When we Hold On

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 92

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s talk in the lounge.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was as if something within her had been altered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She replied ‘No, I killed them all.’

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

This world. An empty promise, a great lie.

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

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

“How are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, that’s what it looked like.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had messed up. Badly.

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

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

And damn, it was working well.

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

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

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

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

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

Immediately, her blank, flippant facade faded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mos, can you be reasonable please?”

“STOP FOLLOWING ME.”

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

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

We needed to talk.

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

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

“Mos, just listen, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was still no reply.

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

”No.”

Her response was unwavering, despite her probable state.

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

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

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

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

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

Now, it made sense.

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

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

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

She said it like I was stinking.

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

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

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

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

I figured that she was probably sitting against it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Mohsina.”

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

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

“You don’t owe me anything.”

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

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

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

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

I missed that part of her.

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

A peace offering? I hoped so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it took the whole night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hold on, my eyes were telling hers.

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

Hope.

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

A beautiful analogy.

H.O.P.E.

Hold on.

Pain ends.

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

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

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

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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When things Work Out

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 91

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

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

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

What is lost is not lost forever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Earth to Mos. Are u stil alive and kicking? 

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

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

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

Me: Pretty much alive. Unfortunately.

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

I smiled, despite the aching in my chest.

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

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

Jameela has left the chat.

Me: Ob. Sessed. 

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

Enough pity-partying. Time to move on.

Me: Hows Mr Chunkster?

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

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

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

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

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

I typed a response as quick as I can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was most definitely not the slow type.

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

“Hey, everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

Could he be less of a perv at least? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

”How is the baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Thanks.”

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

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

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

That stung. It hurt a lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I missed her. I actually missed Nani.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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

Tugs of War

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 87

Saaliha

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is Hamzah coming for the weekend?”

I had to ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was quick to reply.

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

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

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

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

My heart clenched painfully at her words.

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

But I was extremely hopeful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sighed and looked at her, raising my eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wanted to kick myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was exaggerating. As always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”What exactly should I have done?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Assalamualaikum

Dearest readers.

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

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

Duaas

Much Love

A x

Sunnah of Duaa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

From Heartbreak to Hope

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 86

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

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

”Like really, absolutely sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Immense guilt overcame me as I processed the reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My first reaction to seeing the necklace was absolute shock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regret. Remorse.

Resolve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Period.

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

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

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

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

“We were proposed.”

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

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

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

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

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

That hit me even harder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now I did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things were at a point where we were irreparable.

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

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

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

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

Still, the next few days were unbearable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And of course, that made me sway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zubair: Did you see it? The article

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

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

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

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

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

Crap. It was bad. For her.

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

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

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

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

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

I scoffed and shook my head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Hope. SubhaanAllah.

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

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

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

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

Much Love Always,

Witg lots of sabr and shukar this Ramadhaan.

A x

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

Sunnah of Duaa

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

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

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

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

The Not so Little Things

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 84

Life is so uncertain.

If nothing else, it was one amazing lesson that I learnt from Zubair… the days when everything felt so new and amazing and I couldn’t imagine how I was so blessed to finally be there with him, that he wouldn’t miss a single chance to show me everything that he needed to, when it came to how he felt for me.

One thing I learnt during those days was that to keep going strong, didn’t always mean big, grand gestures that shifted the world. Girls get carried away by diamonds and perfumes and all the expensive stuff that are meant to prove love, but Zubair showed me that sometimes there was more truth in small, consistent things that made the world of a difference.

Little things like 5am sunrises and 7pm sunsets where you’ll be blown away by. Little things like Sunday morning motor-bike rides and on-a-whim road trips, and the feeling of wind in your open hair. Little things like the high you get off making someone else feel good, and for being the kind of people who make others realise that maybe the world is not such a harsh and cruel place after all…

It was always a tough call to make, but whether it’s a small act of kindness that was shown, or a little deed that is done that may just make your Jannah… living for the little things sometimes will make you realise that its those small things that make you feel alive…

There were tiny, beautiful gestures that he always made a habit. From the Tahajjud wakings, to the breakfasts in bed, and the post it notes that had the most amazing inspiration, Zubair’s character shone through in even through the not so little things he did.

And while I wished that I had a longer honeymoon period where I could just enjoy it and be with him unreservedly, soaking him in, but I knew that reality would intervene sooner than I thought, and his busy life would take over.

And although real life was quick to come into play, what helped was that in between, there were always the moments of fairy-tale like bliss and the cutest Fajr time conversations that made me feel like I was living a Muslim couple goals blog.

It was the little things like that that made me feel like I really was living a world where every problem that existed was so far away from us. When I lay next to him, in the dead of the night, while he would whisper to me incidents of his past, and sweet nothings as I curled up in his arms, it felt as if no one could ever touch us.

I didn’t know that life had a sneaky way of surprising us when we least expected it.

Just when I thought that things would be blissful forever, the next morning; his bed was already half empty, and instead, was the cutest little post it that was stuck on the lamp shade next to our bed, with a perfect sunflower right next to it.

I had no idea where he had found a fresh sunflower right then but reading the note made my heart bloom in more ways than the beautiful flower that was in front of me.

The past is the past. You and I are the future. Sometimes we find happiness in the most unassuming places. So grateful for you and everything you do for me. Alhumdulillah – Z 

My heart was already beating crazily as I read it, remembering the conversation we had the night before about his life and how he didn’t expect to get to where he was right then. Though we spent any free moment he had getting to know about each other, me pushing him to tell me about his childhood, his ambitions and everything I didn’t know, it didn’t ease the pain I felt when I heard it.

His life story was long and tragic and just thinking about it made me feel all sorts of emotional for the little boy that was once so lost. Every trial he faced, every time he felt hurt or rejected, and every little encounter that made him feel less than he was, was designed to build him into a better and stronger person. But it didn’t make it any less pitiful.

It explained why he didn’t always share what he did, or give more of himself. He was secretive to the point of exhaustion, and even thought I desperately wanted to know what he was doing for Hamzah, I knew he would never tell me, which made me resort to sneaky methods of finding out.

That day, Zubair had already left for his early morning routine in the gym Papa had once used at the end of the barn, and I knew that this meant that this was Zubair trying to say that it was time for him to get back to his usual routine, because he was a man who thrived in a disciplined kind of lifestyle.

But the little things still remained, as even in terms of my ibaadat, as I started my day with the Qur’ān that I had brought from home because the one Zubair owned was the one that he took everywhere with him. I had learnt that the reason he did that his reason for this was because whenever there came a time that he needed an answer, all he had to do was open the Qur’ān and all answers would come to him without even having to ask.  All we had to do was trust our Rabb and everything would sort itself out.

And though I missed Zubair already, I ignored the lovesick puppy vibes and dove into my recitation because I knew that whatever trials today would hold could only be solved through that. All success was from Allah. Through the little time we dedicated to Allahs worship during the mornings, we always make intention that it will build the foundation for a successful day.

And that’s what I was psyching myself up for today.

As I peeped in to the coffee shop, watching him see to customers, I couldn’t resist popping in between to offer him little spurts of affection in intermittent doses, despite his protests that I was distracting him.

My heart had been irrevocably stolen by the stories of who he was once… a young boy who lost his mother far too young, and grew up far too jaded than I’d like to think. I wanted to save him, to win him over, and to fix all those broken pieces of him that he couldn’t seem to fit back together himself. But first, I just wanted my sisters marriage to be okay, as much as Zubair himself wanted it.

That said, there were two things that I learnt about Zubair that I knew were most important for the current situation:

One. Zubair was trying every thing he could to save my sisters marriage.

Two. Zubair had painful secrets from the past that he hid excessively well.

What I learnt about myself was that I would stop at nothing to find out every one of those secrets that weighed him down, only so that I could shift the weight off those shoulders off his once and for all.

I had loitered around the coffee shop for most of the day, technically on my day off, but not able to stay away because of who was on duty.

Yes. I was officially obsessed.

Plus, those little love post-it’s were kind of making me swoon every time I caught a glimpse of them.

My mind was also consumed by everything I knew and even what I didn’t yet know, yet the urge to do something about it all was overwhelming me. I wanted Zubair to so badly make up with his father. It was something that I recognised as a deep desire in his heart, but there was something else that I recognised about them. They were both but from the same cloth, and that meant that neither of them was going to make the first move when it came to making up. His father seemed like he was a decent man who had just been scarred by the past. I refused to believe that he wanted nothing to do with his son.

What irked me more was that when I told Zubair that I wanted him to work things out, he had pinched my cheeks and told me that I was too cute for words. And I wanted to hit him.

Zubair was only three years older than I but he acted as if I was a little child. I would show him that I wasn’t. I would show him that I wasn’t a little girl with idealistic ideas and rose tinted glasses. That somehow, those dreams I had and idealistic thoughts would somehow materialise.

Most of all, I wanted Zubair to be the one who would benefit from it. He was the one who ultimately needed the saving. How do I help him, without actually interfering in his life?

I had retreated to the entrance of the kitchen later that morning, bored and needing to see my parents as a distraction. I sat for a few minutes at the back of the garden, under my favourite jacaranda tree, watching the stillness in the distance as the birds teetered around me, digesting everything before I entered the house again. It was weird to stay on the same property as my parents but Papa loved that I was there. Although Zubair had said that he wanted to give me my own house at some stage, he was worried about safety, and there was nowhere else that he felt safer right then.

A single flick of my scarf had loosened a sticky note that was probably stuck on me, and I couldn’t help but smile as I saw it.

You are my favourite place to be. – Z

Swoon.

I blushed and peeled it off to stick it at the back of my phone, catching the arrival of a new message a few minutes ago, hoping it would be my sister who didn’t reply to me from yesterday, but seeing Maahira’s name instead.

I instantly opened the message because it had been that long since I heard from her, and I really had missed her since I came from London. We’d barely chatted.

Maahira: Jamz. R u done swooning over your new man? Are the pyjamas stil in one piece? *winking emoji*
Where is my friend? I have some big news 2share.

I typed back a quick reply.

Stop. You’re making me blush. Mos is awol. I’m hoping her husband romanced her into oblivion. Tell me instead.

I knew it wasn’t fair but Maahira was making me curious and I really wanted to know her big news.

