too gone.

“Did you sign the papers yet?”

Her tone was rigid as she said it and I sighed, turning away, already feeling deflated.

She didn’t say the word but I knew that it meant that we will still there.

The annulment of marriage contract.

It sounded so formal and morbid. She was now at this ugly point when she had decided to do the most disliked thing in the sight of Allah.

“I won’t.”

It was my standard reply and I treated it like a challenge. A challenge that entailed me doing everything I could to never sign those papers.

“It’s the only way,” she said softly, trying to appeal to me with the softness that sometimes cut through her steely personality.

“It’s not,” I insisted, my stance unyielding as I held her gaze.

“It is because their lawyers won’t budge,” she said, breaking eye contact and looking at Zaid as she spoke. “Faadil has no way of taking my name off the records completely. My name is already there and I’m guilty until proven innocent and I won’t let you take the fall for it too, Hamzah.”

She turned to me then and her eyes flared as she said it. I scowled at her.

“So you can take the fall for him but I can’t take the fall for you?”

She sighed.

”Hamzah.”

She said it as if she was talking to a kid.

I narrowed my eyes at her. That’s exactly how it was.

“Mohsina,” I said to her, in the exact same tone she had used with me.

Now was her turn to narrow her eyes.

We never fought.

We bickered and bantered with ease, on most occasions, but a full blown out fight wasn’t our thing. It felt precariously close to that situation.

“You know it’s not like that,” she said, her voice pleading and her eyes glistening. “I signed documents to say I took the money from him. He can’t just undo it.”

“You mean he doesn’t want to,” I said stiffly, knowing exactly how Bossman worked, and not prepared to fight her on this anymore.

She was so gullible, and the way she bought his stupid excuses, was exactly like Mohsina. While she appeared tough and impenetrable on the surface, I knew that my wife would never let anyone take a fall if she could help it. Even if they deserved it.

Mohsina was selfless to the point of exhaustion and whilst I loved what she had done for her family, I hated that it was what was making her want to resort to something that would break us both. It just didn’t make sense to me to let this ruin us.

All the fight had been fought already. I had no more left in me at this point.

Mohsina was silent as I watched her back, not even know whether I should wait for her response. I just knew that I couldn’t leave at that point. She said nothing and the more the silence persisted, the more restless I felt, and the more I couldn’t step out the door.

Zaid was painfully oblivious to the tension between us, all I could think about was how much this would affect him. How much I would miss him tonight, while I wasn’t with him. How our little family would be torn apart.

He had settled so well during the past month, and to have to upset his routine again was going to be the worst mistake. I wasn’t even sure how Mohsina was going to do it, but she was insistent that we could work out a proper agreement between us, so we could both alternate in keeping him, and he would barely feel it.

I begged to differ.

My entire family was going to be broken and Mohsina was taking it standing up.

“Why are you fighting this?” She finally asked, pulling Zaid out of the feeding chair and meeting me eye.  “I gave you the time you asked for and you said you would leave after. I’m not worth the hassle this would bring.”

Her last words struck my heart. She was worth it. She was worth every moment. But she hadn’t even given me enough time to show her that.

Three days. She had given me three days to pull something out to save us before she gave up completely. Was it worth that little to her? Was all this just an experiment?

Anger rose within me but I bit it back, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. If she wasn’t going to fight for us, someone had to, but we couldn’t be going crazy whilst doing it.

“I want more time,” I said flatly, knowing that I was going against what I had said but planning on pushing Zubair even more to come up with something that can turn the situation around. I was going to call him as soon as I left for Masjid. I was going to have to get something to salvage this. “Please.”

She looked slightly taken aback by my request. By the fact that I was literally begging her.

And why wouldn’t she? None of us ever thought that we would come to this point.

“Give me a reason,” she answered softly, looking up at me from the corner of her eye and taking me by surprise. “One good reason.”

I had gotten her to this point, and it was just enough for me to give this my all. My wife’s eyes were hopeful as she waited, and I couldn’t help but notice how painfully gorgeous she looked as her eyes lit up with something that resembled hope.

Hope. It was the only thing keeping me going. If it even existed here.

“Because you are worth it,” I said stubbornly, the words slipping out it my mouth before I could even think. “Because I don’t care about the money. About status. About my accreditation. Because despite everything I may lose, I’m still hoping for a happy ending here. Because I don’t care about everything that I may lose and even if I do, if I lose you, I will have nothing. Because you are everything, Mohsina. You and Zaid are everything to me. That’s why.”

She was stunned into silence as I spoke, her eyes wide as my voice rose a tad bit louder than intended.

Maybe I was getting a little carried away, but emotions were powerful stuff. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to feel that way, but I knew that Allah had brought us together for a reason and that before this curve ball, everything that this had brought, from leaving our old lifestyles to Zaid and our amazing family, was an immense blessing.

And I didn’t need another reason. That’s was the only reason why I was stalling and buying more time, hanging into threads of hope that could unite us once again, hoping that some miracle would happen that would that would bring her back to me, even if it was just for a teeny weeny snippet in time.

It was an intense moment as we stared at each other, almost in some sort of weird challenge, whilst Zaid mumbled something incoherent, oblivious to our emotions as our eyes spoke words none of us dared to say.

I love you, mine’s said with no reservation.

What if that’s not enough? Her’s question back.

The ringing of my phone in my pocket startled us but I ignored it, because I didn’t want Mohsina to push me out while I wasn’t ready to leave. At this point, it felt like everything was on the line and there was no way I was leaving today. I needed that time to prove that this wasn’t just a silly mistake that we had made. I needed to show that real love may just be what we actually had here.

And yes, I had let my guard down. There was a reason why I told Liyaket that I didn’t believe in love. Why I always wanted to be happy alone.

I thought that if I gave something my all, and it fell apart, I would never make it off the ground after. I didn’t want to shape my life around something, and then lose it. How do you survive the pain that feels like losing an organ? What if I actually learnt that I needed love, and I couldn’t have it?

But that’s why Allah gives us a solution, in everything we do. That’s why when we hand our hearts over, we still keep our focus solely on Him. Despite loving someone so deeply, you still love Allah above them, because He is your only anchor. Allah teaches us, over and over again, that beyond everything else, the only thing that still remains is His Loyalty.

Whoever loves for the sake of Allah and hates for the sake of Allah and gives for the sake of Allah and denies for the sake of Allah has completed his faith (Abu Dawud, Tirmidhi).

Everything was only for Him, through Him and because of Him. There is no loyalty but with Him.

And it was because of that that here I was, hanging on by a thread in choppy waters, knowing that at any second, even that thread could snap.

And it was at the most inappropriate moments that technology intervened, and Mohsina’s phone ringing interrupted my thoughts while I couldn’t help but glare at it like it was the bane of my life.

She too was snapped out of her own thoughts, and she looked at me apologetically and sighed, glancing at the phone as on the countertop.

”It’s Nani,” she said apprehensively, glancing at me and wiping her hands again as if to ask my permission to take it.

I immediately softened, glad it wasn’t anything to do with work. That might have been the final straw for me.

“Take it.”

My words still hung in the air as she picked up the phone, and I shifted my own attention to Zaid as I watched him attempt to toss some shell-shaped pasta off the feeding table. Throwing food discreetly off the feeding chair was one of his favourite hobbies.

Even though he was so mischievous, he was so cute at moments like those that it made me wonder what he was going to be like as he got older. I could only imagine how much naughtier he would get as the years went by, and the thought actually made me smile.

I grabbed what I could from his tightly fisted hands while Mohsina spoke, wiping his face and taking him to wash up while I listened to my wife try and speak normally.

Her cheeks were flushed, like they usually were when she was a little flustered, and it was obvious that she was still a bit overwhelmed from our conversation, and it made me hopeful that I had actually penetrated something. She had been  so rigid and unyielding these past few days. Nothing I could say would make her budge.

All I needed was time, to set this right. It would give me an opportunity to get something solid on Faadil. As much as I knew about his dodgy activities, I knew that I would only get what I needed if I gave Zubair more time and resources to find evidence to turn this whole thing around.

“No, I didn’t hear, Nani,” I could hear Mohsina saying, her voice steadying as she spoke again. “What happened?”

There was silence from my wife but I could hear Nani’s voice from where I was on the other side of the room. I couldn’t help but smirk as I did.

“Oh no,” Mohsina said softly. “I don’t think she thought about that.”

There was more animated talking again from the other end of the line, while I checked my own phone to see who had called, swallowing slightly nervously as I saw the name.

Zubair’s number was listed and I made a mental note to call him as soon as I got a moment. Perhaps it was something important. In fact, I was really hoping that it was.

Mohsina’s voice cut through my thoughts as she spoke again.

“Yes, it’s very soon but Nani-“

She was cut off by another audible burst of emotion and I actually stifled a smile as I turned to watch her while Zaid pulled at my beard with his clammy hands.

”Nani, I’m not sure if we can-“ she tried again, but I knew from past experience that there was probably no use even trying to talk her way out of whatever Nani wanted.

“Okay, I’ll ask Hamzah,” she said finally, and I could see her roll her eyes in frustration.

She was tired. And I was so glad for the diversion.

Something had shifted within her. With Nani, sometimes Mohsina seemed like an entirely different person.

Whatever Nani had said obviously wasn’t in her plan but it had somehow got me hopeful.

She said a few more words before finally greeting Nani, cutting the call and then looking at me worriedly.

I looked back at her, frowning slightly as I watched her fiddle with Zaid’s messed bib, and then wipe the table a third time, despite it being clean enough.

And it was weird that I was still sticking around, watching her like a creep when I was supposed to be gone, but her actions were making me wonder what was going on.

She was doing the same thing as I was. Stalling. Buying time, to make this less painful. Procrastinating reality, despite knowing where we were heading. Why though, the sudden change in approach… I had no idea.

It took a few minutes before she finally looked up at me, and gave me the reason for her temporary silence.

”I think you may have to just stick around a while longer,” she said stiffly, and I could feel my heart rate already increase as she said it.

Now that was good news.

I raised an eyebrow at her, not trusting myself to speak as yet. I was still partly in shock.

“I think you may know something about it,” she said, now looking at me questioningly. “Zubair wanting to meet Jameela?”

Ah. Puzzle pieces clicked into place as I recalled the conversation I had had with him after Mohsina told me about how upset Jameela was. It was a simple conversation, guy to guy, where I basically told him that there was no need for him to punish himself his entire life, because of his past. that Allah doesn’t hold our deeds against us, so why should he?

I had convinced him about the beauty of Nikah. Of how a woman may bring out a better part of him (he had actually laughed, when I wasn’t sure if the guy could even smile properly). I had convinced him that he didn’t need to be alone for the rest of his life, just because he felt like he deserved some sort of punishment.

This was before everything between Mohsina and I had spiralled downward.

I didn’t know that he had actually taken the conversation to heart. It meant that Zubair had actually changed his mind about what he wanted in life, and I may have been the reason for it.

How ironic. On the brink of my marriage collapsing, he was making one for himself.

”Nani wants to talk to us altogether,” she said stiffly, wiping her wet hands on a dish cloth. “And we will have to be there together on Sunday too so I guess…”

I breathed out as she trailed off, feeling an immense surge of relief and gratitude as she said it.

Allah Ta’ala had somehow managed swayed the plan for me, and I knew that this was no coincidence.

It wasn’t what I expected but it was more than I deserved.

It was just what I needed to buy more time, and turn this entire thing around.

Whether it would actually work, was another question entirely…

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Thinking Good about others  

We’re so quick to assume bad things about people, even when we have no idea what’s the real story. Thinking the best about others is part of the Sunnah of Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) and is a great way to give us a positive outlook and always be good to others.

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When Reality Checks

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 71

The way life works, and peoples hopes are wired, I realised that there are two types of people.

There are the realists, and then, there are the dreamers.

You’d think the dreamers would find the dreamers and the realists would find the realists, but I heard that more often than not, the opposite is true.

A popular saying goes: The dreamers need the realists to keep them from soaring too close to the sun. And the realists, well without the dreamers, they might not ever get off the ground.

And in a weird way, it was true. People needed each other to pull them away from the fire, when it got too close. And those people needed their better halves to guide them out when it became a little too dark…

“Close your eyes.”

I really didn’t want to. I wanted to see every bit of beauty that I had no doubt lay before me.

My senses were awakened. My heart was pounding. Where Hamzah had taken me as a supposed escape for the day, had turned out to be somewhere that I barely expected.

”I’m scared,” I said, holding tightly to his arm as he tried to pry my fingers from it.

“Trust me?” He almost whispered, and I could hear the hope in his voice as he said it.

“Never,” I said automatically, quicker than I intended and there was a gap of silence before I heard a low rumble of laughter from him.

“Mos,” he murmured, and I could hear his smile through his talking. “When will you stop fighting me?“

I grinned with my eyes closed, still walking along, feeling the rustle of leaves beneath my feet and sniffing something slightly unusual as we trudged along.

“I told you I’m an army,” I said with a smile.

Armies are meant to fight. Never back down. And as much as I’d been fighting with Hamzah lately, I kind of figured that at some point we have to stop.

“Are you like this with everyone?” He said, and I could hear him smiling still. “What about Nani? When she asked you to come for the Taaleem?”

I raised my eyebrows. He knows that I could never try it with Nani. That would have real consequences.

“She forced me,” I muttered meekly. I didn’t mention how good it actually was for me.

The second time, she didn’t have to force me at all. Zaid had slept at the beginning and I could actually listen and absorb in peace. It was good for me. For my soul. It made me feel like a different person.

I wanted to forget. I wanted to forget it all. Rabia. The past month. The problems. The blow ups. The unsaid irritations between Hamzah and I.

Especially now that Hashim wanted to meet Zaid tomorrow, we had been even more on edge since we found out. That’s precisely why Hamzah figured that he rather take me away to ease the conflict and build the bridges… before they come along and upset everything else again.

But I was learning to rise above it. After all, I had started attending the Taaleem and its what was keeping me on track. It’s what actually kept me sane with everything going on

That little time spent in the path of Allah was having amazing effects. It made me ponder. Reflect about how I treat people. About forgiveness. Maybe whatever Rabia had done wasn’t worth me fighting over. Life is too short for that kind of negativity.

Both Hashim and Layyanah’s sister Dahlia had been in contact and I knew that she was dying to see her nephew after months. Why I had kept him away so long, I couldn’t explain… but I really just wanted to keep these moments tucked away… for no one to touch.

We had finally finished clearing our Liyaket and Layyanah’s place, and the entire thing had broken us, and then pieced us back together again. I wasn’t even sure how to feel now that if was finally over. Was I relieved that it was? Or was I sad that that there were no more excuses to have to revisit them again ?

“Okay, open your eyes.”

His voice was soft and smiling and as I opened my eyes, I couldn’t help but stagger slightly as I saw where we were.

We were perched at the edge of a deck, near the far end of a lake not far from home, and just below us, the blue waters glimmered and swished against the wooden posts, almost silent and calm.

Unlike the last time we had been to the beach, today was a sunny and beautiful day, and though a thought of a dip in those waters was actually extremely tempting, I knew I was too chicken to risk it.

It was a quiet part of the town and I knew that’s why Hamzah had chosen it. He valued privacy and as his brown eyes twinkled and watched me, in his three quarter shorts and grey t-shirt, I knew that he had chosen this spot on purpose. Probably so that if he threw me into the waters, not a soul was close enough to even notice.

His smirk was enough for me to take a step back, and fix my gaze at the blue skies that met the water in the distance. It was simply enchanting.

“What is it with you and the open waters?” I asked, shaking my head at him.

It was beautiful and all-encompassing, but everything he did or lead me to always came back to the gorgeously serene waters, in any form.

“It’s my thing,” he said with a sly smirk, sitting himself down at the edge of the wooden plane that was built at the edge, almost as if he was planning on chilling out right there for the rest of the afternoon.

I stepped forward to join him, but waited a little while before I did. There was something about him being there, looking out, that gave me a sense of calm. Watching his form, his arms behind him, hair tousled slightly as he watch the peaceful scenery of natural splendour ahead was a soothing in itself.

”Is it just your thing or does it also remind you of Liyaket?”

I had to ask. I realised that there wasn’t too much I asked about Hamzah in the past. He knew a lot about me, yet, not being the type to pry had its downfalls. There was a lot about him that I didn’t know.

”Maybe both,” he said, shrugging as the waves crashed around us. “It’s still my thing.”

”I thought smoking was your thing,” I teased with a smile, seeing the corner of his mouth lifting and a dimple flashing as I said it.

He didn’t have an answer to that, but I could see that nowadays he actually tried not to smoke around me.

Instead, as I moved forward, lowering myself next to him so my takkies dangled off the edge too, he looked at me again.

“Do you have a thing?” He said, switching his gaze to the open water ahead of us once again. The water was a sparkly blue that reminded me of the ocean. “Or did you ever have a thing you used to do before you started baking?”

I took a deep breath in, waiting for him to say something quirky about my Instagram obsession or my usual hobbies. Or lack of them. I mean, I loved to bake, but it became stressful when there were huge orders to fill. I really believed that everyone needed an outlet.

Something fun and interesting to do, that helps them to unburden. Something halaal. I knew that Jameela was obsessed with reading, and she read mostly good stuff. Hamzah swam and Liyaket hiked, and they were both really good at it. I remember Layyanah once saying that she used to enjoy horse-riding as a kid and teenager, until her mother got tired of taking her so far for the lessons.

I knew that having halaal entertainment wasn’t as hard as everyone made it out to be. It was the reason why todays kids resorted to haraam. They didn’t think that there were options out there, places to go to where they could enjoy themselves without actually indulging in sin.

“When I was younger, I used to skate,” I said softly, recalling that there was an ice rink down the road from where we to stayed. “Often, and well. It was something that I loved doing. Like somewhere I could go and just be free.”

”Ice skating,” he said with raising his eyebrows, his expression unreadable as he said it. “Sounds cool. What happened?”

I shrugged.

We got poor.

I didn’t even know that I had said it out loud, but from the way Hamzah flinched, I could tell that I did.

Oops.

”I’m sorry,” he said softly, reaching out for my hand as he said it.

I shook my head, but let him hold my hand anyway.

“The music used to make my mother mad,” I said, breathing in as I spoke. “So Papa used to pay extra for a music-free session, early on a Sunday morning. It was a good solution. I loved it. After stuff went down…”

I trailed off and he watched me, as I recalled the first time I saw people pushing my father around. It had broken my heart.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said softly, and I shook my head because I realised that I did.

It was the first time I had ever spoken about this. About how I had pushed my own dreams aside to help my family. About how I never looked back to that point where my whole purpose for doing what I did had changed.

Why should I want to make a difference in the world in any other way when my own family needed me? 

”I didn’t want to be an accountant,” I said flatly, breathing out as I said it. It was the first time I had ever said it out aloud. “Because my father as always set on it… he wanted a son first, of course. I had convinced myself that it was my dream. That it was the best career choice for me. After year one, I was still contemplating whether to change my career choice… still thinking about what my dreams were… and then I saw the fear in my father’s eyes once when someone came to threaten him about not meeting payments, and I knew that I couldn’t fail my parents.”

Hamzah was silent, but he squeezed my hand. Almost to edge me on.

”And so I sucked it up,” I said, not meeting his eye. “And that’s why I tried so hard to get to the top. That’s why I managed to stay focused. Get into Hammonds. That’s why I …”

It was time to stop talking now, and I knew that he would understand. It’s why Faadil made sense to me at the time. I never wanted my father to ever be like that again. I didn’t want him to ever feel worthless and kicked around by people who thought they were better than him.

I knew that everyone had their story, but sometimes we just need to see the other side to understand the reasons why people do what they do.

Maybe I had to try and apply the same to how I felt about Rabia. It had been a few weeks and though I greeted, I never made an effort to make more conversation. I was still angry at Hamzah for letting her badger me on instagram, but according to Hamzah, no one’s opinion on instagram is even worth worrying about so there really was no problem.

My breathing was shallow as I stopped, and it was a millisecond of pity in his eyes before he looked at me, the love in his eyes as stark as the sunlight.

“You act so tough and hard, Mos,” he said softly. “Maybe now and then you should let some of that armour down. Does Nani… Jameela … does anyone even know how much you do… you already did… for the family?”

I looked away as he watched me with disbelief as I shrugged. Wondering how I could do all that without even gaining some kind of recognition.

That wasn’t what it was about.

Every sacrifice a person makes paves the way for the next one. Until they come so easily, they no longer consider them sacrifices.

”You’re one of those most beautiful people I know but you don’t let anyone see it,” he said, his voice strangely unfiltered as he said it. It was like he was speaking straight from the heart and I was slightly bowled over.

“I don’t let anyone see it because I’m nothing great,” I said, truly believing that Hamzah really didn’t even know the half of what I was like. He knew nothing about everything I had become in between.

“You can’t say things like that about yourself,” he said, his brow furrowing as he looked at me. “I will always defend you, you know, even against yourself.”

Psssshht.

He didn’t know that I didn’t deserve defending. I sighed and looked away, trying to ignore his stare burning into my cheek.

“You have regrets,” he stated, and I knew it wasn’t a question.

I shrugged. Who didn’t have regrets? Did I have regrets? I did. But not about what he thought.

“Everything happens for a reason,” I said quietly. “I think everyone has pieces of their life that they wish they could do over. Pieces that we regret. But those pieces are also the pieces that we learn the greatest lessons from. If I didn’t continue with my BCom… if I didn’t work so hard… if I didn’t get into Hammonds…”

The statements hung in the air as we both stayed silent, listening to a bird teetering somewhere beyond the rustling reefs.

”You wouldn’t have become a part of my life,” he finished off for me. “And I wouldn’t have changed my life either. You, me and Zaid were decided a long time ago.”

“Touché,” I said quietly, breathing in as his thumb did circles on my palm. The air was quiet and full of words all at the same time.

Indeed, everything that happened was joined together to give us a piece of thread that connected us to each other.

And it’s true that everyone had regrets. Things they wish they didn’t do.

When you make tawbah, regrets aren’t even valid anymore, because it’s like those things you regret no longer happened.

Ibn ‘Abbas (May Allah be pleased with them) said: The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said, “If anyone constantly seeks pardon (from Allah), Allah will appoint for him a way out of every distress and a relief from every anxiety and will provide sustenance for him from where he expects not.” [Abu Dawud, Hadith 1873].

The literal meaning of the Arabic word tawba is “to return” and is repeated in the Qur’an and hadith . In the context, it means to turn or to retreat from past sinful and evil activities, and to firmly resolve to abstain from them in future. And that was the entire point of Tawbah, right?

It made me think of what Hamzah had been telling me about Zubair. He had been giving me snippets of his life in instalments, and it was strangely thrilling, hearing just how someone’s life could change only due to intentions. It was fascinating to hear how he had been someone who he hated… and then became someone who everyone looked at in a completely different light…

After hearing about what Zubair had gone through, about his life and everything he had gone through… well, how can I even compare my regrets?

And yes, it had changed so much about what I had thought of him. It made me think that maybe I had been too fast to judge him, and that maybe he really did have a real reason for being with his uncle… For doing the things he did. Maybe he could actually justify all the bad things that happened to him. Maybe sometimes things aren’t just black and white.

I had thought bad of him but the ironic part was that I knew people thought crappy things about me too.

“I know what people think of me,” I blabbered, still unable to let it go. “Like Rabia feels I’m not good enough for you…”

”Who cares what everyone thinks about you?!”he snapped, sounding angry as he shook his head at me. “You did things no one else should have done at your age. Sometimes we think it’s self-explanatory. That everything should just follow the rules. But bad things happen. People mess up. Get into ugly situations. You did what you could, even if it’s against the norm and maybe you messed up and you got slack for it, but so what?”

“I’m not a nice person,” I went on, because he had to know that. “I’m edgy and I’m sarcastic and I don’t let people get close to me. Everyone thinks you’re too good for me and don’t pretend that you don’t know it.”

I couldn’t believe that I had actually said that. That I sounded so not-together. Even when I pretended I was.

Hamzah looked positively startled by it.

“Mos,” he said, his tone completely changed now, as he fixed his gaze on me. “Get this. While I was busy messing around, you were being a bloody grown up and working your butt off to support your family. You did it with a good intention. Intentions count. You did it for your family. Not for name and for money and all the things people think you became a CA for. I think that makes a difference. What makes a difference to me is that you gave it all up in the blink of an eye because again, it was the right thing to do and it was what made me happy. It was what made Allah happy.”

”But-“ I wanted to argue that somewhere along the line my intentions changed, but he cut me off.

“Enough,” he said, getting to his feet as he stretched his arms out in front of him. “I won’t hear it. I’m going for a swim.”

Typical male. His realist side was too real for even the realist me. He said it like it was, and that was that.

I sighed and simultaneously widened my eyes as I watched him lower himself into the water, unable to contain my laughter as I watched him flinch at the temperature of it. This was a side of him that ventured into the wild. Craved the excitement. Went completely off the charts with boldness.

And although I knew he was expecting it, I bluntly let him know that there was no way I was getting in there, even as he tried to convince me that it wasn’t as bad as it looked.
It reminded me of the first time we had encountered icy waters, way before we even knew everything would happen the way it did. We were once so misguided and silly, but somehow, through the little guidance we sought, we managed to find a way to the other side…

Somehow, Hamzah had got me into the water after only ten minutes. I actually enjoyed it, and let myself relax a little because time was limited before we would have to head back for Zaid, I knew that the least I could do was give in to his whimsical wishes and enjoy the time on the water.

What I didn’t expect was emerging half an hour later to pull out fresh clothes from the bag, and glimpsing my phone in the process to see twelve missed calls.

Even for Nani, that was a bit extreme. No one else had tried calling. If it was an emergency, someone else might have.

But they didn’t. I still wasn’t sure whether to panic or not.

“It’s Nani,” I said, as Hamzah glanced at me while layering towels onto the seat of the car so we didn’t wet them. “She’s tried calling a few times.”

”You missed Taaleem?”

His voice was filled with humour but I wasn’t smiling. I knew that what Nani would have to say would be on her status or in message form.

I scrolled through my chats, scanning through for Nani’s name, and finally searching it, seeing Jameela’s messages that mentioned Nani. I quickly tapped the chat and opened the 8 messages that were unread.

Jameela was straight to the point and my heart beat a little faster as I skimmed through.

I just couldn’t do it.

I told Nani that and she wasn’t happy.

She said she was going to convince me otherwise.

Mos, I can’t marry the doctor. I just don’t feel right.

He’s not the one for me.

I didn’t read any further, because Nani’s incoming call at that point distracted me.

She was definitely WhatsApp stalking me. She would have also seen me online so there was no way that I could ignore her without causing a ruckus.

Hamzah had jumped in the car now, glanced at me watching my ringing phone like a crazy person, and immediately frowned.

“Babe, you okay?”

I looked at him, still not sure what to do.

“Wish me luck,” I said to Hamzah, just before sliding my finger across the phone to answer.

My gave me a thumbs up, and I knew that I was going to need it. This was going to be one tiresome conversation and I was not looking forward to it. I was only being realistic in my thinking. From everything that Jameela had told me, there was no use hoping that things would actually work out for them.

The realist in me told me so.

The other reality was, I wasn’t even exactly certain that I could play it cool because if Nani ever found out that I was actually in favour of Jameela’s decision… she would never forgive me.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When we Lose Ourselves

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 68

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was me.

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

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

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

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

Yes. That bad.

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

And I supposed that it happened for a reason.

I sighed.

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

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

My. Goodness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhmm,” I said vaguely.

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

She was still talking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where did I even start? 

“Jameelas guy called to propose.”

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

Hamzah raised his eyebrows.

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

Mr Smoothie, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I looked at him and he smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had to pretend to be shocked at least.

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

He nodded feebly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His women? Did she really just say that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Love to hear from all the readers

 

Much love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: 

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

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

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

Keep in mind:

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

Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 6446, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 1051

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

Starry Nights

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 62

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

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

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

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

What I didn’t expect was his silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sucked in my breath.