Maahira: Der have been some developments in the Samoosa run dept. I wanted her opinion.

Me: What about my opinion?

I waited a few seconds for Maahira’s reply.

We love you, Jameela, but you’re way too sweet and unassuming 2 handle this kind of drama.

Should I have been offended? This sweet and innocent perception of me was actually starting to get to me. Literally everyone …. And that means from my parents, to Mos and even Zubair, felt this insane and unfair need to shelter me from the world. It was as if they didn’t believe that I could handle reality.

My phone buzzed again.

Maahira: Let me know when you chat 2 her.  N tel her 2 stop ignoring her social media apps. I hav a feelin that Hamzah’s non-existence is rubbing off onto her. She hasn’t been online since yest.

Hamzah hated social media, and everyone knew that. And also, I was beginning to hate everyone treating me like a child.

I typed back quickly. Although she had literally called me an inexperienced infant, I needed to desperately confide in someone. I didn’t have many friends that I could speak to about this, and Mohsina was completely ignoring her phone.

Me: Wait, don’t go.

I typed quickly before she could ignore me. There was so much on my mind and there was no one better to ask right now but Maahi. It was a moment of truth.

I need to ask you about something important. I heard Zubair talking to Faadil on the phone. I wanted to know something.

Maahira’s reply took a while.

Maahira: Mhm. Can’t say I kno awl the answers..

But she may know this one.

Me: I just wanted to know who broke it off between him and Mos. He seemed to think that he was the one who didn’t want it anymore. But I remember otherwise when he came back for her. I feel he’s covering something up and Zubair is telling me nothing so I can’t even clear it up. 

Somehow, after knowing that Zubair was onto Faadil, I got this strange feeling that it was really important that I knew the truth. The fear that Faadil was actually sabotaging her relationship, with the help of who-knows-what-else, was haunting me.

Maahira’s reply took a while to come, but when it did, it was a lot to digest.

All I remember was Mos waiting for him at the apartment da one night after he met up with some woman (don’t ask, you’re too young for this talk and it was awkward asl to bring it up with her), and the next morning, she was at da hospital when Layyanah passed away, and she never mentioned him after. If I know Mos, I assumed she would have told the tiger on the prowl to take a hike coz she had too much else on her mind than to worry about him gettin what he wanted elsewhere. The next thing, her and Hamzah were fighting over who would be da better parent to Zaidoo n the rest is history.

I smiled at the last part, ignoring the wrenching in my gut at the mention of Faadil’s constant infidelity. Haraam always comes back to bite you in the behind, and I made a silent Duaa thanking Allah Ta’ala that I hadn’t went with my nafs and got to know Zubair before Nikah. The fact that everything was halaal and untainted was something that brought me immense comfort. I could not imagine the torment that Hamzah and Mohsina sometimes went through. Yes, they had both been wrong and been involved in haraam, but they made it right and I just hoped that they didn’t have to pay for it.

Even though it was history, from what I heard overheard Zubair say on the phone, it seemed like it wasn’t history to Faadil. He seemed to think that it was still unfinished business that desperately needed digging up.

I got up and typed in a quick reply to Maahira, thanking her for telling me and knowing that I would have to dig up more from Zubair if I wanted to help. I just wished that he trusted me more to let me in on everything that he was doing.

I slowly ventured into the house as I tucked my phone in my pocket, feeling a little out of sorts as I thought about everything Maahira had said. Hamzah and Mohsina were perfect for each other. Everything had proven that, and now that Mohsina had changed so much, I knew that if things were to go back to her being alone, she would become that distant and unreachable career woman once again.

Pushing the kitchen door open, I had to blink again before I noticed Nani sitting on the chair in the middle of the kitchen, silently getting on with her task.

“Oh,” Nani said as she heard my greeting, her voice slightly strained as she looked up at me with a toss of her dupatta and she studied me way too briefly for my liking, walking into the kitchen with loose sweat pants and a tee. “So you decide to make appearance now. After two days, it’s like we don’t know who you are anymore.”

I rolled my eyes to myself as I came around to greet her. It was technically one full day. But if Nani saw me with my eyeballs halfway into my head, I would have never heard the end of it.

I peeped over her shoulder as I went to switch the kettle on, watching her rolling something, her fingers folding some new type of Samoosa. Now that the wedding was over, Nani had immediately gone back into Ramadhaan mode and the preparations put a sweet sense of tranquility in the air.

I loved this time of the year, that held so much of hope and opportunity. When the hearts would be cured from worldly obsessions, and the starving souls would be nourished once again.

Ramadhaan was coming and I could feel the sweetness seeping into the pores of my skin, hoping that my body would take the message and start sowing the seeds for the new month that was to come. I had to rid myself of all evil thoughts and throw myself into the parts where I prepared myself for nights of ibaadat and days of soul-cleansing. I could feel the illness in my heart that needed to be cured.  I was deeply in need of reformation and I could barely wait for the effect penetrate. I knew that I had to start somehow, and I made intention to start sowing now, so that I could reap the fruits in Ramadhaan.

Trying to shove away all putrid thoughts was step number one and as I tried my best to stop judging Nani’s obsession with savouries, and start to focus on myself. In fact, I was becoming so good at focusing on my own faults for those few minutes, as I rounded the corner of the kitchen isle, that I didn’t even notice how quiet the house was right then.

I hadn’t spoke to my parents from the previous evening and I had been pretty much absorbed in the dramas that Zubair had uncovered about Mohsina and Hamzah’s marriage. It was all still on my mind, that I barely even noticed Nani’s eyes looking slightly puffy and red, as she dabbed it with a tissue.

It took me a few minutes to actually process what was going on, as I watched her, eyes squinted, still not able to fully comprehend the situation. Whatever I thought I was seeing was a very rare occurrence, and were it not for the obvious signs, I would have probably thought I was seeing things, but very clearly noting that Nani was emotional, was an absolute shock to me.

Nani didn’t usually get emotional. Ever. Yes, she did have tantrums and get upset when we didn’t listen to her. She sometimes even manipulated us into doing things we never really wanted to do. But for her to actually express an emotion that spelt some kind of grief, was extremely rare. To see it, in the flesh, was something that literally sent a shiver down my spine.

What on earth was going on?

I had missed out something major while I was busy honeymooning with Zubair, and for the first time, I actually regretted being so obsessed with my roguishly handsome husband.

Perhaps if I’d paid a little attention other members in the household, I would have known exactly what was going on. I looked at Nani, questions swimming in my eyes as she refused to meet my eye, understanding that there was probably a deeper reason for Ma and Papa being absent this morning.

“Nani,” I said, my voice shaky as I watched her almost robotically folding the square Samoosa, her gestures stunted and almost involuntary. I hadn’t noticed when I first entered, but now it was clear as day.

She sniffed and looked up at me, and I could tell without a doubt, that something major had happened.

“Nani, what’s happened?!” I asked, my voice almost frantic as I turned her shoulders to me, desperate for an answer. “Is everything okay? Where’s Papa?!”

Obviously, my first thought went to Papa, because there really was no other reason that could have evoked such a reaction.

”Papa is gone to Mohsina,” she said, her voice steady but feeling like a knife slicing through the air as she said my sister’s name. “To try and talk to her to change Hamzah’s mind.”

The puzzle pieces were slowly fitting into place.

Oh no. They knew about Hamzah and Mohsina. This explained it. It was all falling into place until I remembered what Nani had just said. As far as I knew, Hamzah wasn’t the one who wanted to leave. Why would they change his mind?

“To change Hamzah’s mind?!” I asked, looking at her in confusion. I understood the anger but Nani was just a little bit too bitter for me to digest. “Shouldn’t he be telling Mohsina to reconsider?”

Nani glared at me as I said it, shaking her head and clenching her fist as she said her next words.

”Hamzah was just here,” she whimpered in despair. “He came to greet me, and your parents. For good. He’s taking Zaid to his parents. Too much has happened, Jameela. It’s all Mohsina’s fault. I don’t know why Allah is punishing me like this…”

She broke down as she said it, and my heart contracted painfully as I watched her, holding my Nani as she wept into my shoulder, not even knowing what to say as I glimpsed a shadow at the back door.

“It’s just a test, Nani,” I said softly, not able to control the tears running down my own cheeks. “It’s only a test, and we’ll get through this. It will all be okay…”

Doesnt Allah say that He will test us? Are not all our luxuries just favours Allah has given us out of His mercy?

Indeed, He says that He will test us. With every single thing we own.

And certainly, We shall test you with something of fear, hunger, loss of wealth, lives and fruits, but give glad tidings to As-Sabirun (the patient).

Who, when afflicted with calamity, say: “Truly! To Allah we belong and truly, to Him we shall return.”

They are those on whom are the Salawat (i.e. who are blessed and will be forgiven) from their Lord, and (they are those who) receive His Mercy, and it is they who are the guided ones.”

(Quran, Surah al-Baqarah, 2:155-157)

“Make Sabr, Nani,” I whispered, trying to coax myself at the same time, not knowing if I could hold it together much longer. Hoping that this was just a little speedbump that would be sorted out when I spoke to Mohsina.

My own voice was shaky and uncertain as Zubair’s face rounded the corner right then, and it shocked me that I already knew him so well just by seeing his expression.

From by the slight slumping of his shoulders, I could already see the defeatist attitude that had overcome him, and that wasn’t something that Zubair often wore. I wasn’t sure how I had missed him, but it was as if the visit of Hamzah had brought so much more than he had ever imagined, and not in a positive way.

I breathed in as I consoled Nani, hoping that my parents could work some miracles, but knowing from the look in my husband’s eyes as he approached us, that this was a dead loss.

“Zubair, tell me it’s not true,” I murmured, swallowing back the emotion that was threatening to overcome me as I let go of Nani, reaching out to grasp his hand. “Tell me that Hamzah hasn’t changed his mind about saving their marriage.”

Zubair merely shook his head, avoiding my gaze as his browner iris lightened as he looked up at Nani’s emotional state, knowing that this wasn’t such a littel thing after all.

“I’m so sorry, Jameela,” he said softly. “I tried to do everything I can, but Hamzah already made up his mind. Something else came up last night.  He’s already signed the papers.”

---

Dearest Readers

My sincerest apologies about the delayed post. I could just not stay awake last night.