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

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

Hmmm. I wondered what they spoke about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, not okay. But I’d survive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The prices I paid to get his attention.

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

He found it funny? It was disgusting.

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

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

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

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

He shrugged nonchalantly.

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

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

وَٱلنَّجۡمِ إِذَا هَوَىٰ ﴾

By the star when it goes down(falls).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A date. That was super cute.

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

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

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

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

---

Dearest Readers,

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

Much Love

A xx

Just something useful I came across last week:

(Don’t laugh)

How To Fight With Your Spouse

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

The real question is: HOW do we disagree?

What should these arguments or fights look like?

Should they be a free for all?

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

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

What’s fighting dirty?

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

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

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

This is fighting dirty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2️⃣. No name-calling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If done wrong, fights can destroy a marriage entirely.

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

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

Mission Revive a Sunnah: Avoiding Suspicion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Springtime Secrets

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 61

Jameela

I truly believe that there’s no better place to spend the springtime than outside, with the grass beneath your toes, sun shining hot, wind blowing cold, sitting under the towering jacaranda trees, letting violet-tipped blossoms fall all around you.

And as my morning dwindled away in that very nature and I finally decided that it was time to find my way back inside, savouring the feeling of morning air that draped itself around me like a new dress, I couldn’t help but soak it all in.

Green upon green… beauty upon beauty… met my hungry eyes as I glanced back, feasting on the glorious colours that springtime had brought. Untying my soiled gardening attire and flinging it on a low bush beside the kitchen entrance, i couldn’t help but smile as I heard Nani’s voice, picking flowers and making a bouquet to post next to the kitchen counter when I stepped back inside.

It was just one of those days that I felt direly in need of having springtime sprinkled over everything.

As much as we appreciate the beauty of Spring, as we witness the splendour of the seemingly dead being revived, as colours spring from nowhere, and possibilities are abundant… when sweetness blooms… we tend to forget that our lives and our hearts need a season of blooming too.

The truth is that the true nature of the human heart is as whimsical as spring weather.

And to aid the heart, the Qurʾān and the Sunnah are two flowers whose fragrances are only smelt after they are watered. They are the spring of our life that revives our lost soul, waters our parched hearts and plant seeds of hope once again. They are a mercy to mankind, reminding us that our hearts can still bloom with love and gratitude, in appreciation of the gift that Allah sent to restore our brokenness once again.

I would never forget the first colour of spring bloom that year, and the point in time which I spotted it just before the kitchen window as Nani spoke nineteen-to-the-dozen in the backdrop. It had started off with an amazingly unique, peachy colour, as it opened into a bronzey orange that twinkled in the sunlight and that I found simply enchanting.

”I heard our Mosee is gone to the stay at Hamzah’s Dadi,” Nani was saying, her eyes looking even more serious than ever as she glanced at me coming in, her hands busy with chopping the coriander for her next batch of samoosas. “I hope she is behaving properly and not being lazy, like how she acts here. Won’t even lift a spoon and act like she is so busy with the baby. I won’t be surprised if her mother-in-law and sister-in-law are watching her every move and complaining.”

”I don’t think that her mother-in-law is with them,” I said innocently, purposely not divulging Mohsina’s annoyance about the fact that her sister-in-law was constantly in her face.

That was marriage though. There’s always someone who will annoy or irritate you and you have to just keep having Sabr and be the best kind of person you can to them.

Often in our journey in life, we forget that everything about our purpose in life should be channeled toward getting closer to our creator.

And of the most sublime characters of the propagations of Islam, is the quality that trumps all other. Good character. How we treat others.

“Also,” I piped up, remembering that she had actually been trying to create a good impression. “She took some cheesecakes with.”

”Chi,” Nani said, shaking her head, not looking impressed in the least. “One tray of cheesecakes? Whose nose that will go into? When I got married we cook big, beeeeg pots of food and roll 5 kilo flour of rotis every Saturday. No one to even help until Nanas brother got married. If I had baby, I would put baby on top of counter and do work.”

Eish. Nani and her competitiveness. Honestly, it was like the people were made different back then. How they managed, I don’t know.

“But mummy, she’s improved a lot,” Ma said, sticking up for Mohsina. “From not even making a breakfast now she even fries an egg for Hamzah every day. At least she is giving him something.”

”Bhengori, you always defend her,” Nani said stubbornly, raising her finger as she pushed her scarf back. “From day one, Mohsina never learn to cook. Only one thing you and Iqbal taught her: study, study and study. Big big accounting books and no Indian delights. Jameela, you don’t get all these funny ideas. You can only study best BSc. Baking, sewing and cooking. That’s how you will keep your husband happy.”

I smiled, not trusting myself to say anything else. From my friends who were married, I knew that cooking was something that they all struggled with at first. Our generation was just a teeny bit spoilt. Our mothers did everything for us. But as I saw Mohsina growing and learning in marriage, I knew that there was hope for me too.

Besides, I knew that men weren’t only worried about stuffing their faces, right? What about love? I was a sucker for love. Feelings. Emotion. That was important too, right?

“You will have no troubles if you can keep husband happy,” Nani was going on as she cleaned the dhaniya. “And that other doctor I was talking about, Jameela, I think we must go and meet Khairoon and he can see you-“

”Mummy, I’m not sending my daughter like that so one boy can see her,” Ma said stubbornly, raising her eyebrows as she sipped her cup of tea. “If he wants to see her we need to ask Jameela if she is okay with it and then he can come home properly.”

I smiled shyly, not really feeling this whole proposal thing. They just made it sound so unromantic. Meet the boy. See if you click. And then… it’s the waiting game.

But also, maybe I needed to wake up and say goodbye to the dream of being swept away by my Prince Charming and stop saying no to every guy that everyone suggested.

For Mohsina to actually encourage me to get married before twenty was a big thing.

“Bhengori, how can she not be okay with it?” Nani said in gujarati. “Don’t give them so many choices, you must decide and let her meet him at least.”

Goodness, I must just meet all these random men. My nerves will be frazzled. The situation would be so awkward. What if I hated him?

To me, she turned and said:

”Jameela, he is sooo fair and handsome, like one white man he is,” she said dreamily, and I couldn’t help but giggle.

For Nani, fairness was gold. Why were Indian people so shallow?

What about his akhlaaq? His Deen? His attachment to the masjid? What about how he deals with people.. and how much of the Sunnah he has in his life.

Either way, Nani was going on about him like he was some kind of faultless being that fell from Jannah and also, well… if he was so nice, why didn’t she marry him?

“But Nani, I don’t think white men are my type,” I said meekly, trying to crack a joke.

“But he is a doctor,” Nani said excitedly, as if that was the be all and end all of life. “Khairoon already said he wants to come and all you have to say is yes and they will come tomorrow.”

No. She cannot be serious. This was pressure. I could feel my cheeks flaming up as Nani and my mother looked at me expectantly.

”Er, okay,” I found myself saying weakly, knowing that I was going to regret it.

The look on Nani’s face was priceless though, and I supposed it was worth her excitement if I had to sacrifice my own comfort for a little while.

And as I left the kitchen, leaving my mother and Nani to make their plans for tomorrow, I couldn’t help but feel an odd sinking kind of sensation in my gut.

And as my eyes fell on the dusty peachy orange colour of the rose as I stepped out into the afternoon sunshine, my hand automatically stretched out to enjoy the natural feel of it’s silky petals and I couldn’t help but feel my heart lifting. No matter what happened… what my heart endured… Nature just brought something out in me that I couldn’t even describe.

I would purposely go out there and read my Qur’ān and soak in all the goodness that it’s words had to offer me in this surreal setting.

I had purposely escaped Nani because I knew that spending more time around her was going to give me nerves, and as I heard someone come from behind me, I couldn’t help but smile as I glimpsed my father coming down the stairs after me.

I knew that he had been busy lately with the shop and trying to think of new ideas to keep things going. From time to time, I assisted and I knew a little about the worries he faced and him hoping not to fall back into the hands of loan sharks and people who would threaten his peace of mind.

“Salaam Papa,” I said softly as he approached me, stretching out his arm to squeeze my shoulder affectionately. I leaned in for a short embrace, realising how much I’d missed my father the past few days while I had been avoiding the coffee shop.

My father’s arms, for me, had always been a safe and comforting place. I knew that for Mohsina, being as independent as she was, she didn’t see him quite the same way. For her, Papa was the one who needed the protection. Papa was the one who would turn to Mohsina for guidance and if there was ever a problem, she always knew exactly what to say. How she took on so much was beyond me…

“I hear they’re planning your marriage,” my father said, grinning as he saw me roll my eyes. I wasn’t surprised to hear that Nani would probably even start shopping for her outfit tomorrow.

“You coming to the shop?” he said, looking at me with a smile. It was a Saturday and one of the busier days of the week.

“Are you alone there today?” I asked, not revealing anything in my expression.

He simply nodded and then looked at me again. I didn’t know that Papa was alone.

But as he said it, I vaguely remembered Nusaybah mentioning something about her and Zubair going to see a grandparent that weekend, which was something that her brother has asked for time off for.

And I couldn’t help but remember the day before when I was out there, thinking anout what a wonderful person Nusaybah was. When I first met her, I never thought that she would turn out to such an amazing character.

Meeting her was like a gust of fresh air that came with so much of amazement and splendour. Not only did I learn about the beautiful character of the Nusaybah bint Ka’b who her mother named her after, but I learnt so much more.

Nusaybah bin Ka’b (RA) was a well-known ‘sheroe’ of the time and gained a reputation as the most distinguished woman who took part in the Battle of Uhud. She was one of two women who expressed an interest in swearing their Bayah or allegiance to the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) in the second pledge at Aqaba. She believed that a woman had the same duty in defending the new religion as a man.

When I met Nusaybah, her character was so similar to the war attendant she was named after, that every time I looked at her, all I could see was this amazing and determined young lady who wanted to help the world. She was so quirky and animated, but at the same them, so focused on Deen and just trying her best to be the best.

Most of all, I could see she had this deep-rooted concern for her brother, and having no mother, had stepped into that role from ages back. She often spoke about how Zubair was so young when he lost his mother, and how she always tried to toughen him up before she died. And though she didn’t go into much detail about her brother due to obvious reasons that she probably did not want to divulge… I figured that she really loved her brother and just wanted the best for him…

“Jameela,” my father said, jolting me back to reality, and there was a flicker of concern in his dark brown eyes as he looked at me. “Are you happy with meeting this doctor boy?”

I looked at my father, not meeting his eye as he said it.

I stayed silent and looked down, feeling too shy to say anything more, as he ruffled my hair, noted my silence, and then walked along again without saying a word more.

There were times when I felt that maybe Papa knew more than he let on. After all, it was Papa who was always around when I tried so hard to mask my feelings and disappointment when Zubair would barely even acknowledge that I existed. And I knew it was wrong and that I had to fight my feelings, and this was precisely why I had been making myself even more scarce, and I think Papa knew it.

But how did I even explain that to my father?

I caught myself in the nick of time, before my little train of thought ran into a full daydream, because I knew very well that even thinking of the possibilities was steering my thoughts into dangerous territory.

As much as I tried to stop myself from forming any sort of attachment, there were some things I couldn’t control… like the severity of my beating heart when he came into the vicinity, or the fifty shades of pink I would turn if anyone mentioned his name. It was like long before we even knew of each other, something within me already had an inkling that at this point of my life, this guy would appear and take over all my sanity.

Stop, I warned myself, trying with all my might to control my nafs. My sister had warned me way too many times about him.

He wasn’t good enough. Not rich enough. Not educated enough.

He was far from suitable and I couldn’t even think about a future with someone who had no proper form of income. My father himself was still finding his footing, and to depend on him to support us was quite ridiculous. Right?

And as I walked along, with no real purpose, with the thought of everything had happened and the mention of Mohsina as well, I knew that it may be about time to check in on her. I suppose I better tell her that Nani was quite intent on calling Doctorsaab home, and that would probably be something she might want to be back home for the following day.

I recalled that she had a hectic week with people going crazy on her on Instagram after someone falsely accused her of some sinister intentions, and I hadn’t spoken to her much about it. How people could just divulge and share things with no verification was beyond me. I knew that it was a lesson to take. Social media was such a horrible platform because with the click of a button, someone’s izzat can be completely ruined.

Feeling for my phone, which I could never seem to hold onto for very long, I found myself heading back inside, purposely ignoring Nani’s voice from the kitchen.

I couldn’t deal with her excitement right then, and as I reached the lounge, the buzzing of my phone was coincidental as I grabbed it and scanned the screen, immediately seeing Mohsina’s name.

Jamz, I need to know something.

It was a simple question but I wasn’t sure what it was about the message that got me on edge.

Shoot.

My reply was casual and simple but I was dying to know what she was asking.

Was there anyone else who saw Faadil the day he came home?

That was random. Why on earth was she revisiting the past like that? Unless Hamzah…

Oh no, I was already getting nervous for her.

Me: Did Hamzah find out ??!

Mos: Just answer the question. I can’t call right now, but…

My heart was beating steadily in my chest, as I tried to think back to that day. I was in the coffee shop, pulling out the sack of flour when I saw him in his formal attire, and as I spoke to him briefly… it was clear to me then.

Clear as day.

Me: Zubair saw him from a distance. Is everything okay?

I was well aware that she didn’t like Zubair and I truly hoped that she was not going to pin anything on him.

Mos: I told Hamzah about Faadil.

Oh my word. My heart thudded in my chest as I read the message again.

Me: Mos. Is he okay?

It was a dumb question. Of course he wasn’t okay. I couldn’t imagine how that must feel. I didn’t ask her how much she said. I just hope she told him enough to clear the air.

Mos: You know Hamzah. He hasn’t said much but I can tell he’s upset. Probably hurt. We can’t talk much… we’re not home, and his sister is hovering over us like a sniper. I didn’t tell him about the day of the Nikah.

Me: You didn’t?

I was incredulous. Why was my sister like this? Why?

Mos: He will never believe that Faadil came of his own accord, and that will break him, Jameela.

Oh hell. Now I knew why she was asking. She was intending on keeping that a secret.

But was it wise?

I typed quickly, hoping to reassure her.

Mos, I don’t think that Zubair will ever say anything.

She took a few moments to reply this time, but I could see that she was typing.

I hope so, Jameela. I’m worried. My sister-in-law knows something and is causing problems for me and if this ever comes up, I don’t think Hamzah will ever believe that I wasn’t involved with him at that time. It just looked so bad…

She’s right. It looked really bad. It was as if she was stringing Faadil along all that time, when she was supposed to have ended things with him and decided to marry Hamzah. What was going through Faadil’s head at that time, I couldn’t understand either…

But the truth was completely different.

Let me think.

I sent those three words, hoping that it would settle her mind and make her stress less. Zubair was just a worker here. I doubted that he would get involved in things that didn’t concern him. i knew that there was no way.

I sighed, feeling a headache come on at the mere thought of all the admin this would entail.

Even the soothing scent of roses as I walked back to the house did nothing for my peace of mind, as a trudged along this time, wondering how on earth my sister got herself involved with a character like Faadil in the first place. Something that started with sin could never end in peace…

Now, there was this whole secret and Zubair was in the middle of it.

I felt as if she wanted me to tell him to be quiet.

I took a deep breath as I headed out, knowing that a small walk would help to settle my thoughts.

Maybe I could talk to Nusaybah or leave some kind of anonymous note. I wasn’t sure how exactly I was going to get the message across but I was quite worried for Mohsina and concerned about what this could bring.

Taking a walk around the yard as the sun made its way out for the day, I didn’t even realise that I was heading to the front of the property where the little houses and empty stable was.

With the sun blazing now in full force, I found myself trudging along thread the semi-dilapidated building that hosted a few different rooms, and two separate bathrooms for staff. I didn’t often come out there because there really was no need.

I knew that Zubair stayed around the front of the building and I purposely steered clear of that section, not wanting to intrude and intending on passing by without even giving it a second glance. Knowing that he wasn’t around today also made me a little braver, as I found myself looking around a little more intentionally, wondering which room exactly  belonged to him.

And as I purposely killed the curiosity and went around the back, despite the little yellow flowers that were blooming on the sides of the hedge, noticing that the part of the grounds were quite neglected, I couldn’t help but wander up the back pathway was looking like it needed a serious clean up. It was dreary and sandy and in dire need of some pressure hosing, and as I walked up to the little door that was once a store room for the horses equipment, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of eeriness as I approached… despite the scent of spring blooms in the air.

The cobbled pathway right there looked as if it was completely neglected, and for some reason, I was extremely wary about what may lie beyond the closed wooden doors that were now straight ahead of me. They were the typical old, oak farm style doors that were surprisingly heavy to shift, despite them being quite worn out, and as I found myself right in front of them, I couldn’t help but try and do just that.

And as I knocked on the door, just to be safe that no one was around, I couldn’t help shift myself around as I pulled up my dress slightly and used all my lower body force to attempt the door to budge.

Using my entire body weight now, it felt almost as if something was pushing against the door, stopping it from opening for some odd reason. As hard as I tried to dislodge it, it only budged like two centimetres, before getting stuck agaIn. And the more resistance it gave, the more determined to get in there I was, for some reason. I pushed and huffed a few times, putting all my effort into it, until something behind finally relented and it swung open to a certain point, giving me a tiny space just to move into and enter.

And as my eyes adjusted to the mild lighting and my eyes caught sight of what was ahead, I had to literally stop my legs from buckling underneath me, as I gazed in absolute shock.

All I knew right then was that everything that I had thought about Zubair… every little idea or inkling that we had ever assumed was true… was nothing further than the truth.

What was in front of me was the most unassuming thing that I could have ever imagined. All I knew right then was that this dark secret that had been revealed to me in this unexpected way was no coincidence, and in the depths of my heart…

I knew that there was no saving anyone from what would unfold from here.

---

Mission Revive a Sunnah: Avoiding Suspicion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

The Tip of the Iceberg

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 60

Hamzah

At some point, we all have to stop being consumed by moments.

In the understanding that nothing in this temporary world is limitless or perfect, we are somehow able to step outside the moments and see them for what they are. Sometimes what we can see, especially in this world of illusion we have come to live in, is not even the whole picture… but only the tip of the iceberg…

And it just so happened that it was only during that eventful weekend on the coast that the true meaning of contentment unfolded for me. No matter how much you fill your life with the best of this world, if Allah doesn’t feature, you will never feel complete. If Qur’ān, Salaah and Ibadat is lacking, we will never feel fulfilled. As we try filling the void with our virtual applications that take over our lives, we are always left feeling at a loss.

And though I usually looked forward to long drives and the peace it brought within me, while I was able to catch up with my Qur’ān and just chill out while doing dhor, if I heard that word Instagram one more time during the three hour drive down to  the coast, I was seriously thinking of opening the drivers door and just jumping off the moving vehicle.

And okay, I know I’m an idiot, but to tell the truth, I had been just a little preoccupied and I couldn’t help but overlook the fact that perhaps my wife wasn’t exactly thrilled about the sudden change of events either.

”You don’t mind if I give Hamzah company in the front, right Mos?” My sister said sweetly, pinching Zaid’s cheeks as he grabbed her head cover in a fist and then screamed at her bossily when she tried to pull away.

I tried to miss the part where Mohsina raised her eyebrows.

“Or you can give Zaid some company in the back,” Mohsina said in a casual fashion, trying my best to keep a straight face as I saw Mohsina narrow her eyes.

The truth was, I didn’t anticipate the dynamic between the two of them. I didn’t even think of these things because my week was a complete knock out.

On top of the financial concern over my wife and our ex-boss, moving money around from various accounts to make payments after I had forked out a sum for a surprise for Mohsina without knowing, was the worry that had consumed me from this morning. It was the previous night that I had found an e-mail from Hashim’s lawyer, for a hearing that entailed giving them rights to see Zaid, at the precise time that Rabia’s message about joining us had also come through.

The pressure was mounting as I thought of how Hashim had attempted in the past few weeks to threaten me multiple times, but I was barely fazed until the that mornings document came through. The nightmares I thought I had gotten rid of had returned, and as I awoke, I was literally shaking with anger as I gritted my teeth, trying to exceptionally hard to ignore the anger brewing within.

I honestly felt like escaping with Mohsin to wherever he was heading to next, just to get away from it all, but I knew that it wasn’t exactly the most mature thing to do. Besides, I couldn’t leave Mohsina and Zaid now. I didn’t want to.

“Geez, you guys,” Rabia said excitedly, pushing up her sunglasses and adjusting her weird turban cap thing-um with a big knot on the top that she sometimes wore. “I’m so excited to be seeing the beach after ages. Like a real Jo’burg person. Mos, did you see that reel.. the guys going crazy as they saw the beach and doing all these crazy things?!”

Rabia had recovered quickly from having to sit in the back seat, but she was also pushing limits when she started the conversation either way. I had my pods in my ears and barely even caught onto what she was into.

”Mhhmmm,” Mohsina said, and I didn’t even register the note of disinterest in her voice. It was a default tone for her not wanting to fully engage in a conversation and I knew it extremely well.

I had glimpsed my wife’s stony expression in the rear view mirror that day and with Mohsina, it wasn’t all that difficult to tell. Her pretty face would get all flushed when you provoked her and her one talent was the ability to act as if nothing was wrong, when there clearly was something very wrong.

You okay?

The message I had just typed out to send her made a small ping in the back of the car, and as I glanced at my rear-view mirror, I couldn’t help but smirk as I saw the usual and intentional roll of her eyes and toss her phone aside.

Just a moment ago, she had picked it up to check something, but as soon as she saw my message, I already knew that there would be no easy way of dodging her bullets.

Oh yeah. She was annoyed. Though I didn’t entirely understand Instagram dramas and how they work, I knew that she had also been a little down because of some dodgy things that were going on there.

I pinched the bridge of my nose as I felt the urge to light a cigarette, knowing that it would only exacerbate things if I did.

I sighed, knowing that although I knew that she was seemingly upset and overreacting a little, the drama that now ensued was a welcome diversion from the the burden on my shoulders that had felt this morning, and as Rabia’s voice broke through my thoughts as I closed my Qur’ān application for a minute, I couldn’t help but find myself listening in on what they were saying once again, as much as I didn’t want to be…

”And oh my word, did you see those amazing places they visited in Dubai? You guys have to go there when you make a honeymoon trip!”

Honeymoon trip? Was it some unwritten rule that we had to go overseas?

“And I don’t know if you saw the other influencer,” she continued. “The one from Cape Town who did those ads for Adidas… she went all out with her trip, recording every little detail of it which was so helpful so you know exactly what to expect at every stop. From the business class lunges to the airports, food and edutainment… It’s makes it so simple when you’re travelling… I wonder if all her hotels were sponsored, gosh… don’t you miss those free trips Mohsina? I’m sure you used to get a helluva lot of freebies…”

I wasn’t sure what Rabia was getting at, and it was a seemingly innocent question, but I was already irritated at Rabia digging up social media dirt. I couldn’t help but hear a tone of accusation in her question, wondering if it was coincidental.

It tuned out at that point, not really wanting to listen, preferring to put my Qur’ān back on. Honestly, it was like Rabia now lived her own life through those moments of the instagram slaves she scrolled through as she spent time on her delusional application, filling some huge void for validation.

I frowned, wondering if this was going into dangerous territory. I could tell that Rabia watched people live seemingly cool and passionate lives online, judging herself against it, thinking it was real.

And I wanted to argue but with Rabia I knew there was no point as I plugged the pods back in my ears and we had just turned onto the coastal road which boasted the most stunning shoreline I had seen in months. All our eyes were already glued to the coastline, and the incredible Qur’ān recital playing in my ears heightened its appeal significantly.

The miracle of the Word of our Rabb was that no matter how many times we listened, we never tired of it…

And being here, with the salty air filling my nostrils as I opened the window, I already felt a huge relief within my chest. To top it off, Mohsina’s  mood no longer mattered because I already knew that once everything was settled and I took her out on the knockout lookout which used to be my favourite spot as a teenager, she would have no choice but to lighten up. I mean, there was no way she would see such beauty and not be moved by it.

I ignored Rabia as I caught her opening her phone, trying to focus on my intense relief as I finally reached the driveway of my grandparents place, because it meant that she was probably saved from me completely losing it. Thank goodness she would be getting off now, and I felt my stress levels immediately decline as I thought of it.

And as I drove up the slight incline, already pulling out my cigarettes because I knew that I would be craving after the long and tiresome drive, I couldn’t help but smile as I saw my grandparents coming out the front door, like they always would, ever since I was a kid.

And while many grandkids were close to their maternal grandparents, for me, it just so happened that I was the opposite way. For me, the coast had been my favorite getaway, a home away from home and the one place that I couldn’t cope without seeing for an entire month.

When I had learnt to drive, it was the first long distance trip I took out, and I truly believed that it was for this place being my favourite that my grandparents, even in their older age, never moved away from here, and I was honestly so glad.

And as I helped my wife out, already seeing Dada and Dadi making their way toward the car to receive us, I couldn’t help but feel elated that they could finally see me at this stage of my life, all grown up and together with my family. I knew that I was lucky to have them both with me, and many other guys my age didn’t get this.

And at the risk of sounding a little too emotional, the thing with Dada and Dadi was that there was a host of things that made me really attached to them. Life hadn’t been easy for them. My grandparents were always struggling to make ends meet. My father grew up in a poor home, and Dada had worked many different jobs to come out at the end of the month. It was him and seven other siblings, and even though Dadi had a small home business through which she subsidised their income, somehow it was still difficult. My father started working from a really young age, battling in many different ways before he finally found his feet in business when I was a kid and bought my grandparents this place close to my older uncle’s house, which they loved with all their heart.

And as I watched them, I realized that it had been over a month since I’d seen them and I had barely realized how much I really missed them.

In the bright afternoon sunshine, as they slowly approached us, it seemed like the first time that I’d noticed the little creased lines that became more prominent on their faces. My heart contracted slightly as I gazed at them up close, and as I sling my arm around Dada’s shoulders, I couldn’t help but be grateful that he was actually here to see this part of my life.

“Your Dadi couldn’t wait for you’ll to get here,” he said with a lobsided smile, patting my back affectionately. “She’s been in the kitchen from the minute she heard, making all your favourites.”

I instantly felt my heart swelling with love for her, at the same time as my stomach attempted to growl.

And as I glanced at her, with her hazel-brown eyes that still shone as brightly as they ever did, I knew that a simple greeting wouldn’t do, as I saw her smile at me with the same love she never failed to show since I was a kid, I knew I had no choice but to lean forward for a massive  hug, not expecting her voice to sound so emotional  as she spoke.

“Missed you, Hamzoo,” she said softly, using the nickname she always had as pecked her soft cheek, and I could feel the overwhelming emotion with which she meant her words.

Dadi was a woman of few words, but she was never the type to miss a thing. And as she hastily turned to meet my wife and Zaid, I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening to my heart at that point, because I barely realised how important this meeting was for me.

I briefly watched my two favourite people embrace for a minute, feeling a weird sensation in my heart as Dadi looked at me and then Zaid, almost as if she couldn’t believe how far I had come now, a family of my own with all these responsibilities…

I turned away as they spoke softly… intently…. And as Mohsina and Dadi walked along together a little, I already knew that I didn’t have anything to fear about them getting along, especially as I just finished pulling along the suitcases into the house and went back out to check on them, I was already feeling more settled.

“This place is amazing,” Mohsina was saying as I approached them, her mood already lifted as she gazed out to the stunningly blue seas that could be seen from wherever we stood. It was one of those days when the sky was achingly flawless, and the vastness of it simply took our breath away.

We hadn’t even entered the house yet, which boasted some of the most scenic views, and my wife was already completely mesmerized by the charm this amazing place held. Living on the coast was just a completely different experience altogether.

And I knew that I was jumping the gun, but seeing that Rabia had made herself useful and taken Zaid to Dada for a little walk around the yard, and knowing that there was still time for Asr Salaah, I knew that there was no better time that the present to get out there and be a little adventurous. As much as I wanted to tuck into Dadi’s famous cuisines, I really wanted to grab the last bits of sunlight before the day ended.