My deepest appreciation for all the readers who love this blog and await the posts and my only hope is that we all go home with the lessons that we learn and try and implement them. Please keep this weak author in your Duaas.

Much Love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

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

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

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

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

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

When we Break the Rules

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 83

Buzz.

What are you guys up to today?

It was a message from Jameela and I couldn’t help but smile, despite my caffeine deprivation, as I thought of how happy she was yesterday. If I could describe it in words, I’d say that she was over the moon, topsy turvy, do-cartwheels-in-the-rain kinda ecstatic.

And me.

Up way too early for my liking. You? 

I typed in a reply quickly, not wanting to go into details of how Hamzah literally dragged me out of bed, forced me to dress in a presentable outdoor dress with a floral sheila, and had all Zaid’s bags already packed with a painfully victorious expression on his face.

“Is that a smile I see?” his smooth voice said as he sneaked a look at me from the drivers seat. “Seems like someone’s cheered up already. Can we head straight to our destination then?”

The service station was still a few minutes away and I couldn’t understand how Hamzah could be so alive at this part of the morning, with so little sleep.

Going out early the day after my sisters wedding was the worst idea he ever had. Sometimes I wondered if he did these things specifically to torture me.

”Please no,” I groaned, adjusting my expression and slipping my sunglasses further up my nose as I put my phone on my lap. “I need coffee. Like, stat.”

He grinned as I turned my face back to my phone, and it buzzed again.

”Well actually, maybe we can,” I said, rethinking and wondering what I could score out of this. “If you think that you can let me in on where we’re actually going…”

”No ways,” he cut off, taking the turn for the service station. “You’re not spoiling this for me with your unadventurous vibes. Today is all about adventure, and that’s a threat.”

”Ohmahgosh,” I sighed hopelessly.

He would be the end of me, the way he was carrying on. I was doomed to die of coffee deprivation in some bundu-bashing destination while wild animals scavenged on my dead body.

Hamzah ignored my sulky face, already popping into the garage while I watched him order my fave coffee drink through the glass, the PSL, not because I particularly liked it but because it was also trending, and it reminded me of why I loved this man to the point of wanting to suffocate him.

But of course, I didn’t.

I opted for a tiny smile instead while he handed me the disposable coffee cup and watched me sip my coffee almost like my life depended on it.

Buzz.

Two unread messages.

I’m staring at my husband while he sleeps like an angel. I love being obsessed.

Barf.

You guys going far? 

You’d think that her teenage hormones would calm the hell down once she was married, but reality had proven that Jameela was beyond saving.

It was literally nauseating to have to read all her messages this early, but I didn’t want to be a grump and tell her to zip it so I could keep lasts night’s food within the parameters of my stomach.

I glanced at Hamzah, who gave me a sideways smile as he glimpsed Jameela’s name on my phone, and I typed again.

My tummy was feeling in some weird kind of knots and I assumed it was because I hadn’t really eaten a thing from the morning.

I hope not because I’m hangry asl and wondering what on earth my husband is up to. We may be out of range, so if you can’t contact me, don’t panic. Okay, maybe panic. If I come back in a body bag, rem you’re my fav sister. Love you (more than Zubair ever will!) *smiley with the hugest teeth*

I might as well cover all my bases here. Before she got any weird ideas of falling head over heels in love, she needed to remember that I came first. Even though I didn’t know what my own future held right then, I was still irreplaceable.

And despite my confusion about said future, I had to give it to my husband. He had me on the edge of my seat, desperately trying to guess his next move. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him.

I just didn’t trust my traitor heart to stay strong against his attempts.

We drove in silence for a while, with me trying my hardest to guess where Hamza was taking me, and him shutting me down every time I gave him a stupid option. It was a game of back and forth that we were playing, never treading any deeper than the simple, mundane things that we thought were safest to speak of, without breaking any of the unsaid rules.

And knowing Hamzah and his nature obsessions, I’d assumed it would be some spectacular spot which overwhelmed your senses with the beauty of seeing the outdoors au naturel. I kept firing ideas of hiking and camping spots to him, and after a few minutes, I assumed that he was taking me to his childhood home, until he drove right past the off-ramp that went to it.  I racked my brains to figure it out just as he took another one, and finally pulled up in front of a semi-large face brick house.

And then, I was baffled. I had nothing. No guesses to what Hamza had up his sleeve, but my danger radar told me he definitely had something… something big enough that I forced myself to take a moment and steel my heart to bear the emotional onslaught today was sure to bring.

I stepped out of the car when he did, already missing Zaid, and trying to tune out reality.

How would I bear it when we had to split him between us?
I shut the thought down.

Not today, Mos, I told myself. Today was for blissful ignorance concerning the future.

Today was just for now. Today was a break from all the damage control that I’d been losing my mind doing… a break from thinking way too much.

I trailed behind Hamza, whose impassive face gave away zero clues…. until he approached the locked gate and pulled out a set of keys from his kurta pocket. With a heart racing so fast, I feared a mini heart attack. I frantically considered the possibilities in my head.

Did my nutcase, think-with-his-heart husband buy a house in the hopes that it will dissuade me from going through with the divorce?

“Hamzah!” I said sharply, the panicked edge in my voice clearly evident.

He touch his index fingers to my lips.

”Ssshh. Rules. Number 1. No screeching.”

His eyes twinkled mischievously as he said it, and I automatically scowled as he beckoned for me to follow him. I stared ahead at him in his white kurta, taking in his handsome form as he stepped through the doorway, letting my eyes slowly adjust to the lighting in the room beyond where he stood.

Even my wildest imagination couldn’t prepare me for where he’d brought me. I looked around incredulously, taking in the big empty room, the dark blue carpetting, the little wudhu khana in the corner with three sinks and the stacks of plastic desks on the right side corner…

I was thrown. Completely. I raised my eyes hesitantly to his, to see my husband watching me with an intense look on his face, almost as if he were soaking in every part of my reaction.

When he smiled crookedly and spoke, I was already turned to mush.

“Stop number one. Welcome to my Hifdh Madrassah, Mos. Where getting the stick meant that we couldn’t sit for days.”

He grinned and my heart almost burst with how childlike he looked in that moment. I wanted to twist his ear and hug him all at once, and for once in my life I just stood there, all uncertain and confused, wondering what next to do.

My word.

My heart was beating at a million beats per second. Knowing the Qur’ān had played such a beautiful role in bringing us together, and how much it had meant to us, I knew that Hamzah had planned this with that very intention in mind. He hoped for it to bind us together once again. Forgetting anger for that moment, I was just in awe that he was giving me a glimpse of his past, even with everything that was going down between us, he had that much of faith in me to let me into this part of his world.

“This place is creepy without the crescendo of 100 voices mixing over one another,” he mused, moving further into the room, as I imagined the memories he had of this place.

Constant recital. Maulana screaming. Boys fighting. Jokes flying. It must have had its own atmosphere… and I’m sure it still did.

Everything looked neat and tidy, almost as if it was just ready for the students to come in and start their work once again.

I followed behind him cautiously, watching the back of his head, unable to predict in what direction today was headed… Until I found a desk in front of me, and Hamza holding out to me the pocket Qurʾān he normally kept in the car to do his dhor.

I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

”What are we doing?”

”Here?” He asked with a cock of his head, gesturing for me to sit. “Or generally?”

“What are we doing here?”

I didn’t want to talk about what we were doing generally. I had no answers, and I was scared about what his would be.

“Simple,” he murmured, lowering his legs into a sitting position and placing his hands on his lap. “When in a hifdh class, do as the hifdh students do. Test me, Mos?”

The last part of his request came out tentatively as he locked eyes with mine, and I didn’t blame him.

Be still my beating heart. Be still.

And of course it didn’t listen. I’d heard my husband recite before, especially before he would make Zaid sleep, in his strong but soothing voice. I’d basked in it whenever he did, and although he had tested me tons of times before… he had never requested me to test him.

And I wanted to refuse. To say it was against the rules to swindle my heart this way. To say I wasn’t worthy of this honour, because I knew there was no other word for it, but before I knew it, the silent room wasn’t silent anymore, and there I sat, not knowing anything… not knowing what this full, but unnerving feeling in my heart was, not knowing what to make of the contented expression on his face as Hamzah recited… not knowing what the heck I was doing with my life and how I would survive this separation, even though, up until now, in front of him, I had managed to keep up the pretence that it didn’t bother me too much.

His voice carried throughout the room as he read, and  despite my confused heart, it was as though nothing else beside him and I existed in this time and space, where absolute tranquility seemed to surround us.

And before I knew it, tears etched my eyes and overwhelming emotions had consumed me. I was battling with myself to try and stop overthinking and just appreciate this moment, because this moment, right then, would probably be the first and the last time I’d get to test my husband his dhor.

This moment, right then, when it felt like all those barriers were falling away… was everything.

Then, all of a sudden, his intensely deep voice stopped as he got up and edged closer to me and whispered, “Pick up your hands, Mos.”

I hastily wiped my eyes and lifted them in the air, humouring him even though I couldn’t understand his request, not expecting his chuckle that escaped from his mouth, completely at ease, in a way I hadn’t heard in a few weeks… and hadn’t realised that I’d missed.

A smile ghosted his lips as he lay down on the ground next to me and I understood why he was grinning. I had put my hands all the way up as if I was under arrest, and all my husband wanted to do was lay his head down right in my lap.

For a minute, as the back of his head met my thighs, I froze at his proximity, because we had been so distant the past few days that I couldn’t quite digest this sudden surge of affection.

“You know,” he said, ignoring my awkwardness and twisting his head so it got the perfect kind of cushioning on my lap without it feeling uncomfortable. “Its a Sunnah of Nabī ﷺ that he recited Qurʾān while lying on the lap of Ayesha radiAllahu anha… and I kinda get the feeling that there’s no better time to practise a Sunnah that right now…”

Smooth. Very smooth.

And before I got a word in, he was already reciting again, continuing with the verses of Surah Tawbah, and I couldn’t help letting a tear fall on his cheek, even though he pretended as if he didn’t feel it.

His eyes were closed, so he couldn’t meet the turbulent expression in my eyes as I watched him, but I preferred it that way.

I couldn’t quite digest this. This place. The recital. Him, Hafidh and the man that I’d come to love with so much of my heart, on my lap, in his childhood Hifdh class, his melodious recitation.. my heart felt like it would explode from an intolerable level of emotion.