”Dee,” I said, calling my grandmother by her nickname as I placed my hand on her shoulders, feeling the frailness of her body as I held her, not really believing that my grandmother was already in her seventies.

They were sitting in the bench overlooking the ocean view, but seeing it all from this point wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to get closer already, to submerge myself in the beauty it boasted.

“Would you like to join us for a walk to the lookout?”

Dadi smiled and shook her head.

“Your Dada and I just went this morning,” she said with her usual lazy smile. “It’s such a beautiful day. Take Mohsina. Yesterday we spotted some dolphins, and you may get lucky again…”

I could see Mohsina’s eyes widening as I glanced at her and grinned, trying to figure out if she had forgiven me or not. Either way, at the mention of dolphins, it had the desired effect and I knew she couldn’t refuse joining me. At least I wouldn’t have to spend on hour grovelling and trying to make it up to her. I mean, who doesn’t love dolphins?

And as for me, I was hoping that the beauty and peace it brought would help her to forget all the drama of the past week.

And grabbing her by the wrist, without even giving her a chance to argue in my grandmothers presence, I had already pulled her toward the gate we usually used to get onto the beach path.

“Hey, what about Zaid?” She said seriously, looking back as she watched Dada entertaining him as he let out a few giggles.

He had settled so well in the past few weeks, and I was so glad that he was a friendly kid. Being out in the open now after that trip was all he needed right now.

”He’ll be fine,” I said softly, pulling her along despite her resistance. “He’s in good hands.”

She let out a frustrated sigh as she pulled her hand away from me, but went along with me anyway. I couldn’t help but smile as I glanced up at the skies, pulling on my cap and glancing at her stubborn expression.

And because the path to the beach was exceptionally close and as we walked down silently, falling into step with each other, I couldn’t help but find myself reaching out for her hand again. It had become such a natural thing that I barely even realised it, and as she allowed my fingers to grip hers, I couldn’t help but conceal a smile as I snuck a look at her stormy face. And even though she was annoyed with me, I couldn’t help but think of how gorgeous my wife looked right then, as she refused to meet my eye.

I cracked a smile as she scowled at me as we stopped to take off our shoes, knowing that I wasn’t completely off the hook for my last minute stunt anyway. Taking a step closer to her, I traced my thumb over the outline of her jaw, forcing her to look at me angrily while she lifted her hand to swat mine away.

She was so stubborn sometimes that she made me laugh.

”I didn’t mean to pounce on you,” I said softly, catching her eye as she looked back at me. At that point, her eyes were filled with so much of honesty and sincerity that I didn’t quite have it in me to just ignore her little tantrum.

After that drive and all the social media obsession, I was actually really regretting letting Rabia come along with us.

Mohsina stayed silent as I watched her for a moment, when she was hastily started feeling her pockets, and I knew exactly what she was looking for.

“Oh gosh, I forgot my…”

I smiled as she trailed off, knowing exactly where I had left both our phones, and well aware that I had purposely intended to leave all technology behind today. I just wanted to sit there, under the streaky skies, watching the riders of the sea crashing against the waters, roaring away with every new wave…

And because I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, I turned my gaze to the view of that had already captivated her, watching her eyes fix on the tide that was endlessly ebbing and flowing, as we gazed at it together. The sound of the seaside captured us from every side, echoing off the rocks surrounding us.

For a moment there, the entire world melted away as the rhythmic sound of the ocean overcame my senses, and like an old friend, meeting once again at the shore… being out there had already calmed me and settled me incomparably. The oceans embrace had cleared my mind and already gave me a new perspective on what had been worrying me.

”How vast is this ocean?” Mohsina said softly, and I couldn’t help but swallow emotion as I gazed out at the limitless waters that seemed to go beyond eternity.

How vast is Allah Ta’alas Arsh? How vast was His creation?

Allah’s Messengerﷺ said,

“When Allah completed the creation, He wrote in His Book which is with Him on His Throne, “My Mercy overpowers My Anger.”

(Bukhari)

“Imagine how vast is His mercy,” I whispered as I let my eyes feast on my favorite refuge, unable to withhold my amazement for that minute.

We could barely understand it. What we could see was only the tip of the iceberg. What we understood was only a meagre and minimal part of what really existed. It truly boggles the mind. None can fathom the greatness of Allah, and as I looked out, I could only imagine the beautiful array of marine life and coral that lined the ocean floor like a limitless burst of magic beneath the surface. Who knew what splendour lay beyond those enticing waters?

The thing was that everything becomes a lesson for us, when we are in tune with Allah’s greatness. Every ebb, every ripple, every whiff of salty breeze… every tiny creature or little rustle in the trees behind us… all becomes a means of looking to Allāh’s greatness and magnificence.

And as we stepped over, along the little bridge that served as an entrancing lookout to the open seas, it was no secret that Mohsina was completely captivated by the beauty the was before us. Its infinite beauty just got more and more intense, with every step we took as the seas spread before us in all their glory, and being there again reminded me of how much I loved this place as a teenager.

And as the wind picked up slightly, I pulled off my puffer jacket to put around my wife’s shoulders, while she smiled gratefully and  I saw her then in a completely different light. I realised why I kept bringing her to my favourite places. I realised that I was letting her into more and more of my world, and as I saw her out here, in the open, or out in the wilderness, the affection of nature having its effect on her, it reminded me again if the girl I sometimes saw beyond that determined go-getter.

Beneath it all, there was a softness within her when she let herself give in to nature, when she embraced the free spirit within her, and for a minute, I glimpsed that vulnerability once again. It was the only reason why I kept taking her out to the places I loved. It was the one time I saw her letting go of the shackles that the world and social media had captured her with. It was the only time that I witnessed her as herself.

And while I thought of it, being here with my wife made me excited, and scared, all at the same time. She had come so far… conquered so much, but this past week had been difficult to deal with everything that had happened. She was all cut up about recent events and how that virtual life could suck you back in became a concern for me…

“Can you see that bird on the wave?” I said softly, pointing to a white seagull that was playing around in the choppy waters, my eyes not leaving it for all that time, as it swam on its appointed wave. An amazing thought struck me as I did…

Mohsina’s dark eyes turned to look at the seagull, and a small smile flashed on her face as she did.

She nodded as we both fixed our eyes on it, her hands now tighter around mine as she watched it fluttering around, riding the wave and balancing expertly as it rose and fell once again.

I took a deep breath, hoping to relate what I meant as best I could.

“I once heard an Aalim say that everything in nature has a lesson for us,” I said softly, my eyes not leaving the scene before us, as I spoke. “And I was thinking… You know… Life is so uncertain. Unpredictable. Difficult at times. We all face challenges, get hurt, fall to our knees… But like how the bird stays on its intended spot, not matter what the conditions… on the crest of the wave, battling to keep his momentum but still succeeding… We too should battle through the tests and the turbulence to keep ourselves on track, to always be struggling with our Nafs… no matter what challenges we face…”

It was normal to slip. To fall. To find ourselves flat out on our backs at times. But we keep getting up. Even after we fail, after we sin, after we find ourselves feeling like we’ve lost the battle completely… there’s always getting up again, and until we leave his world, it’s still never the end.

She looked at me, and I didn’t meet her eye as I said it.

The thing was, life was a constant battle. We always face challenges. Shaytaan is always out to trap us. And after the past week, I was scared of losing Mohsina to what she used to be. I was scared that with the influence around her and with so much that was threatening to destroy her, she was going to get lost in that world that she had once been submerged in once again. I was scared that my sister was having a bad influence of her too. I was so scared that she was going to start losing herself, and this time, I wouldn’t be able to save her. How do you save someone from their own self ?

I mean, I knew that the decision to marry her was because I could see something shifting within her. What I didn’t want was being back at that point where I felt like I was fighting a losing battle.

I was scared. And it wasn’t even about losing the battle anymore. I was more scared because from someone who was completely averse to emotion, I could actually feel something for Mohsina that I never felt before.

And I never believed in love, but if you ever had to ask me, this thing that was starting to take over my heart, was probably the closest thing to it that I ever felt.

I pushed away all stray thoughts as I shoved my hand into my pocket as I breathed out, pulling out the box that was in there for the past few days, knowing that I didn’t want to make a big deal out of this.

I had it with me since the previous week knowing that I was waiting for the right time to give it to her, and right then… well, it just felt right. Also, I knew that it would be a good diversion.

“I’ve got something for you,” I said as I turned toward her, not knowing what else to say, as she finally turned to me, I could tell for a moment as that this was something she didn’t see coming.

She widened her eyes and swallowed silently, stunned as she stared at the diamond stone set in a band of white gold that I had purchased just a week ago. It was something that I knew we hadn’t done when we had gotten married because everything was so sudden and unconventional, and though it was seriously delayed, I always wanted her to wear a band like other married couples do. It was just something I felt passionate about. The whole ring exchange thing hadn’t happened for us, but I really wanted to give her one.

She was still staring for a minute as she looked as me and then at the ring, her eyes glistening as she met me eye. And I had purposely done this very casually and I had no idea what was so emotional for her, but I knew women were strange so I barely even thought much of it as she finally opened her mouth to speak.

And of all the things I had expected her to say, I never expected what she said next.

“Hamzah, no,” she said briefly, closing her eyes and shaking her head as she snapped the box shut. Of all the things, it was the furthest from what I expected.

I couldn’t help but frown as I watched her turn away, trying to figure out what on earth went on in this woman’s mind.

For me, I just felt that we hadn’t exactly done everything the right way around, and of all the things I really wanted.. well, this was one. To be an actual married couple with the formalities and the ornaments, even though it was a little extra, well.. it wasn’t like it was wrong.

“I can’t,” she stammered, her voice shaky and I couldn’t even understand why. “It’s too much, I’m costing you too much, Hamzah. I’m sure you didn’t intend on doing all this…”

The money. She was still worried about the money, when I told her she didn’t have to. It was true that this month had stretched me, but I had a plan for my finances.

And I knew that she still doubted me, but I really and truly believed that we could make this situation a perfect one. I just wished that she could too.

She was still shaking her head, as she turned away and faced the open seas, which seemed to be getting choppier with each passing moment. Their storminess was having an immense effect on my mood and I shoved the box back in my pocket, not knowing what else to do. I was angry and annoyed.

What was it with this woman? Why did she always challenge me? Every time I felt like we were getting one step closer, it seemed like it was two steps back. Here I was, slowly opening up to her more and more, and it seemed like all Mohsina was intent on doing was putting up wall after wall…

It was already a few moments of silence that had passed before I felt her hands snaking around my waist, and before I even knew it, she had already delved into my pocket.

The box was already opened and without another word, she already pulled the ring over her slender finger, gazing at it for a second as I looked at her and raised my eyebrows, wondering what it was that made her tick.

Truly, my wife was one of the most complicated conundrums for me, but as I looked at her, I couldn’t help but laugh at her ridiculous temperament. At that point, I was more vulnerable in her presence than I had ever been.

I mean, who says no to a diamond ring?

“Right from the first day I met you at Hammonds,” I said, shaking my head and pulling her closer to me, trying to swallow the emotions that she had brought on in the last few minutes. “You annoyed me more than anyone in the world, Mos, but I still want to spend every irritating moment with you.”

It’s true that when I first met her, she was one of the people who I would try to avoid at work. I supposed it was because she was so focused and driven and trying so hard to be at the top. She always went all out for everything, even though I knew that for a woman, it was always much harder to get to where they wanted to be.

Women empowerment was her thing. Her passion. Her reason for pushing herself as far as she had and getting where she did in her career.
And though she kept proving to me, what she didn’t realise was that the minute she had put her own desires aside to tend to Zaid, and bring up our son, her status for me was already on Saint level. Thats all she had to do. I mean, women fought so hard in every avenue, but all Allah Ta’ala asks of them is to please their husband, and their Jannah is made.

Simple and so easy.

And that’s what made her all the more special for me. That’s what made even the things that never made sense to us, finally make sense.

She finally grinned as I watched her stick her tongue out at me, but there was a certain something brewing in her eyes as she did.

“You’re my happily ever after,” I said simply, hoping to make her smile but as I said it, it was as if something in her shifted and all of a sudden, she turned away, almost as if she was shying away from something that I had no idea about.

Did I say something wrong?

“Mohsina,” I said, frowning as I watched her, confusion creeping over me. “Is everything okay?”

”I’m sorry,” she said, pulling her hand as she tried to move away from me.

”What?” I asked, frustrated now, my eyes searching hers for answers.

Any answer. Any reason. Just something, dammit.

And unbeknownst to me, the whole trip here was turning out to be a bit more than I bargained for. I didn’t realise that Rabia being with us had brought on a whole lot more than what I anticipated, and that much more was said that I had no idea of.
I wasn’t even aware that what Mohsina was about to say was only the tip of the iceberg, and within the crevices of her pained heart there was much that was still left unsaid.

She stepped back, leaning on the balustrade as she pulled my jacket tighter around her, almost as if she was harnessing some kind of turbulence that was wrecking havoc within.

And then she took a deep breath, and finally met my eye.

“I have something to tell you.”

---

Dearest readers…

A little bit of drama to unfold… but let’s see how Mohsina finds her way out of this one… Any pointers on whether she should reveal it all or not?

Request for Duaas

Much Love

A xx

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Time Management:

We come into this world with an allocated amount of time. We should, ideally, spend this time to please Allah and strive toward our Aakhirah.

Among the harms of social media are the harms of time wasting.

May Allah Ta’ala enable us to be particular even about our digital time, and save us wasting our time on these frivolous activities.

Oh son of Adam. You are nothing but a number of days. Whenever a day passes, another day has gone. (Fadhaail e Sadaqaat)

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

A Dreaded Diversion

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 59

Throughout history, it’s a well known fact that a fair percentage of women have always worked… whether as servants, housekeepers,  ladies’ maids, governesses, teachers, and tutors. Their children were never looked at as neglected, well… not anymore than the well bred housewives of the nineteenth century who rarely attended their children, surrendering the brunt of the child-rearing to the governesses.

And whether or not we like to admit it, with the shift in roles and the expectations of the twenty-first century, feminism has created a rather tricky backdrop to the mix.

And I knew I had once challenged this very notion, but one thing I’ve realised was:

The plain truth of the matter is that women were indeed, and still are in fact, more respected and cherished by men and other women when they keep their work to the confines of domestic endeavors.

The truth is that, no matter how hard women push or strive for acceptance in every single avenue, we have to, at some point, submit to the fact that everything in life has a purpose, and every creature has its sustenance already decreed.

“And there is no creature on earth but that upon Allah is its provision, and He knows its place of dwelling and place of storage. All is in a clear register.” Surah Hud: Ayah 6

The thing with rizq is that it’s not only about the ‘big bucks’.

Rizq too, as Allah sends it, comes in many different shapes and forms. It was a beautiful analogy that never struck me until a time of my life where I was forced to realise that whatever was meant for me, whatever reaches me, and whatever is destined, was never going to come only through my paycheque…

Often, I’ve heard people ask for Barakah in their provisions, but sometimes we fail to realise that it’s not only about our earnings.

Barakah can be a dealing with righteous people, that Allah sends as a blessing. Barakah can be an amazing family, with children who are passively contented with even the smallest of things. It can be your faithful spouse, who even when odds are against you, still comes through when you need it the most…

“I’m just finishing off with these messages,” I said, almost absent-mindedly, as Hamzah exited the bathroom, scrolling through as fast as I could and trying to distinguish the most hostile ones first.

It had been an hour after and though Maahira had helped me do some damage control and post a general story and post, there was stil so much to be sorted.

And though Maahi with her newly revamped Halaal account, had helped, I wished I could just throw in the towel and delete Instagram. I couldn’t help but be hooked on every little development. It was as if I was being sucked into the Bermuda Triangle of false delusion once again.

Also, Maahira’s efforts were pretty short-lived because it had just so happened that when she was leaving, she had happened to glimpse Hamzah’s friend outside, and on top of all the messages on Instagram, was her dozens of iMessages to do with her piqued curiosity about an eligible bachelor that she seemed to spot.

I didn’t even have the energy to explain to her that the Mohsin in question had a bit of a complicated family history and he wasn’t exactly looking to get hitched as yet.

I glanced over at Zaid who was sleeping soundly in the co-sleeper cot we had bought and as he shifted the duvet around, I didn’t even spare my husband a glance.

I barely even realised that Hamzah had already read his Qur’ān that he usually read aloud every night, because unlike every other night when I would wait to hear him, tonight I had barely even heard to his recitation that would dispel the evil and negativity that usually conflicted with my peace at this time of the day.

On that day, I was so focused and absorbed in my parallel world that I barely even let the effect of Qur’ān penetrate my heart…

And I knew that there was a reason he did this. The pious elders advise that this recitation of Qur’ān was meant to be a beautiful antidote for evil, for negativity and a remedy for every problem that we encounter as the darkness engulfs us. It’s just that, for me, besides losing myself to darkness completely, sometimes we don’t even know where’s the switch.

By the time I finally looked up and actually paid attention, he had already pulled off his kurta and slipped on a new pants as he got ready for bed. I was way too busy tapping away, trying to respond to each message individually, and uphold my virtual reputation, before everything went completely out of whack for me.

I just couldn’t figure out who hated me so much that they would be so intent on destroying my life.

And as my anxiety levels were reaching danger level, there was a single comment that caught my eye. A particular posted one by some random user without any real identity had literally floored me, and my heart flipped frightfully as I read it.

Theres a reason she is after everyone’s money. For the inside on how she lost her job, dm me

My word. What a huge scandal this was turning out to be.. To say I lost my job so confidently …  Could it possibly be Faadil or one of his right-hand guys who could have started this and blown it out of proportion for attention?

I mean, even for him… this was below the belt.

Apart from a few  emails that I had deleted without even reading, there had been no contact with him otherwise.

And as I looked up at the amazing guy I had wanted to change so much for at that time, because of his love for Qur’ān and my own yearning for it… I barely noticed him pulling out his miswaak like he usually did to keep on his bedside, next to his water bottle like he did every night. He had already set the alarm and switched off the bathroom lights. Hamzah was the closest thing to OCD without actually being OCD. It was weird, but in a completely unconventional way.

With all the emotions surging through me at that point, I could barely even focus on what he was doing and seeing, and I wasn’t even sure what was going on in my mind.

“Mos,” he murmured, as he set his phone down on charge on the pedestal in its usual place, pulled the covers over and edged closer. “It’s getting late.”

I could hear the insinuation about the phone in his voice as his hand came to rest on my shoulder, while I shifted away almost involuntarily. I knew that I was being a bit edgy but I wasn’t in the mood for any affection.

That last comment had been the final straw…  I was now anxious, highly strung and completely vexed about the social media events.

Of course, Hamzah’s frame of mind was also being tested and I didn’t want to be a catalyst.

“How long more?” He asked, noting my unresponsiveness as I tapped away, his tone colder now as I deleted the comments on my post and moved on to the next message. “Can’t you just give it a break for now?”

I shook my head vigorously.

“I just cant believe what these people think of me,” I said, feeling like I wanted to cry, not even taking my eyes off the screen. “It’s all fabricated…”

“But so what,” he said in a frustrated tone, propping his head up on his hand and staring at me while he narrowed his brown eyes. “Everyone is just pretending to be your friend on that thing anyway, so you think they like you. They don’t even like themselves, believe me.”

I had pulled off my hairband and hastily pushed the stray strands of hair back and looked back at him stonily.

“You are so cynical,” I retorted, sighing as Hamzah watched my reaction, and I swore I could see a smirk on his face. “So you’re just judging everyone on social media, saying they don’t like themselves, that’s why they’re there? What kind of dumb logic is that?”

I wasn’t even sure why I was having this conversation with him. It felt like we were back to all those months ago when he would purposely take the mickey out of me for having TikTok. The thing was, I wasn’t as crazy as I was about social media but hello… it was the way of the world and you really could not live under a rock in the twenty-first century. Like, can he be any more of a hater?

“All I’m saying is, do these people’s likes even matter?” he said with a confident and indifferent expression, his eyes having a hint of sarcasm. “People are fickle. They follow you today, tomorrow they’re gone. Their likes don’t pay bills, okay?”

Hamzah knew how to rub salt in the wound.

”Gosh Hamzah,” I snapped, glancing at him as he looked at me, my phone already shoved aside and forgotten for the moment. “Their likes and their follows actually do pay my bills. Stop being selfish. I don’t have a job. I don’t have any other income besides what social media ads or reviews that I do, and after Zaid came into the picture, I don’t even have much time to do them. I need to set things right before I lose all my followers, my profile and go completely broke with no one to even help me!”

Hamzah looked stunned for a second as I said it as he raised his eyebrows silently, and I watched him retract to his side of the bed, as if he had been physically assaulted.

My heart immediately contracted as I watched him swallow back what seemed like a huge fraction of frustration, and promptly tap the light switch off.

And then of course, as we were submerged in the darkness and silence ensued, the guilt started to creep in, and I couldn’t help but take another peek at the silhouette of his probable stony face and sigh in absolute resolve.

It wasn’t his fault that this had happened. There was also no need to bring Zaid into this. I felt indescribably guilty for pinning it on the child.

I was sorry. Sorry for snapping and being mean. Sorry for blaming our situation and making it seem as if it was all his fault…

“Hamzah…” I started, not exactly sure of how to say it. I was sorry for making Zaid an issue?

As much as I wanted to apologise, I couldn’t help but feel he was being a little emotional, especially after I’d been through so much that evening. Sensitive much?

I wanted to reach out and win some brownie points again but I wasn’t the type to swindle my way, so I waited a few seconds for him to respond, before I breathed in, and watched him turn around until he faced the ceiling.

I turned slightly as I watched him, a little fearful of what he was going to say. It wasn’t often that Hamzah got angry and it was obvious that my comment had provoked him.

His voice was icy as he spoke out in the dark.

”Do I look like the type of guy who would marry someone just because of circumstances?”

Okay. That was out of the blue.

“What do you mean?” I asked carefully, watching the rise and fall of his chest in the dark as he breathed.

His question was ambiguous.

I wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about. I put my phone on the pedestal anyway, knowing that there was only one way to salvage myslef.

“You seem to think that you can’t treat me as your husband,” he said briskly, answering my unsaid question. “Or maybe it’s just that women in our generation are too used to relying on themselves. Maybe you have too much of pride and independence that you can’t seem to get used to the idea of asking someone to actually help you when you have a financial problem. Why get married when you can do it all by yourselves?”

Ouch. That was a low blow. Even for Hamzah.

I lay very still as he spoke, barely even breathing. With the last sentence, he sounded like he was utterly exasperated by my continuous efforts to downplay his role as a husband. And maybe he was right.

The truth was, I didn’t want him to think that it was something I needed from him.
Money was an issue. It was no secret that it was the main downfall that caused us to break apart, and the main hindrance even when we wanted to get back together.

Money was the root of so many problems, and I could see it literally expanding as a huge boulder for us.

It was no wonder that Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said that the thing he feared most for the ummah was not poverty, but wealth. Money was the source of every evil and the root of every abominable act. It was the reason for divorce, the motive for so much of disunity and discontent ….

”Mos,” he said, his tone a little gentler now, as he noticed my silence. I wasn’t silent often. But what else did I say when he asked something like that.

“I can’t,” I said simply, knowing that he would get angry but needing to let him know it.

The thing was, if it was for me… I could do it. Maybe I could learn to. But the thing was…. how do I just ask him for money for my parents or my siblings or some mafia people who were harassing us? How do I ask him for money to pay back Faadil, who I deeply suspected was causing a problem for me because of it. I mean, I had asked him to take the money off my last salary but he didn’t.

Now he was probably thinking of other ways to get back at me. I had to pay him back as soon as possible…

“I’m used to earning my own money,” I said defiantly. “It’s not pride. I just… I don’t like to ask for something that I haven’t worked for…”

“But Mos,” he said, his voice sounding kinder now as he spoke. “This is where youre wrong. Your income is not only determined what you earn. It’s not even determined by these crazy sheep who can’t even use their brain to distinguish right from wrong. Allah Ta’ala has already decreed it, from the moment you came into this world. Whichever means, whatever way… even if it means me being a proper husband and providing for you, because I’m meant to be the source of your rizq… it is what it is. Never more. Never less. Dont you get it?”

It was such an amazing analogy that I couldn’t even fathom the magnitude Allah’s planning here. That before we were even born, our sustenance was already decreed. SubhaanAllah!

I was still silent, digesting all of this that Hamzah was drilling into me in a most diplomatic fashion.

“Mohsina, you’re my wife,” he said quietly, his voice so sincere and genuine as he said it. “You have to promise me, whatever you want, you need to ask, okay? Let me look after you, as much as you may hate the idea.”

My heart contracted as he said it. How could I promise him that? Did he even know what I would want money for?

“Hamzah,” I started, wanting to argue with him. He worked hard too. Knowing that my hard-earned money had gone to those ridiculous loan-sharks for disgusting use was enough to rid me of sleep at night. How would that make him feel?

”What’s so wrong with taking my money?” He pressed, turning to me and watching me in the dark.

It just didn’t feel right to take it. That was the problem. I couldn’t do this anymore. I had to tell him the real reason.

“I need to pay Faadil,” I said suddenly, almost as if it was something I just could not keep in any longer.

I looked up into the darkness, bracing myself for an explosion.

Instead, it seemed that now it was his time to be silent.

“Bossman?” He said, after almost a full minute, and I could hear the hostility in his voice as he said it. “You took money from him?”

”Mmmhm,” I murmured, closing my eyes as I imagined how he saw the entire situation. I knew that it was only a matter of time before he probably went crazy on me.

But as the silence ensued and I assumed I was getting the silent treatment instead, his voice suddenly spoke out again.

”How much do you owe him?”

His voice was hostile, especially as he said the last word. My heart was still beating rapidly as I was about to say it, but before I could, he hastily interrupted me.

”You know what,” he said, sounding a little less vexed than a few seconds ago. “It doesn’t matter how much. Allah Ta’ala is the One who opens doors. Every door that we thought couldn’t even open. He is Al Fattah… the Opener. He is Ever Powerful…. All Knowing… and He will sort it out. I don’t want you to stress about it again. Do you understand? Ever.”

He was so natural and casual in his words, that I didn’t even doubt them for a second. It was like saying all those praises and reminders had completely and instantly put his mind at ease. Miraculously, even my own heart felt so much more serene…

“I just feel like it’s going to be okay,” he said softly, sounding like he was completely at peace right then. “You know?”

It was our thing.

You know.

I know.

And I did.

”I know,” I replied softly, letting his words calm my heart and uplift my spirit. These heart-to-hearts did something for my soul. Truly, he had a natural talent with curing my crazy heart, even in the most unfavourable situations…

And just as I was, he seemed deep in thought for a while before I also drifted off, his hand somehow finding mine under the covers, almost subconsciously, giving me an aching hope that everything would be sorted out the next day.

And as the sun made its way about the next morning and I woke up to the sound of Hamzah exiting the bathroom, watching Zaid and I in bed, I was almost wondering if I had imagined last nights little exchange. I waited for a question or some kind of reaction from him, but much to my surprise, he didn’t even seem shocked or disgruntled about our conversation the night before.

Instead, after he left for work, a sum of money had already reflected in my account and though it was more than I needed right then, I was overwhelmed by how he had settled my worries.

This guy was proving his worth over and over, and I didn’t even have any other words to describe his generosity and amazement with dealing with me. More than that, Allah’s mercy raining down on me right then was more than I could encompass. Indeed, Allah had most definitely decreed my rizq in a way that I would have never thought.

The emotions within me were overwhelming for  minute, and that week came to a close and I tried to play my part too, while also continuing to fix as much as I could without going crazy, I couldn’t help but feel drained by the end of it. Once again, with me being on social media almost every second Hamzah wasn’t around, my nerves were wrecked, my chest was aching and Zaid literally refused to get off of me.

The breastfeeding had entered a painful transition and I found myself scrounging around for nipple shields and all sorts of things for some relief.