I wiped the tears away with one hand, running the other through his hair in a way I could tell he lived for by the content expression on his face, and the way his head sought more comfort at my touch. And even as his reciting stopped, thats how we sat, time unknown to us, the serene atmosphere too sacred to disturb and even check how many minutes had passed during our time together, until that little reminder that nothing good should last popped up in my brain again.

I couldn’t. This was all too much. Too close. Too personal. It was getting deeper than I ever thought, breaking all my rules, and I felt as if my heart was deeper in than I knew, as I instinctively pulled my hand away.

“Don’t stop,” he said as he reached up to catch my hand and guide it back into his hair.

His eyes bored into mine as if they wanted to say words he couldn’t voice. I felt like I was watching a TikTok ‘tell me you love me without telling me you love me’ reel. There was no other way to describe his infectious way of spreading his feelings.

”First explain,” I mumbled, as coherently as I could, holding my hand still, like leverage in his hair, as I spoke. “Tell me why here. Else I’ll stop.”

Hamzah shot me a withering look in response before slowly starting to speak.

“I think you agreed that you owe me one,” he said, almost with an entitled look on his face as he wiggled his head on my palm coaxingly. “Your words, my love.”

”I smell BS,” I snorted, ignoring his sweetness as he shot me a disdainful look at my use of abbreviation within the sacred walls. “Tell me.”

He sighed, and I automatically moved my fingers ever so slightly as he spoke again. Despite my brain being traitorous, I actually didn’t want him to actually stop laying there.

“This is what brought us together,” he said softly, his arms spread open now as his one twinkly eye opened and looked at me. “It’s not easy coming back here, especially with memories of Liyaket flooding through my brain. It’s been hard these past few weeks, and without him, I felt it even more when I needed someone to talk to. Any problem I had in the past, he always had a solution. I knew that I had Imraan and Zubair trying to help out, but it kept coming back to him and this place and a few days ago, I couldn’t handle the pressure anymore, and I suddenly remembered him telling me how often he would ask Maulana for advice, even after we finished our Hifdh.”

He fell silent then, as if contemplating his next words, and I waited.

”You went to him?” I asked softly, when he didn’t speak again.

His eyes were closed beneath my gentle motions in his hair as he nodded, and I wondered if he’d actually fallen asleep until I noticed the edges of his eyes crinkle slightly, and the slight tilt of his lips.

“I did,” Hamza continued, his eyes still closed. “And it was the predictable ‘Hafezsaab, chalo, let’s drink tea’ regime. And all I could think was, how do these people think that tea can solve everything?”

I grinned as he opened his one eye and looked at me again, and it felt like all these layers of awkwardness between us were slowly lifting away, and I wasn’t even sure if it was a bad thing or not.

“And he told you to bring me here so you could knock me off my feet with your gorgeous recitation,” I said bluntly, with a slight roll of my eyes.

“No, gorgeous. We drank the tea silently,” he said, but his grin widening at the unintentional compliment. “Maulana is not much of a talker, and… to tell the truth, I still feel scared to ask too many questions. Sometimes, I still feel like I’m ten and I don’t know my sabaq.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that.

“It wasn’t until afterwards, when I leaving the house, that he advised me.. just one line of advice. He said, ‘Hafidh Hamzah, if you want your Duniyaa to be made, recite Qurʾān sincerely. And if you want your Aakhirah to be made, recite the Qur’ān sincerely.’ And it made me think… Here we are running behind lawyers and divorce proceedings, pinning our hopes on all these other things… even Zubair, and then this reminder comes, hitting straight where it’s needed…”

He trailed off and we both just sat there, lost in thought for a while.

“And that’s when I knew I wanted to bring you here. I knew that Madrassah would be closed now. He always closes for a holiday at the end of Rajab… and then makes the boys suffer for it by having classes Sunday to Sunday for the entirety of Sha’bān.”

I gaped at him. “Serious?!”

It explained a recitation where every second word wasn’t a mistake. No wonder his work was so solid. Man, that must have been tough.

Weak student here, sure… but classes Sunday to Sunday. Yoh. Us mere mortals don’t have the strength to bear that.

“Poor Maulana,” I mused, trying to decipher why he did that. “You boys must have made him really angry when you’ll came back those days after, not knowing your work.”

He chuckled so hard at that, that he had to sit up to catch his breath, and I wondered what on earth was so funny.

”No matter how well we knew our work, he would still end up breaking us all after every holiday,” he finally said, a smile still visible on his face. “It was like routine for him. Once or twice at the end of those heavy days, looking at the expressions on the boys faces, I actually caught him grinning. Poor Maulana indeed.“

It was my turn to grin as I imagined it, and then he put his Qurʾān back into his Kurta top pocket and held out a hand.

“Come,” he said, standing up as he gestured his head toward another door. ”There’s still more I want to show you.”

I would have assumed there’s little to see in a boys hifdh Madrassah, but as Hamzah led me around, his face lit up with a nostalgic grin, for the nth time that day, I was surprised. The sports area, the Tawbah corner – which a laughing Hamza assured me that him and Liyaket had spent his fair amount of time in, the kitchen- essentially just a corner with a microwave and a kettle- until we came to a closed door, and Hamzah whispered dramatically.

“Brace yourself. I left the best for last.”

He pushed the door open, and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t to be assaulted with the smell of.. what was that smell even?

“Can you smell that?” I asked Hamza, sniffing around like a freak. “Theres a distinct weird smell here…”

He sniffed the air and shook his head, assuring me there was no smell here, but I was sure that I saw a glint of something mischievous in his eye.

Then it clicked for me and I turned to face to him, with my hands on my hips.

Euw.

”Toes!” I frowned accusingly, blocking my nose. “This place stinks of toes.”

”Ah,” he said, raising his eyebrows, and moving a chair out the way. “Is that what it is? I always thought it was the salt and vinegar chips.”

”That’s disgusting,” I scoffed, literally feeling my stomach revolt in protest to his description. I couldn’t even. He had officially spoilt salt and vinegar flavour for me for life.

I actually had no appetite at all, despite believing earlier on that I was fiercely hangry.

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching his head. “The boys used to live on salt and vinegar pringles so we could seal it up for the next night. We didn’t have the fancy flavours back then. I didn’t think it could possibly be toes…”

“Yugh. How can you ever confuse the two? You’re more sick than I thought.”

And then we were arguing on whether the place was truly smelly – it honestly reeked – or if my nose was broken (the fudge?) and way too sensitive for scents other than Issey Miyaki (Hamzah was full of compliments). We went back and forth endlessly, until I saw that mischievous glint in his eyes again, and this time it looked almost smug.

And I hated that I knew him well enough to understand why. It had been a while since we did this. I’d pulled back this past month, doing my wifely duties perfectly, but for the most part, disengaging as much as I could.

In the past, we had bickered about mundane things all the time, but not this month. This month it was limited to serious discussions and arguments. I had carefully avoided any level of personal playfulness, even if it was just over something mundane.

He had missed this, I realised, swallowing hard when I thought of how carefree and childish my husband seemed today. He had missed us. For his sake.. to keep him smiling, to save him from going down with me, I had to steel my heart and stop feeding him false hopes.

I took a step back, literally and emotionally, and casually shrugged.

“It’s irrelevant. Just show me whatever it is that so good in here.”

His expression changed too as he flicked a light switch, trying to be nonchalant, and I instantly turned my face to the couches and bean bags now in my midst.

“This is the break room,” he said quietly, not meeting my eye. “No one actually uses it, until it’s raining and we can’t go out. But, what I wanted to show you, well… look there.”

My gaze followed his pointed index finger, to the wall on the far corner, which seemed to be a giant collage of sorts.

As if sensing my confusion, Hamzah continued, “Maulana calls this the Hafidh wall.. every student gets to put up a tribute on the day of the completion. Something to put down as an official achievement.”

I was awed, but I kept silent. There had to be hundreds of laminated squares stuck to the wall. Imagine, just imagine having that many people who you connected to the Qurʾān.. who you walked through the stages of memorisation from day one, till the day they recited اللهم آنس وحشتي in front of a large crowd…

“Lets see if you can find mine,” he challenged with a wink, lightening the mood instantly. “In fact, let’s see how fast you can find it.”

It took me over 15 minutes before I did. And just as I did, my eyes settled on the quote right next to his, and I couldn’t simply look away.

The books of history contain some of his quotes which are worth their weight in gold. And amongst those quotes, I was pretty sure that this one was one of those amazing ones that made your heart shudder at its mere sight.

“It does not behove one who has the Qur’ān in his heart to go to the wealthy and affluent in order for them to fulfil his needs. Instead, his position is such that the entire creation should come to him to fulfil their needs”.

I stood rooted there for a while, just staring at those words, as if something very obvious had intervened to make me see this.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have said Hamzah set this up so I’d see this message. But there was no way that was true, because from this wall full of tributes to the pious scholars of Qurʾān, I had approached this one. I had somehow come to read this one, out of the hundreds.. and subconsciously, I couldn’t help but wonder, did I come to this one, or was I brought to this one?

I jerked backwards as warm hands settled on my shoulders, Hamzah’s voice asking if I was okay.

But I couldn’t say a thing, because I wasn’t.

I couldn’t even process all this anymore. It was getting way too emotional, and I could feel all those walls coming up again, as I took a step away from him. His eyes stayed on mine as he spoke, unaware of the feelings brewing within me.

“It was only after Maulana told me to come here that I remembered his advice to us at our jalsa,” he said softly, stepping forward to stand within my view again, his jaw rigid as he recalled the words. “The Qur’ān will always guide the Hafidh back… be the light through the darkness… the guiding beacon… even when it feels as if there is no end to the tunnel. He would always say that the journey of Hifdh never ends, and I tried my best to make it go on for me. Though I had gone off track once, I made sure that the Qur’ān was part of my life, my go-to, and my answer whenever I didn’t know where the solutions lay…”

I knew that he did. Qur’ān was so much a part of Hamzah’s life that he never left the house without one. His attachment was so intense that I envied it.

“And that’s how I know that whatever happens from here, whichever path we take, I just have a feeling that things are going to come together,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

”I’ll never give up hope, Mohsina. A believer always has hope, and that’s what I’ll cling onto forever.”

My heart literally split at the seams as he said it, and I couldn’t quite help myself as I turned away, knowing that it was time to leave, not leaving Hamzah an option of much else to say.

He followed me silently as we walked out, heart on my sleeve as I let him guide me with a hand on the lower part of my back, not able to comprehend what this all meant.

I couldn’t believe how much he had sacrificed in his journey here, and how much of a sacrifice he had undergone again as he grew and changed his life, and decided to do the right thing for Zaid. We had both made sacrifices, but right now, it felt like he was shining way more than I ever would. To deal with me was an amazing amount of patience and my heart literally ached as I saw the look on his face at times… a look that I couldn’t get off my mind, as I watched him right then, emotions overwhelming me as he guided me out the building.

And as he did it, it felt like I was coming together, and piecing myself back together, even against my better instincts. I felt like the once wounded heart I had sheltered so deeply had bled out way too much for my body to handle. Now, it was as if healing was in place and things were slowly being revived… as if parts of me had come back from the dead… and all I knew right then was how much it felt like an overload on the most vulnerable part of my conscience.

I felt like every rule had been broken, and here we were, back at square one, trying to figure out what the next step was going to really be.

I wanted to challenge him, to ask him why he’d done this. Why we had gone in reverse, when we needed to get into gear and drive away. I wanted to know what this all meant… how he expected today to turn out, once it was all over.

I wanted to know what was Plan B. What did he do when all this didn’t work out the way he planned, or when it did, and he ended up hating me because he lost everything because of me?

It just wasn’t fair. Today was beautiful and touching and oh-so-nostalgic, but what next?

Did he want me to cave and say that I couldn’t picture my life without him? Did he expect me to throw him to the wolves just so that I could have him the way he was?

I breathed out as we stepped out into the fresh air, thinking I’d feel an ounce of relief as we were out of the madrassa, but being away from it made me realise that it wasn’t the place that made me feel this way.

If anything, this amazing  institution had brought me more peace than I’d had in months.

The sinking feeling in my stomach had nothing to do with it. It was me. All me. I was the villain here and I didn’t know how to tell him this. All I knew was that I needed answers.

What did he want from me? Did he want me to admit that this was breaking me? What exactly was I supposed to do from here, in his mind?

“Why?”

I didn’t even realise I’d said it as I stood still in front of his car, my heart beating rapidly as he slowly walked around me, his hair browner now in the sunlight as he stood in front of me.

“Why what?” He asked, his expression as calm as the blue skies, as I glared at him fiercely. I was a storm, that threatened to unsettle every part of his sanity. “Why am I breaking the rules? What are the rules even, Mohsina? That we can’t talk about us ever having a future again?”

“You know the rules!” I accused him, pointing my finger at his chest threateningly, as he stepped closer instead of inching away. “You know what we need to do, how we can’t be certain if anything, but you still doing this to me. Why are you doing this to me? Why, Hamzah? Why?!”

My voice had rose to an embarrassingly high pitch as I watched him stand even taller, not even retreating slightly at my accosting tone.

I wanted to return. Again and again and again. Until we meet Him. Together.

But my body was lit with rage and uncertainty and his stance was as hard as the expression in his eyes. I didn’t even know what I was fighting against.. who I was fighting for.

I just knew that the one who gives up this fight, fails. Only the one who—due to complacency or despair—gives up the fight of constantly bringing the heart back to focus, fails in this life and the next.

But I didn’t want to hear him say it.

“For one thing,” he said simply, his eyes boring into mine as he swiped his tongue over his teeth, the only single gesture that gave away his unease at the entire situation. “I wanted you to know all this because whatever happens, i will always ask Allah for this, and I want you to promise me one thing.”

I looked at him with my eyes narrowed, flashing and holding back the tears, not knowing if I should even do this, but with everything my heart had just undergone, I couldn’t possible do anything else but nod in silent agreement, not knowing what I was promising him as I did.

Not knowing that there were no rules, in this dangerous game we were playing.

“I want you to come back to me.”

---

Just a quick one to say that this post is dedicated to a flower in the Gardens of the Righteous, who helped me to pen most of this post. I deeply appreciate the Naseehah and the extra love of Qur’ān that shone through, which she was solely responsible for inspiring. Please do give feedback on how much it was enjoyed ❤️

May Allah Ta’ala grant her much love, happiness and barakah for her future.

Much Love,

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

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

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

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

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

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Scars that tell Stories

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 82

He breaks you to build you. Deprives you to give you. The pain in your heart was created to make you learn less for this life.

And to yearn more for Jannah.

Jannah. The epitome of beauty. The greatest of gardens. The most sublime kind of bliss.

My eyes moved to the message next to the bed, my senses overwhelmed with a bright new perspective as I read the post it once again.

And yes, I felt so blessed. I couldn’t help myself. Reading that post-it now on Zubair’s pedestal gave me all the feels of early morning bliss. I breathed in deeply, taking in every scent, every sound, every movement surrounding me.

‘Ubaydullāh ibn Mihsan al-Ansāri al-Khatmi (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Prophet (may Allah’s peace and blessings be upon him) said: “Whoever among you wakes up in the morning secure in his dwelling, healthy in his body, and he has his food for the day, then it is as if the whole world has been given to him.”

(Tirmizee Shareef)

I felt like Allah’s mercy was raining down on me, as I processed that I actually was here, married and a little (if not a lot) bit in love.

I knew that he didn’t usually sleep in after Fajr, but last night had been a late night and Papa had given him the day off his duties. He had even offered us one of the new glamping tents that had just been completed, but Zubair was insistent that we would stay nowhere but his humble littel bachelor-inspired abode. And I didn’t mind.

The flower pots by the window sill that Nusaybah had livened up with the most spectacular blooms were perched near the window, looking like they were giggling away at the sunlight streaming through. I could see that she had spent a lot of time livening up the pretty simple one bedroom cottage and I was so grateful to her, as I looked around me at the place Zubair called home for the past few months.

Despite the fact that it was so simple, it was homely and the personal touches added by Nusaybah them both made it feel exceptionally welcoming.

I couldn’t help my mind running away with itself as I processed this, turning to glance at Zubair again.

My gaze flickered to that mark again, and I studied it as I shifted up on the pillow, tracing the outline of what looked like a shape and some print on his upper arm.

This one was different. It wasn’t just another one of his numerous scars inflicted on his bronzed body. He had told me that he had been gifted with proof of his many different expeditions that he never wanted to talk to me about, unless I really wanted to know.

I didn’t mean to stare. An array of curved marks that tapered at the ends, elongated ones that looked like blade slashes, and then stunted scars that looked more like bullet holes.

Like a walking example, he reminded me of the conquests of the Sahabah Radiallahu Anhu that I would read about. The tales of valiant men who would take to the battle filed, leaving their brides or their children, with no fear whatsoever; sparring and fighting despite being injured and hurt, knowing that their end goal was nothing but Allah’s pleasure.

The tales of heroism were awe-inspiring.

And though Zubair denied that he’s ever had noble intentions, I knew that every scar had a tale of untold bravery but Zubair wasn’t eager to share any of his past. I understood why, knowing how much he had gone through, as I edged closer to get a waft of his spicy, pine-washed scent, inhaling him while I stared more closely at the mark below his bicep.

And before you think that I was obsessed, the actual reason why this particular mark had caught my eye was because of its specific shape. It was blurry and untidy looking, but my gut feeling was that once upon a time, there was a tragic story behind that very scar that I desperately wanted to know about.

Thinking that he wasn’t yet awake, I touched its slightly raised surface once again and then quickly pulled my hand away as he stirred in his sleep.

I glanced out the gap in the curtain,  already certain that it was going to be a gorgeous day to be out in the garden for a bit, trying to divert my attention so I could stop obsessing over Zubair’s past life.

Stop obsessing over Zubair in general.

Zubair was such a character that I could barely stop myself from falling head over heels with his humility, sincerity and the way that he made me feel that I was the centre of his in universe, over and over again.

I wriggled my toes as I stretched my arms out, trying to silently shift away to head off to the bathroom and do the whole fluffing out my hair, looking normal and brushing my teeth thing when he suddenly shifted again next to me, already awake and turning to face me, and my heart felt like it was about to burst from happiness when he looked at me and smiled.

I honestly could not believe that this was all normal and halaal and I already felt that I was drifting on some kind of elevated cloud fifty-nine.

“Hey beautiful,” he murmured, touching my nose lightly with his index finger. “Assalamualaikum.”

I could barely breathe. I mean, I knew that he was my husband and I had to get over it at some point but the ease in which he embraced everything made him feel like a dream.

“Wa alaikum salaam,” I almost whispered, like a dork, staring into his mesmerising eyes as the morning light shone through the cotton curtains.

And then of course, I covered my mouth immediately because even though we weren’t so close together I knew that morning breath could be a knock out and I didn’t want to scare him away already.

I could live with waking up to this every morning.

“You up early?” He said softly, still giving me that intense look as he spoke, half yawning it’s his own mouth covered, a slight frown forming on his face, almost as if he didn’t like the fact that I was up so early.

“I’m- err,” I started, because I didn’t want to give him the impression that I was a spoilt brat who couldn’t sleep without block-out blinds. “Just can’t sleep once I’m awake for the day. And Mohsina had messaged to let me know that she may not be contactable today. She and Hamzah are going somewhere out of range.”

Of course I couldn’t tell him that I was sitting and staring at him like a weirdo while he slept. And Mohsina had woken me up earlier with a text to say that she hoped I was okay. I wanted to ask her more about what they were up to but I also knew that things were a little fragile between her and Hamzah, and Mohsina wasn’t always eager to share feelings.

I finished my excuse weakly as he broke eye contact and turned on his back again to face the ceiling. I had a feeling he was thinking about Hamzah too. I knew that the two of them were close, and as he lifted his arm to type a quick message on his phone, the crooked mark on his arm was visible again and I instinctively touched it lightly, not expecting him to flinch as I did. He put his phone away and turned his face to look at me.

“Sorry,” I said, immediately retracting my hand as an unknown emotion suddenly flashed across his face.

It was a milliseconds before it faded, and then he suddenly smiled, as if to cover it up, reaching out for the hand that touched it, grasping it in his own, and shook his head.