In short, it was a pretty bad time for me. And so, when Hamzah looked at my gloomy face on Friday morning, I supposed that I understood what he was saying when he voiced his thoughts.

“So I’m assuming you’re not up for any adventures this weekend?” He said, giving me a cheeky grin as he watched my expression.

I rolled my eyes. Adventures for Hamzah basically meant surrendering myself to the wild. I wasn’t sure if I had the energy for it.

“I’m not sure if I trust your version of adventures…” I said with a small but tired smile, not meeting his eye.

The waterfall had been something that I couldn’t simply forget, and after the initial moments of wanting to strangle my husband, with the isolation that part of the forest offered, Hamzah had convinced me to make the most of it. The beauty, the splendour and not only swayed my heart, but also created a foundation for us… a place where we had finally slipped into a comfort zone, and learnt that sometimes we needed each other to discover better parts of life too.

“I actually wanted to see my family for a bit,” I said quietly, knowing that I needed to talk to Jameela. Even though I had messaged her, I desperately needed to have a heart to heart with her… figure out what she was up to and if she really thought this guy was the best thing for her.

Secretly, I was really hoping that Nani found one Taaleem Aunty’s grandson and got her married as soon as possible. I was really quite missing Nani and my mother’s banter. It had been two weeks since I went home.

”I had an idea,” Hamzah said quietly, and I smiled as I looked at his excited face.

Weekends were his playtime, and his mind was already  working ahead to plan.

“Do I want to know it?” I asked with raised eyebrows.

“You may be interested since I’m the bonus,” he said with a smirk, “We can you go to your parents later or on Sunday? I want to see my grandparents on the South coast. It may be bit of a drive so we need a night there… But trust me… it’s going to be worth it.”

Why did I get the feeling he was planning something crazy and wild?

“Plus, no offense, but you look like you really need a break.”

I stuck out my tongue at him. In short, he was saying I looked like crap.

Okay, I know that I didn’t look great and I’d been slacking with my daily care routine, but I had literally been so drained. The social media front had died down, but somehow, I still got the feeling that it wasn’t over yet.

What I didn’t know it provided was an opportunity for nameless people on social media to discuss me within themselves. I didn’t know that the information that had come up due to this was a dangerous web of lies, embroiled with tiny truths, that could still ruin me…

I hastily looked in the mirror as I saw Hamzah watching me, seeing a flustered, tired looking girl with an untidy bun staring back at me. I instinctively massaged the area under my eyes, feeling as if my circles were becoming more pronounced with each passing day.

He said like I looked like I needed a break. That was a hint, and I knew I had to step up my game. Especially since we were going to meet his grandparents for like the first time ever, I knew that I had to make a good impression.

I had carefully picked out my outfit that I had bought on one of my recent breastfeeding-friendly online sprees from Shein, a button down Abaya style modest dress, coupled with a matching Sheila to go. Making sure my ankles were fully covered and no hair was exposed, the nude shoes I had chosen perfectly complimented  it. I felt something like an Instagram diva, minus all the selfies, and I was glad to keep it that way.

There was still a half hour before Hamzah wanted to leave and while he strapped Zaid in the car seat and went to buy a quick something that his Dadi had asked for,  so it was the perfect timing to grab my Sephora and Mac bits to ensure that I was going to look like a human today.

The black and sage dress was sitting beautifully since I had lost another kilogram (due to all the stress) that week and my nude-colour inspired make up (thanks to the latest MUA tutorial) was almost perfect. After the rough week I had, I really needed to treat myself to a good facial and makeover and I also knew that Hamzah might appreciate me looking unlike the haunted ghost figure I resembled for the past few days.

Also, we desperately did need the couple time. A diversion from the toxicity of social media. Out in the sun, water on my skin, with the waves crashing in the background. I was very much looking forward to getting sand in my nose and toes and who knew where else… for me, it was going to be salty feels all the way.

And as I grabbed my matching handbag and the famous mini salted caramel cheesecakes I had made to take with, meeting Hamzah at the door, I couldn’t help but notice  him raise his eyebrows.

“Excuse me, but who are you again?!” he asked with an exaggerated stare, as Zaid gurgled and I grinned while I passed them.

And yes, though I had made an intention to dress up for my husband, I knew that I had to look good for his grandparents too. With all due respect to us both, they can’t be thinking their grandson married a jungalee.

I winked as he widened his eyes at me, pushing my fashion sunglasses up to the bridge of my nose and keeping up my poker face as I walked past him. I ignored him, putting on a full dramatization as I walked to the car, barely even looking up as I balanced the tray of cheesecakes expertly, my mood all in full swing for a most amazing weekend ahead.

This time, I wasn’t going to be a wet blanket. I could be pretty fun too, if given some time. I just needed to be in the right zone with the beach vibes, and with my new outfit, I was completely in it. I was all psyched up.

Hamzah had already locked up and I had just popped the tray into the boot and got into the car, checking on Zaid who was still happily gurgling as he was restrapped in his car seat for now. He probably wouldn’t last long there anyway. He also barely recognised the civilised looking woman who was here, but it probably didn’t matter to him anyway, as long as his food supply was still intact.

And as I took a seat, watching Hamzah leaning against the back of the car with his phone and cigarette, puffing away calmly, I was kind of wondering why he was taking so long. Maybe he was so shocked that I could actually look normal, that he had to recover.

Hehe, I grinned to myself. After all, it was good to impress your husband now and again.

And while I sat patiently for a few minutes, it was only a matter of time before I pushed open the door, turned my head back and looked at him questioningly.

I was anxious to start this road trip. I was also really nervous about meeting his grandparents. Would they like me? Think I’m too educated? Would they have this whole impression that their son needed someone more simple? I knew how people in Hamzah’s family looked at me sometimes. Maybe I should have worn plain black. Was I being too fancy?

It would only be the second time to see them… but the first time was at our Nikah and you could barely count that.

I sighed, twisting my fingers nervously.

“You ready?” I asked, still on edge, not being able to resist looking at his cigarette with disdain as he puffed away.

Eugh. He was going to be honking by the time he came in the car.

He nodded silently, releasing a cloud of smoke before throwing the butt down and squishing it under his grey casual takkie.

”I am,” he said, his gaze fixed on me as I waited for his answer. For some reason, he was just looking at me silently, but not even getting into the car.

“So now?” I couldn’t help but say, raising my eyebrows at him.

“You look nice when you’re annoyed,” he said with a stupid grin, and I wanted to smack him. What was going on? 

“Hamzah,” I said frustratedly, now full-on irritated. “Are we going or not?”

”Oh, that,” he said casually, coming around and opening the car door in a most relaxed fashion, while he took a seat next to me instead of the driver’s seat. He was so calm at times, he actually made me anxious. “Didn’t I mention? We’ll leave in a few minutes. My parents and Rabia are nearly here. She’ll be joining us for the weekend.”

What?!

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Time Management:

We come into this world with an allocated amount of time. We should, ideally, spend this time to please Allah and strive toward our Aakhirah.

Among the harms of social media are the harms of time wasting.

May Allah Ta’ala enable us to be particular even about our digital time, and save us wasting our time on these frivolous activities.

Oh son of Adam. You are nothing but a number of days. Whenever a day passes, another day has gone. (Fadhaail e Sadaqaat)

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

Damage Control

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 58

I blinked as I glanced at my phone, scrunching my nose up and narrowing my eyes slightly as I saw the notification that came in just a few seconds ago, not fully comprehending why I felt so uneasy about it.

It had been a while since I had changed the settings on my phone. All notifications and alerts had been silenced and I was trying my best not to get distracted by it.

And I had made a habit of keeping my phone away from me, especially in company, but as I saw it, I couldn’t help but feel that this was a matter of urgency.

Gosh. I could not believe my parents. I sighed audibly as Maahira suddenly stopped talking, and watched my expression.

“Somethings happened,” she said, without missing a heartbeat, as she shifted her gaze from the enticing waters to me. “Shoot.”

The city lights were twinkling in the distance, as  we sat on the patio of Hamzah’s parents house in Johannesburg, enjoying the evening breeze. Maahira and I were sitting on the edge of the pool, dipping our legs in.
Despite the soothing sound of the water and the rustling of the leaves in the near distance, I couldn’t help but still feel a little unsettled. After being back from the farm, with the serenity I felt there, I couldn’t help but feel as if everything else paled in comparison…

Also, with my mother’s constant messaging, there really was no peace at all.

Beep!

She is a very nyc girl.

My mother was describing the girl who Jameela had apparently befriended a few weeks ago.

Frankly, I didn’t care if she was a nice girl. She was way older than my sister and I couldn’t possibly think of anything good that would come out of this, and I sincerely hoped that I wouldn’t have to do damage control to fix it after.

Your uncle is makin a trip 2 London next month and Jameela wants 2go. I think it wil be nyc for her.

My word. Since when did my mother become so liberal? 

“Sorry,” I said to Maahira, realising that I hadn’t heard a word of what she’d said in the last minute. “My mother. She wants to send Jameela to London! Can you believe it?

Maahiras’s eyes immediately lit up.

“That will be awesome!” She said with a smile. “Who will she go with?”

”Its not awesome!” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just… Firstly, I can’t believe how my mother is allowing Jameela to go for this rose whatever class with this girl she literally just met. Like, can’t she go and study something more beneficial? And now she wants to send her to London where this girl lives. What is she trying to do? I just know that this is trouble.”

I didn’t mention to Maahira that this girl was actually the sister of the guy that was involved with the loan shark Mafia. That Zubair character. She had vaguely told me that the girl had come home, looking for her own brother, and that already spelled trouble.

“Jameela can look out for herself, don’t you think?” Maahira said obviously. “She’s mature enough for her age and she seems to have her head screwed on the right way.”

”You don’t understand,” I said pointedly, ignoring the niggling feeling that I may have been too hasty in judging. But she obviously did not know my sister when her head was in the clouds. Jameela thought with her heart, not her head.

“I have a feeling that this thing is going to blow completely out of proportion. My parents are getting old, Maahi. They can’t parent anymore.”

“Mos,” she said, raising her eyebrows at me. “What’s so bad about it?”

“I just think she should at least do something beneficial,” I said heatedly. “Instead of pottering around in the garden and thinking of coffee shop and glamping ideas-“

”Mos, I think you’re being a bit harsh in her,” she said, cocking her head slightly and then studying my expression. “The coffee shop helped your father’s financial situation too. And so will the new project. Jameela has business sense and amazing ideas. But it’s not that, is it? I  think that something else may be bothering you…”

I looked away, not meeting my friend’s penetrating gaze for a while, as the breeze caressed my open neck.

For a night in the city, the skies were particularly breathtaking. Last night, after Zaid had fallen asleep, Hamzah and I had come out to admire them, and it was quite surprising how the twinkling night skies had soothed my constantly frazzled nerves….

“It’s this guy,” I said finally, relenting with my friends penetrating gaze. “This girl’s brother. He’s completely unsuitable and my sister is obviously smitten with him. My mother is completely oblivious, but neither does she care either.”

I sighed emphatically, while Maahira narrowed her eyes at me.

“What’s unsuitable about him?” She said with a questioning look. “Is he abusing drugs? Has a drinking problem? Going around with women?”

I looked at her, pursing my lips slightly as I answered.

“Well, no,” I said indignantly. I couldn’t exactly say something that wasn’t true. “But he’s just not the type of guy I want for my innocent sister. And he could very well be into that stuff. She’s not like me, Maahi. She’s not streetwise. You know Jameela. She’s so unassuming and sweet. How can she ever be thought suitable for a guy who has connections like that?”

Maahira looked at me, and I could see a hint of confusion in her eyes.

“So you have nothing against the guy in particular?” She said, now raising her eyebrows. “Just his uncle, who he doesn’t have contact with anymore?”

I know it sounded a little immature, but also, Jameela needed someone who could look after her. This guy had absolutely nothing. Nothing.

”Mos, do you know how hard it is to find good guys these days?” She said, shaking her head at me disappointedly. “Like, if the guy is not clubbing and drinking and just making the most out of his single life, then he is seeing dozens of women and just being an obnoxious mess-around.”

I shrugged, immediately thinking of Hamzah. Yes, there was a time when he was probably an obnoxious mess-around, but how things had turned around in the last few months for him was something of a miracle.

Alhamdulillah, I didn’t have to worry about that. At that moment, he was gone out to meet some Jamaat friends that he had met when he went to Yemen. It was a comfort and a relief not to have to stress about the company he kept. And though I would never compliemt him directly, I knew for sure that Hamzah had the greatest quality to look for in a future partner, which is Taqwa.

‘The person who does not have religion, does not have anything.’

The truth was, with all the stuff happening out there and the Fitan that is so rife… If your guy is aware of his actions and has piety, if he has faith, he will be aware of how he behaves and treats you as a wife. The thing was, I wasn’t even thinking of that aspect for Jameela. I was blinded by the fact that the guy was basically non-existent, in the eyes of ‘educated professionals’ like myself.

”Is it so bad out there?” I asked with a small smile.

“Oh my word, Mos,” Maahira was saying, rolling her eyes as she recalled it. “You have no idea! Thank Allah that you are saved from these ridiculous guys. You would not believe what the one guy told me… Samoosa run number two. He actually asked me if I would be okay with him going out with his friends every second weekend. Like a boys night out. He said I can also do girls nights, and we can meet up from time to time. Like, what on earth is that even? Sounded pretty disgusting to me. Can you even stomach it?!”

“Nightmare,” I said, widening my eyes and shaking my head. “You would think that at some stage they actually grow up and want to have normal, healthy relationships.”

Once again, I felt an amazing spurt of gratitude for my own husband.

”Not a chance,” she retorted miserably. “Some of them just never stop. And then they get married and have kids and make their parents grey with their nonsense. I mean, look at Hashim. Still messing around and out partying every weekend. A friend of a friend confirmed it. I actually do feel sorry for his wife…”

It was achingly true. So many guys were still up to nonsense they did in their ‘experimental days’.

”And lucky you didn’t end up being the second one,” I said, giving her a reproachful look. She just looked grateful while she shook her head disdainfully.

”One of the guys that wanted to come home was apparently looking for one,” she said with a cheeky smile.