His reaction was so confusing.

“No need to be sorry,” he said quietly, bringing my knuckles to his lips. “Was just sending a quick message. Scars really fascinate you, don’t they?”

I swallowed and nodded as he turned to me again, looking like he was contemplating deeply.

Yours do, I wanted to tell him, but I wisely kept silent, because I was feeling a little weird about what had just happened.

The cotton sheets were pulled up to my shoulders to cover the straps of my cute but slightly revealing pyjama set that Maahira had sent for me via express courier that week from London, and I felt weird to have them anywhere but up to my chin. The daylight was a stark contrast to the privacy that the night had presented, and I felt like we were starting all over again in some ways.

As morning came, all awkwardness was now in full force.

I was shy and conscious now, and I worried if I was being too forward and nosy by asking these questions. Zubair wasn’t an easy person to read.

Nani would probably scoff at me and say that I had no shame, asking the man about marks on his body. She was probably right, and I couldn’t believe I actually admitted that she was right about something. In actuality, she kind of redeemed herself when she behaved at the Niikah and reception, despite feeling disappointed about her darling doctorsaab.

The thing was, marrying Zubair it felt like I was unwrapping this huge present full of goodies and I didn’t want to stop until I revealed every one.

”You don’t have to tell me about it,” I added quickly, as he shook his head and sat up, placing his feet on the floor, his back to me as he pulled a blue t-shirt over his head, still not turning to face me.

”You have a right to know,” he said, not looking at me as he spoke. “But it’s nothing courageous like you think… or some mark of bravery. It was a reminder of who I was. A symbol that the people I worked for used to use when you pass your first test. It was a tattoo that I removed.“

A tattoo?

it was the first time I’d ever heard of anyone I know having a tattoo.

I didn’t know what to say. I knew that tattoos were haraam, but I knew that it was also becoming some sort of trend for young people despite that.

“So you removed it when you realised that you needed to change your life?” I asked him.

He turned to me and shrugged.

“I removed it when I found out that all my ibaadat may have been completely futile since getting it. Years went by and to think that not a thing I did might have been accepted… I was devastated- having that reminder of the very thing that tainted me would have ruined me a li. I had to remove it. The scar is there for life.”

The scar. He said it with such venom, as if he hated everything it meant to him.

This man. This man. He just got me. Every time.

Zubair had changed his life, AFTER he got the ink. Many may argue that what is in the past, has past away.

There were far greater crimes that were committed in the times of ignorance, where they use to bury their little daughters alive out of feeling ashamed of having girl after girl and no sons.

They were forgiven for such a horrendous act, and yet, he took it on him to remove that evidence.

Despite the fact that the process of tattoo removal was probably torturous and expensive, he chose to remove it because he was so intent on changing everything about his life.

Despite that fact that our Creator knows everything, inside and out.

He didn’t wait for some loophole or favourable fatwa or take a chance. He wanted to erase every bit of his sordid past.

“Was it painful?” I asked softly, watching as he slipped on his shoes emotionlessly, already switching the kettle on for coffee. Sometimes I wondered if he truly let himself feel. It was like he was surviving on autopilot.

I sat up against the wall behind the bed, knowing that I should probably stop being so lazy but still feeling like extremely self conscious about my strappy pyjamas. It wasn’t completely indecent but I wasn’t exactly ready to be so forthcoming either.

“It was more uncomfortable than painful,” he said, frowning slightly as he probably recalled the sensation of that on his skin. “But it needed to be done. And I stuck out the pain because I was stupid enough to get it.. I didn’t exactly have the guidance I needed in my teenage years to know that it wasn’t allowed. It was before Nusaybah left that my uncle started to contact me, and my father had already given up on parenting way before that. It all downhill from there. I was just sinking lower and lower and my uncle had no mercy for cowards, even though he was one himself.”

He said the last part with a certain edge to his voice, like he usually spoke about his uncle, and I desperately wanted to ask him more.

“Did he do anything bad to you?” I asked, softly, but loud enough for him to hear as he sat on the office chair and wheeled around to face me.

There was a mixture of pain and grief on his face as he looked at me, and I instantly regretted asking him. I so badly wanted to take all that pain and tuck it away; where he would never had to feel it again.

“He did enough,” he said bluntly, instantly closing up now completely, his face blank as I could see him putting up walls as I looked at him. It was like the mention of his uncle immediately shut him down. “My uncle is not a kind man.”

I noted how he spoke in present tense, sensing that emotions surged through him like never before.

I hated that I had said something that brought it back for him, and I hated that he still looked so vulnerable when I asked him. I didn’t care about slightly revealing pyjamas anymore.

Zubair had now morphed into a somewhat of a little child as he sat there, and all I wanted to do was go over and hug him fiercely, so he would know that he didn’t have to worry about his uncle and he was safe now.

Well, I hoped that was true, of course.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, shoving off the covers as I  got up and moved toward him, as the dazed look in his eyes lifted and he met my eye once again. “I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone who you could turn to, or who could protect you.”

He shook his head as I reached him, losing pluck to embrace him as I sat on the floor next to him, trying to stay as close to him as I possibly could, not knowing whether I could hols him or not.

It was weird, and Zubair wasn’t always someone who I knew how to read. Right now, he was all stiff and untouchable, and I could tell that emotion was hard for him. I instantly wondered whether not being able to touch him at times had to do with something that happened in his past.

Was it possible that this man was scarred more deeply from a pain that existed within? I didn’t want to even think of the possibilities. There was definitely a story that he didn’t want to tell.

“It’s not your fault,” he said stiffly, his body rigid now, as he pulled out two cups. “I didn’t have many people I trusted. I didn’t have the kind of upbringing where right and wrong was always clear cut. And yesterday, well, I felt like when Maulana spoke, he gave a bayaan just for me that I really wouldn’t ever forget because it really hit home.”

I looked at him as he said it, wondering what the Maulana had spoken about.

”What sterling marriage advice did Maulana give?” I asked with a smile, really curious now.

For him to remember that on his Nikah day, it must have been really quite something.

“He spoke about Tarbiyah of kids,” Zubair said simply, and my grin immediately turned into a flush that made me feel only slightly embarrassed as he said kids.

On his handsome face was a tiny smile that I could barely decipher. Kids. Okay. It’s a teeny bit too soon but I suppose it wasn’t completely off the charts to talk about.

“Don’t get alarmed,” he said, his greener eye darkening with the dry humour. “I know you guys have Zaid and it’s been a transition and to be honest, I don’t even know how I feel about kids. I just really felt it deeply when Maulana spoke about Tarbiyah, and how kids need nurturing. I know how much I lacked growing up. Now… its like as a new generation… we have so much to learn… with technology and always being so distracted, there’s so much we still need to master to ever be worthy of being parents. I know that I’m still young but it worries me that I’ve been so off track and that I’ll never reach that stage…”

His concerned expression caught me by surprise. It took me a few seconds to realise that he was scared, but not by some external factor. He was scared of himself.

“You’re not your father, Zubair,” I said softly, remembering him telling me that his father was too caught up in his own grief to really worry about Zubair after his mother passed away. Nusaybah was left as the one kid who raised the other. “Or your uncle.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said roughly, running his hands through his hair and giving me a sideways glance. “I managed somehow. I eventually realised that I had destroyed the better part of my life with sins, and when I found Allah… I realised something else so valuable that it turned my entire life around.”

I knew that his past was filled with things he wasn’t proud of. But being an orphan, and feeling like you were all alone was something that made me feel so sorry for the littel boy that he was once.

“And what was that?”

I almost whispered it as I watched him pour water from the boiled kettle, while his pretty eyes stayed fixed on the cups in front of him.

And then, he looked at me, his brown eye twinkling ever so slightly as he spoke.

أَلَيْسَ اللَّهُ بِكَافٍ عَبْدَهُ

(Surah al-Zumar, Ch.39, V. 37)

“Is Allah not sufficient for His Slave?” He said quietly, his voice so passionate when he spoke, and I realised, not for the first time, how much Zubair had taken upon himself. How much he had dealt with, all these years, on his own. How much he had truly believed and felt that verse that he had just uttered.

“And what am I, if not His ‘abd?” he continued, his gorgeous teeth now visible as he gave a small smile. “Whatever Allah wills for His slave, whatever trial He brings my way… for all the darkness within me, all those wasted years…. how can I not reform myself if Allah has said that He is enough to be by my side?”

I breathed out as he said it, tears flooding me eyes and my heart not able to hold all the emotion that seemed like his realisation was choking me with.

He was hurting in so many ways. Over his past. Over his father. Over his uncle.

I desperately wanted him to be free of if all, but I knew that I could never help him unless he let me. And I had to try.

“Zubair, you’re not who you think you are,” I said softly, touching his arm. “Maybe your father was too caught up in his grief and disappointment to know better. He should be honoured to have you as a son. He would be if he saw you now. You’ve change so much. Allah is so happy with you, you have no idea.”

”He knows the real me, Jameela,” Zubair said curtly, obviously not believing a word I had said. “And my father sees me for who I am. There’s nothing to be proud of.”

He said it as if it was common knowledge and I refused to accept it, as he promptly added a jar of sugar to the coffee tray.

”You deserve to be happy, Zubair,” I argued with him, frowning as I watched him carry the tray to the table near the window.

“And I don’t deserve you. I’m not just a black heart, Jameela. I am darkness. Disgraced by my sins and scars. You… on the other hand… are nothing but light and hope, and I still don’t deserve you.”

I couldn’t help but feel my heart clenching at his words that he was and never will be good enough. His feelings about me did nothing to douse the rising anger at his constant self-bashing.

He had settled the tray near the window and I couldn’t help but think that it was the perfect spot to sit and enjoy the scenery that the outdoors offered.

Now I know why Zubair loved this little house. Why he also holed himself up here and never came out, to grace others with his presence.

I wanted to shout to him, to let him know that he was wrong. He thought so little of himself. He didn’t realise who he was. How much he had to offer. All he saw was blackness and jagged scars deep beneath the surface, that were still bleeding in ways he didn’t know.

He was drowning in self-doubt and denial that he was worthy of so much more. Carrying on like this was not a way to live. It was difficult and hurtful, causing him so much more than was necessary.

He was convinced that he deserved no good in his life, and I had already made up my mind that I was going to save him from himself, whether he wanted me to or not.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

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

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

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

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

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Falling into Place

Bismihi Taala

Mohsina 

Part 81

Most definitely, the fact that everything eventually falls into place is only a sign of Allah Ta’ala’s favour upon us.

And I know people often say that nothing is perfect and can ever be perfect, but in all honesty, how everything seemed to work out for Jameela that week, I was already a firm believer in miracles.

It was beautiful, not to mention, so emotional watching it all unfold. I couldn’t help but tear up at the sentimentality of it, although I knew that the one certainty was that it had nothing to do with me.

Despite the niggling feeling something was amiss. Despite clearly knowing that Rabia was being a Karen for reasons I had no idea about. Despite knowing that this may be the last day I spent with my family as a whole. Despite the looming clouds above, because I was waiting for something to go wrong.

Some words were extremely difficult to say. Their emotions were overwhelming.

Yet when it all went down, despite what we know about Zubair and his past, what we saw when everything came together was merely a bond of human amongst human. This was such a huge step for both of them. It was such a courageous decision that would bring so much of sweetness and fulfilment and hopefully an influx of joy.

Jameela could really not wipe that gorgeous smile off her face. She was happy and bubbly and just the sight of Zubair after the Nikah had got her all psyched up.

I, on the other hand, was exhausted. I had been buzzing around, sourcing items for the supper from various places, really having no time for anything else.

Family was plentiful. My cousins were set on blocking all the hallways and huddling in the corners, giggling away, and for once, I wasn’t annoyed. All I wanted to do was embrace this moment and live for this day, because I didn’t know what tomorrow was going to hold for me, and I really didn’t even want to…

My heart was immersed in love. Full to the brim,  and for a second there I had this ridiculous idea that everything was going to be okay. I didn’t want to think about anything else. For now, I just wanted to be here. Present.

“They make such a cute couple,” my cousin Nasreen was cooing, and for a moment there, I was shocked that she could be pleasant.

I could see her eyes lingering a little too long on Zubair but hey, I didn’t judge. All I wanted to do was tell her that he was already married so she could stop checking him out.

She had already caught me looking at her watching him and quickly turned away, at least having the decency to look embarrassed about it.

I never understood the whole lowering your gaze thing until I actually got duped into Zinaa. The gaze was so powerful, and the effect that a stray glance could cause was destructive to even who we would regard as the most pious of people.

But I didn’t judge.

We all had our things. We just have to make sure that our hearts are filled with regret, and that Taubah becomes a way of life for us.

I sighed as I switched my gaze over to Nani holding up two trays of Jalebi, and I couldn’t help but smile as she shooed everyone out the way while she made my cousins pass it around. For someone who wasn’t thrilled about this wedding, she was sure acting like an obsessed grandparent, and I couldn’t have been happier to see her there.

Zubair had awkwardly greeted her when he came in with his doctor brother-in-law, and I could see her shellshocked expression as she witnessed his very modest and normal behaviour. I had a feeling that she thought that he would come striding in here with a mafia gang and AK47 and her carefully constructed image had been tarnished. Shem.

I stifled a giggle as I watched her awkwardly greet, and then came Hamzah who as usual, started with his usual busy buttering Nani up as she put her coy face on.

“Naans, the way you make these sweetmeats, next time we‘re going to get proposals for you,” Hamzah said easily, stuffing his mouth with both Jalebi and burfee, as if he was the groom in the scenario.

Ooh, but judging from Nani’s flushed face, I couldn’t deny that he was good with the swindling. Really good.

”I didn’t get time to make all this when you got married,” Nani said to him apologetically, patting his back after she recovered. “I can’t remember why…”

Nani looked genuinely confused as she tried to recall our wedding week, and though it was a blur for me, I still remember how consumed by grief everyone was at the time.

There was no talk of fancy eats or tableware. All we could think of was how much we wanted Liyaket and Layyanah to be there, and yet the fact that we had lost them was the only reason the nikah actually happened. I remember feeling awakened by the tragedy and broken by the memories of their own wedding day too, wishing for Layyanah’s comforting words or for Liyaket’s contagious laugh to fill the house.

“Things were a little different back then,” Hamzah said quietly, but loud enough for me to hear, as he swallowed back what looked like a helluva lot of emotion. I wanted to reach out and hold him, but my body seemed so rigid and frozen in place.

I stole a look at my husband’s form, in his darker coloured kurta today, and for some reason, I felt like I was already missing him.

”But if you get married, Naans, we’ll make sure it’s all sorted out,” Hamzah stated, recovering quickly as he flashed his one-dimpled smile at Nani and winked.

Nani’s face immediately flushed again as she whacked him with the wooden spoon, and the two carried on with their banter. I turned away promptly, feeling the need to escape.

Maybe I should call Saaliha. She had  said she wanted to chat to me later but didn’t want to divulge what it was about until the nikah was over. She had said if was something private and I assumed that it may have had something to do with her pregnancy. Whatever it was, I was determined to do whatever I needed to help her.

I breathed in as I backed myself against the wall in the kitchen scullery, hiding from everyone and taking a minute to breathe and settle my steady heart.

I knew that Zaid was with my Choti Kala, who was down for the week, and I couldn’t have been more thrilled to see how she and Zaid knocked it off. I literally wanted to whoop with joy when I saw her, knowing that she was the only person besides Maahira that I could actually tell about the court case. She had listened to me for a full half hour last night, and didn’t stop or interrupt me to tell me what a useless failure I was. She sympathised with Hamzah, but more importantly, she sympathised with me… and I needed that.

I needed someone to see that yes, although I had made mistakes and done stupid things, I wasn’t all bad.

I was about to reach for it when my phone pinged on the counter next to me and I reached over to see a message from Maahi.

How’s the new bride?

Maahira herself had been on a Samoosa run slash friend introduction in London and she was unsuccessfully trying to dodge a guy that seemed to be pretty invested in it, while she, however, wasn’t.

From what my cute and curvy friend told me, he was trying so hard to impress her, but all she said was that he wasn’t her type. I actullay felt quite sorry for him when she gave me her tight reply.

Stop grilling me. I only messaged to check on my baby sis. Give her all my love. Duaas always x

I shook my head while I reminded myself that I needed to go and check on my sister, and as I stashed my phone and made my way to the room door, I wasn’t sure whether to knock or just wait for the two of them to come out.

It had been almost 45 minutes, and I had planned for half an hour, so that we could get Jameela changed and ready for supper on time.  A single, small function was our main priority, and even though it was at home, with Maghreb salaah in a few minutes, I knew that as much as he probably didn’t want to, Zubair had to leave the room soon.

I could feel myself feeling slightly nervy for my sister as I walked down the passage, still looking at my phone as Maahira gave me a brief account of her encounter with Mr Chunky, as she called him.

I tried to ignore the queasy feeling in my tummy, almost certain that it was brought on by the events of the day and the array of emotions of the past few weeks. I smiled as Maahi sent funny gif with some girl falling over laughing, barely feeling the eyes on me as I approached the doorway of Jameela’s room.

“What’s so funny?”

I almost jumped as I heard his voice, looking up immediately to see Hamzah’s brown eyes gazing at me intently.

He looked almost contemplative as he watched me, and for a moment, I felt so self-conscious that I didn’t know what to say. We had been avoiding each other (more me than him) for the past two days, mainly because I didn’t want to face up to what was going to happen soon. I figured cutting myself loose would make this easier for me. I didn’t think about what it would do to him.

“Just chatting to Maahi,” I said, stashing my phone in my abaya pocket and meeting his eye. I didn’t know what else to say. Saying more about her would mean more conversation, which would mean dragging him further into my life and I didn’t want to do that.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said quietly, and I realised that this passage was seeming increasingly narrow as we stood there and stared at each other like dimwits. “Running away. And I don’t like it.”

I breathed out as I tried to figure out what to do with my hands. I felt exposed, without my phone as my fidget toy. I felt like Hamzah was reading right into my soul, as he stared at me in the poorly lit passage. The noise down the hallway continued, but the two of us were almost stuck in time.

“Can I ask you something?”

His voice was still soft, and the door next to us was still closed. I was sure that their time was running out.

I nodded slowly, scanning his facial expression, and letting my eyes drop down to his chest, which was heaving a little more intensely than usual. My own heartbeat picked up as I wondered what he would say.

“Do you ever have regrets about our wedding day?” He asked softly, an expression flashing across his face, almost as if it pained him to say it. “Do you… ever… wish it wasn’t with me?”

His chest heaved slightly as he said it, and my own eyes filled with tears as I heard the fear in his voice.

All the Nikah vibes in the air had probably got his mind working and thinking all these obscene thoughts. The past week had been crazy with preparation and putting last minute things together, and for once, I was glad to have the distraction.

But what killed me was the fact that he he even thought this. I could not believe he actually asked that. How could he ever say that?

Yes, I knew that it wasn’t how we imagined it. It was rushed and for convenience and it was barely romantic. We had Zaid as our glue that was desperately trying to glue us together, and we had him as our first priority in everything that we did.

But, it still didn’t change the fact that I would have always chosen to do it with Hamzah. There was no question about that.

I frowned as I watched my husband now, his eyes telling a story that I’d never heard before. To think of Hamzah as threatened and insecure was a completely foreign concept for me.

Also, I hated that this happened and I knew that right then would not be a good time to say that I received a text from an unsaved number that I recognised as Faadil’s. I had deleted it and blocked him, but the fact that he had messaged me still threw me completely.

I was already shaking my head before I answered. There was no way that I had ever wanted it to be anyone but him. If he was talking about Faadil, he had no idea what that man had done to me. I didn’t want to think of what the content of that message may have been.

“Never,” I said with affirmation, looking him in the eye. “I’d never been so sure of anything else in my life, when I chose to marry you.”

Hamzah’s relief was palpable, but there were still questions in his eyes.

He wanted to know why. Why then, was I still willing to throw It all away. Materialistic possessions and status meant nothing to him. The pain and hurt this was causing was more than I void stomach, but for me, it was worth all that. It was my way of protecting him… his respect, his izzat.

I had been involved in so much of sin, and I couldn’t bear him to come down because of it.  Seeing the look in his eyes reminded me of how off track I had been, and more than anything, I wanted to right everything that was wrong.