“Well?” I asked with a grin. “Would you ever consider?”

She laughed. I knew it happened, of course. At least they were doing it the Halaal way.

“I said I might consider him in five years time,” she said with a mischievous grin. “If I’m getting older and there are no hopeful prospects, there may be hope in the ones that have already been tested and approved.”

I burst out laughing.

Tested and approved indeed. 

I wasn’t quite sure how I would feel about it if Hamzah had to be the tested and approved version. I was quite the jealous type.

“The only thing there is,” she continued, not even fazed by my laughter. “Kids become an issue, man. Some of them don’t want kids because they’ve already been through all the nappies and tantrums and child rearing. I really, really want kids. Especially after meeting Zaidoo. He’s the sweetest little guy in the world. And I love that you’re feeding him. My sister in law breastfed all three of her kids till two and I plan on doing the same.“

I smiled. I never thought I would say it, but I also wanted babies.

“Besides, everyone is having babies now,” she said with a longing look in her eyes. “Remember Tauhida from school? She just had a baby girl last week. I’m actually so happy for her… after everything she went through in her previous marriage…”

I was silent for a few seconds, recalling the girl Maahira was speaking of, before talking again. I had seen a WhatsApp status and sent a congratulatory message, but I had actually forgotten what the poor girl had gone through after school when she mad gotten proposed to a guy her parents wanted for her.

”Can you imagine what she must have gone through?” I said softly, as Maahira shook her head. “The guy didn’t touch her for the entire year they were married. Can you even begin to think what her self-confidence must have been depleted to? ”

I honestly felt so terrible when I heard the story. It did remind me a bit about what I’d heard from Saaliha about Rabia, only her husband just had another woman that he was apparently involved with even before they were married. It was still disgusting.

”I wonder why they would make a girls life miserable like that,” she said, looking a little angry about it. “He turned out to be… well, we all know how the story went. If he had feelings for boys, they shouldn’t have forced him…”

Euw.

It made me cringe. Honestly, it was a sickness spreading over the Muslim youth and it scared me witless. LGBTQ and it’s acceptance was something that was becoming a norm.

And the fact is, as kids and even adults in this era, we have to explain to your children that this is haraam, drill it in them, instill it in them, make them hate the act for it to have an effect.

I remember as a kid, my mother would drill the fact that alcohol and pork was Haraam in us to the extent that we even visiting stores and restaurants that they were kept was Haraam and completely awkward. And though my mother was a bit of a dragon, its important for a kids tarbiyyah, because thats the effect drilling can have.

And its not always parents fault, but this isn’t something that only exists on social media. It exists in schools too and if we don’t speak out, if this is normalised… it will have a drastic effect, if not today then tomorrow. We had to take a stand and forcefully forbid the evil that this movement was bringing…

I mean, just thinking about what this girl went through made my heart contract painfully…

“A whole year,” Maahira said, still not able to get over it. “Imagine… who could be married and do a whole year and nothing …”

I smiled meekly. Indeed. It defeated the whole purpose of marriage.

“Perhaps the second wife option sounds more appealing then?” I said, nudging Maahira. “Rabia had one of those proposals. Apparently she was pretty close to accepting it.”

Maahira grinned.

”She’s brave,” Maahi said admiringly. “How is our dear Rabia anyway? Still stalking you and Hamzah?”

I sighed, rubbing my temples to ease the headache all this was giving me.

”If I’m not worrying myself sick about Jamz, I’m losing my mind with Rabia. Will it ever end?”

And of course, it was a rhetorical question but I couldn’t help but feel completely conflicted inside as I thought of her. The girl had been testing me endlessly and there were times when I wanted to literally punch her in the face. It was a shame that Hamzah was completely oblivious to it.

“I’m sorry Mos,” she said apologetically. “What is the deal with her anyway though?”

I shrugged.

“She’s just always giving me these weird looks and pushing my buttons. Lucky she’s not here this week and the farm is huge so I don’t have to spend too much of time in her face when we’re there…”

I rolled my eyes while Maahira smiled. I didn’t want to talk too soon.

We had one week left before we would move into the flat Hamzah had rented and I didn’t want to count my chickens. Rabia could pitch up at any time. Only, when we left yesterday, she didnt seem very impressed with Hamzah or I. I knew that I was being mean but I was secretly hoping ignoring her would keep her away.

The thing was, seeing how obsessed Rabia was with social media was also a reminder of what I once used to be. She wasted hours just scrolling through feeds, with no regard whatsoever for all the time that was going to waste.

Before I found the peace and contentment that Qur’ān had brought into my life, I was exactly the same. A bit like a headless chicken, running around in circles, looking for recognition from everyone else. I wished that I never saw days like that ever again…

“Well, I hope you guys still had really good couple time though?” she said, giving me a smile and watching my expression. “I heard Jameela say that it’s so beautiful there. I hope you guys took full advantages of the beautiful, open spaces…”

“We had a good time,” I said vaguely, not entertaining her insinuations, while she narrowed her eye at me and then winked.

“Stop looking at me like that!” I said, and I could feel my cheeks flushing.

Hamzah had really earned the trophy in terms of being the most amazing nature enthusiast and guide. Even though I wanted to kill him at times, exploring the farm and greenery with him had turned out to be absolutely rejuvenating…

“Has Mr Phantom Husband who barely exists, turned into Mr Romantic?” She asked with a smirk, and I avoided eye contact as I rolled my eyes at her.

And I never thought I’d say it, but the time away from the city was absolutely incredible. Beautiful. Refreshing. Completely idyllic.

Even the air felt different, and as I had gazed out into the never-ending fields beyond, my heart had already felt things that I had never felt before. Even though it was a day after we had been back, I still felt.

For the first time in years, Hamzah had made me feel completely at ease outdoors. He knew exactly how to make me switch off and take it all in…

And of course, why wouldn’t anyone feel that way there, in those completely gorgeous surroundings, where the smell of nature filled your nostrils and it’s sounds were like music to my ears? My heart felt so much more soothed there, surrounded by green, consumed by oak trees and gorgeous creepers with the most unusually patterned flowers.

The thing was, in a world full of streaming technology I had actually found solace in a place where a tree just remains a tree. What Hamzah had done, as we made the most of he surroundings was make me realize that life was passing me by, as I stayed hooked on my delusional devices. He was so driven and full of energy, and I couldn’t help but feel alive when he showed me some new discovery, or explained to me the most interesting scientific facts in nature, that were surprisingly right up my alley.

I couldn’t even remember when was the last time I had felt such serenity and take so much of comfort from it. I no longer felt the need to keep picking up my phone, everywhere I went. Besides the fact that Hamzah would probably throw me into the next waterfall if I did… well, I had successfully killed the urge to let life engage me with no other distractions.

”Come on, Mos,” she said pleadingly, not even noticing how she was eyeing me out. “Tell me. I can see you’re blushing. I never thought I’d see the day. Can we make the announcement. Are you actually in lurrrvv?!”

Maahira’s eyes were wide with excitement and I rolled my eyes at her as she made smooch noises and weird romantic sounds.

Oh goodness. She was the absolute pits.

“Come on,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows weirdly. “Admit it or I won’t stop!”

I was so consumed by her annoying sounds and trying to stop her from being the annoying BFF that she always was, that I didn’t even hear the voice call out from the passage until he had to literally scream from where he was.

And as we heard him, I could see the embarrassment creep onto Maahira’s face while I quickly got up to see what he wanted, whacking my friend on the back of the head as I passed.

She was so annoying. Not to mention, completely tactless.

I rounded the corner to see Zaid was perched on Hamzah’s hip and he had already let out a gurgle as he saw me.

“Sorry to disturb,” Hamzah said as I appeared in the doorway, and from the look on his face I could tell that he was concealing a smile. I was extremely embarrassed at Maahira’s behaviour but I tried my best to hide it. “I can see you guys having fun there, but this guy’s awake and I  need some help with some coffee. I kind of forgot where the coffee beans stay.”

Typical male. But shame. 

Nevermind Hamzah had lived here for a larger part of his life and I was only here a little bit more than a month. Hamzah was clueless where things stayed in the kitchen.

”Sure,” I said, grabbing Zaidoo from him and giving him a slobbering kiss, not meeting his eye on account of Maahira’s stupid behaviour. “I’ll just leave him with Maahi. You have company?”

I was still in hearing range as he replied in the affirmative, dumping Zaid with Maahira and giving her a smoldering glare as I glimpsed her cheeks turned crimson while she giggled away at her ridiculous behavior.

She was so immature. I ignored her as I turned back to the kitchen where Hamzah was, talking very professionally while I briskly opened the cupboards and pulling out the coffee beans tin, before filling it in the machine.

I had just topped up the milk when I heard my phone on the counter buzz, but fighting the urge to pick it up straight away, I placed the coffee cups on the tray for Hamzah and whoever his company was, and took out another tray for Maahira and I.

The men were in the front lounge and as I called out for him through the passage, I thought it would be a good time to check on those notifications before I headed back to Maahira and Zaid.

I mean, it would only take two seconds to check and get back to them.

My hand was already sliding upward on the screen, before I saw the crux of what the message from Jameela was about.

Mos. When last did you check Insta? People are going crazy on you.  

I blinked, staring at the message again as I processed. My fingers were already opening the app as Hamzah came in, saying something about some cookies I had made the other day but I was barely even processing. My mind was only on the hundreds of direct messages and requests that were staring at me in my inbox.

Oh my word. I was in such kak.

I wasn’t even sure when this had happened but @mostlymohsina was in a dilemma and I wasn’t even sure how it had happened. My notifications were up to 800 and as I scrolled thorough, I could see that most of them were angry followers who were demanding an explanation for something that I had no clue about. As far as I could see, it was about three unnamed users who had started this all off… claiming I had taken money and not gone through with what I had promised… and it had spiralled into a whole huge controversy which made me seem like the wickedest and most narcissistic content creator in the world.

Oh. Crap. 

I’ve always followed you and admired your page. I thought that you were one of those honest and unfiltered kind of influencers. It’s obvious that I was wrong. 

The next message was a little more sentimental:

I started following you after I went through a bad patch in my marriage. Your quotes and daily inspiration was something I would look forward to every day. I don’t want to believe that you are that kind of person but unfortunately actions say much more than words.

The last one was repeated in a few different variations:

Unfollowed and reported. I wish I could get your profile banned. 

And as I skimmed through all the messages, my heart was hammering crazily in my chest. I didn’t even know what to do. I had no idea where to start.

And I know it sounded dumb that people were so invested in my online life, but that was precisely what social media was about.

People get attached. They loved the drama. Any little development was as if their own lives were taking that very same turn. To be told that any of it didn’t really happen, or wasn’t as it seemed, felt as if you were being cheated.

That was the game, and I was just a player.

I was so consumed in the messages that I barely even heard Hamzah talking to me, until he was right in my face, his eyes boring into me in frustration.

“Mohsina!” He said emphatically, his hand grasping my shoulder whilst looking at me like I was some kind of crazy women. “I’ve asked you five times! What’s so important on your phone?!”

”S-sorry,” I said, literally shaking with fear and anxiety and I wasn’t even sure what else. I knew he hated me being distracted by the phone. “There’s just… I don’t even know how the hell this happened and -“

”What?!” He said, his expression quickly changing from vexation to concern, as his brown eyes scanned my face. “Is everything okay? Is it your father?”

His intense gaze was increasingly concerned as he watched me, and then averted to glance to my open screen, and his brow furrowed slightly with worry.

And while I appreciated his concern for my father, right then, this seemed so much bigger than anything else. The name I had made for myself had become a business and a source of income for me, and if that was spoilt…

How could I make him understand?

It sounded so dumb to him. He didn’t understand the weight of losing my dignity through this stupid medium. What I didn’t know was that maybe being free of the validation of people was actually the best thing that could ever happen to me…

I too, didn’t quite understand how this could have gone so far, but I also knew that I couldn’t let myself be portrayed as the person they were painting me as.

”Hamzah,” I said softly, while he stared at from me to the phone in worry. He didn’t know how much I relied on this. “My father is fine. It’s.. someone has… gosh, Hamzah… someone has done something with my profile… its my reputation, my business and I don’t know what on earth they would get out of this, but it’s absolutely out of control…”

For a second there, he frowned even more intensely and then as his face relaxed and he looked at me, I could see that he was a little less stressed than before. In contrast, I was feeling more unsettled with every passing second.

“Listen,” he said kindly, grabbing the tray with his coffee cups and turning to leave. “It’s only Instagram, okay? Breathe. Just put the phone away and get back to your life. You have so much going for you. No-one in real life really cares.”

“You’re wrong!” I almost shouted, anger flooding through me. It was easy for him to say! “This is my name. My reputation. It’s still me they are talking about!  People are saying I stole their money, calling me a thief and even saying I may even have addictive habits, since I went awol… Oh my word, Hamzah, what the hell must I do?!”

He had put the tray down and was still standing there, looking at me, as if he was wondering if I was serious. It took him a few seconds before he mentally relented, finally understanding the severity of the situation and how important this was to me.

“Babe,” he said softly, looking just a tad bit sympathetic, as he bit his lower lip thoughtfully and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but I don’t even know how all this stuff works. Plus, Mohsin is waiting for me. In the meantime though… I’m just thinking aloud… but have you heard of damage control?”

Damage control? 

Yes, I sometimes hated Hamzah’s driven, black or white outlook to life… but sometimes, his perspective really came into handy. Now I knew why he was always the best at problem solving at Hammond’s. While I was busy panicking, he always had the right answers at the right time.

“Alright,” I said, picking my phone up again, and giving him a small smile, as he squeezed my hand comfortingly, and then quickly hurried back out.

Damage Control.

Where on earth do I even start?

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Time Management:

We come into this world with an allocated amount of time. We should, ideally, spend this time to please Allah and strive toward our Aakhirah.

Among the harms of social media are the harms of time wasting.

May Allah Ta’ala enable us to be particular even about our digital time, and save us wasting our time on these frivolous activities.

Oh son of Adam. You are nothing but a number of days. Whenever a day passes, another day has gone. (Fadhaail e Sadaqaat)

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