And I knew I shouldn’t be thinking that way, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late… was it too far gone?

Maybe it was just too much of sin. I always knew and believed that thing with zinaa was that you were punishing yourself twice. First, is the punishment that Allah promises when you do the actual act, and the sin that comes with it. Second, are the memories that haunt and punish not only you, but that person who comes to mean so much to you, for your entire life. The effect is an immense impact on marital life. Where zinaa was rife, spouses become quickly disobedient and dissatisfied with each other, which lead to more problems in day to day family life.

I just wished that it was clearer in my head at that time.

But, I knew and had to keep reminding myself that the door of repentance is wide open. I had to keep focusing on that while I grappled with desperately trying to get myself back on track.

I was about to tell Hamzah that I was sorry that he felt the way he did. I was about to tell him that it was all my fault that he felt the way he did, and that his insecurities had stemmed from on my own shortfalls. I wanted to apologise for ever getting involved with someone like Faadil, and putting him in the crap I did.

But just as I was about to open my mouth and tell him all this, the door at the end of the passage opened, and with Hamzah’s eyes still on me questioningly, my mouth had already opened and closed while I turned to watch my new brother-in-law peel his head out the door and grin at Hamzah.

”Sorry for making you late,” he said to Hamzah, and as I glimpsed my blushing sister behind him, I kind of figured that Hamzah and my conversation for the night was over. I sinking feeling formed in my gut, because I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to tell him all the things that I really needed to.

I ignored the gutted feeling, waiting for Zubair to join Hamzah down the passage, not even checking to see if he looked back at me. I was scared. Scared of what his gaze would hold if I looked too deeply. Scared that if I met his eyes,  I would catch even more feelings than I already had, if that was even possible.

I sighed as I but my lip, holding back tears, not knowing why this made me so emotional. Emotions. Feelings. It was like they were wrecking havoc with my heart as I watched my sister retreat into the room, a picture of absolute bliss as she sighed and flung herself into the pillow. If I wasn’t so overwhelmed, I probably would have done the exact same thing, except for different reasons. Me burying my head in the pillow would probably entail a series of sobbing and I wasn’t yet ready to explain all my weird thought processes to my sister. I wasn’t too good with feelings.

Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Jameela’s face peeked at me, and I could already tell that my romantic sister was already well on her way into dreamland. She had that distant look in her eyes and everything about her was screaming lovesick puppy.

“So?” I said, forcing a smile on my face and wanting to get as much as I could out of her before the function would be on its way to starting.

I needed to have a final look at the set-up. I had spent the week sourcing some beautiful rugs to borrow and set up some fancy paper plates on the floor, and on of the most gorgeously designed table cloths. The whole theme was very minimal, but it was simple but elegant, and though Jameela wasn’t really interested in the details, I felt the overwhelming need to make this special for her. It had to feel like something that was worth celebrating.

I didn’t know that all she needed was Zubair.

She was grinning as she watched me now, a deep colour filling her cheeks as she spoke.

”My heart is so full right now,” she said softly, holding her chest. “Alhumdulillah.”

“What did he say?” I asked, expecting Zubair to be the type to pull out all the perfect swoon-worthy lines.

“Erm,” Jameela said, looking away as she twiddled with her thumbs.”He greeted, made a Duaa, asked if he could take my hand… and then… the usual…”

Oh my goodness. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that there hadn’t been much talking today. She trailed off and ducked her head again, and I kind of read between the lines because, I mean, these two had being eyeing each other for months.

”Oh my gosh, Jamz,” I moaned, freaking out and covering my eye’s dramatically while she had the audacity to giggle.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, although I knew that it was all completely normal and exactly what was expected. It was just that, these small things were kind of freaking me out, and it wasn’t only about Jameela.

The fact was, everything was changing. Saaliha was having another baby. Jameela was now a real married woman. Nani was actually becoming nicer than she was usually (how long that would last, I wasn’t sure). As for Hamzah and I, it was only a matter of time before we would change as well.

And I knew that it wasn’t meant to be a punishment but as I watched my sister gushing over her new husband, her face particularly flushed as she described her first halaal encounter with him, which she had quickly decided was very unexpected but in a completely charming way that wilfully clouded their thought process, I couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of sadness.

And though I couldn’t go back and erase it… I wished, with all my heart, that my first touch, moment of intimacy and romance, had also been so beautifully pure and untainted. I couldn’t turn back the clock, but the immense regret that I felt right then, was something that I’d never experienced before. Maybe I needed to repent more. Maybe I needed to return to Allah, after straying away, time and time again.

Maybe after this was all over, Hamzah and I needed a brand new start, where everything can just be erased, and then build up again.

I breathed in as cousins realised that Zubair had left and it was time to start hounding Jameela while she slipped on her dress for the function, and I slipped out the door, trying to clear my head and check if my mother was ready for the function on time. She had been checking on the food that she had been preparing in the coffee shop kitchen, and though she had called her regular staff to assist, they still needed guidance.

She was now completely exhausted as she rushed off to change, and I made my way to check if all the pretty lighting I had installed was on. It was a gorgeous setting with fairy lights that winked at me, and I couldn’t help but feel my heart still in my chest as I thought of all the amazement this would bring for her.

I sat in the empty garage, staring at those twinkly lights, under the starry night, praying for an eternity of happiness for them.

Jameela was married. At nineteen. I wasn’t sure whether to freak out or be ecstatic. I was beyond emotions, and no words could describe the feelings that wrecked havoc in my mind.

My heart ached for her every desire to be fulfilled. I yearned for her heart to be overflowing with happiness, knowing that she chosen one of the best. I prayed for her spouse to be the most soothing coolness of her eyes. How I desperately wished for her marriage to be a one of innumerable blessings, more than she had ever envisioned before…

My achy chest felt like it was going to burst with emotion, but I steadied myself hastily and sucked in my breath as I heard footsteps behind me, not even realising that my eyes were wet with tears as the person approached.

It only took me a few more seconds to realise that it was Hamzah, who was probably looking for me with Zaid in his arms, and I hastily wiped my eyes as I turned to watch my two favourite boys come toward me,  feeling completely disarmed as they did. Emotions were coursing through my veins as everything seemed to come into focus again, remembering everything that this day had held and everything that was to come after.

I gave them a shaky smile as they came toward me, thinking that I had hid my emotions very well until Hamzah’s thumb swiped against my cheek tenderly, a gesture that struck me so deeply that I didn’t know what else to say.

His questioning gaze was more than I could handle at that point, and hastily putting out my hands to take Zaid and distract myself, I knew that I had to avoid his questions at all costs.

And I was fully prepared with an answer, if he had to ask what was going on. I could tell him that some dust got in my eyes or that the lights were a bit too bright for my eyes. I could tell him that i was a little more tired than I realised, and this week has been more than I bargained for (at least that wasn’t a lie).

But he didn’t ask. As Zaid grabbed a fistful of my hijab and tugged on it, Hamzah’s gaze remained steadily on me, saying the words that none of us could.

His hands were stuffed in his pockets, as he took our surroundings in briefly, giving me a nod of approval to signal that it looked good.

“The hard work paid off,” he said simply, and I nodded back at him as I glanced at the settings appreciatively.

“Thanks for being so helpful,” I said softly, knowing that I had pushed him to the limit the day before while he fetched stuff for me from about 6 different places after work. “I owe you one.”

The last part was by the way. I wasn’t sure if I really meant it. I mean, I knew that it only made sense to pay a person back for what they did for you, some way or the other. And I would have bought him some pyjama pants or something else masculine as a usual payback, but things were a little too awkward to get personal.

“You do,” he said briefly, and I looked at Zaid as he wriggled around, begging to be let loose so he could crawl all over and destroy all my gorgeous settings.

I didn’t meet Hamzah’s eye. I had a feeling that doing so would be asking for a lot more than I anticipated. But he wasn’t deterred, as he continued to speak.

“I need a favour.”

I sucked in a breath and looked at him, but what I saw in his eyes wasn’t what I expected. What was in his eyes was pure desperation. What he needed from me was something very different to what I expected.

“Can we have the day to ourselves tomorrow?” He asked, glancing at Zaid briefly as he said it. “Maybe we can leave Zaid with Imraan and Saaliha? If you are okay with it, that is. I just want to spend some time with you. There’s something I want to show you.”

The last part was said in a rush and it took me a few seconds to realise that the swanky cool dude Hamzah that I had always known to be so smooth and easy-going, was actually very, very nervous.

His breathing had heightened as he watched me, and I really did not have the heart to say no to his request. More than anything else, I knew that I couldn’t just let our entire foundation… the crux of what we were, just collapse to the ground, without any regard for sentimentality. As much as the said feeling scared me, sentimentality is the thing that in retrospect, made the strife a little more worthwhile…

“I don’t know,” I said softly, looking at him as I could visibly see him stiffening at a possible rejection.

Zaid, almost on cue, instantly stuck his hand out to pinch the area between my eye and cheek, and I couldn’t help but swat his hand away, while looking at Hamzah accusingly.

“What was that for?” I mumbled, rubbing my eye. Zaid looked as contrite as ever. Little traitor.

Hamzah was grinning knowingly as I sighed and finally relented. Zaid wasn’t too happy with my answer.

“Okay,” I said finally, swallowing as I tried to imagine what my husband had planned, but knowing that I was probably going to regret giving into him.

He let out a giant breath, and it was almost as if he had mustered all the courage he could to bear his soul, and it had actually paid off.

I just hoped that this was just a little something harmless and bland that he wanted to do on the spur of the moment. All I was hoping for was for things to fall into place, the way we had discussed it. All I wanted was for his to be an easy transition, more for Hamzah’s than for anyone else.

He deserved so much more than I could give him. As much as I hated how this was all going, and as much I was falling apart over this, I knew very well that letting him go was the only way it could all fall into place…

 

---

Dear readers, I’m so sorry if the post is not up to scratch. I will probably do some edits in the morning when my brain is working. Just didn’t want to delay further

I’ll try and post again by the weekend InshaAllah.

Duaas

Much love

A x

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

 

Moments of Vulnerability

Bismihi Ta’ala

Zubair

Part 80

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop looking so aggro.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Congratulations son. 

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

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

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

It was evident that it was a threat.

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

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Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

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#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

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#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand