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

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Suspicious Encounters

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 77

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shook my head. No.

Maybe I was being a little paranoid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To what do we owe the honour?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crushed. Orange. Jalebi. Syrup.

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

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

Since Nani mentioned Nadeema, all I saw was red.

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

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

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

And who could blame me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sighed. But she doesn’t get it.

“It is important,” I retorted obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know all that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They both felt what way for so long?!

Oh my word, I couldn’t breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Thinking Good about others  

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

More than a Heartbreak

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 74

Pain can be beautiful too.

I never quite believed it until it happened to me, but when I realised all the beautiful things that can come out of a broken heart, and all those shattered pieces didn’t seem so devastating any longer.

And as I went on the tedious task of reconstructing my heart, just the way I wanted… I came to realise that on the bad days,  there was nothing quite like drowning your sorrows in nature while the world goes on around you.

And that’s what brought me back to the beauty.

Beauty surrounded us. Nature was filled with treaties that if look beyond and through everything that happens to us, everything we do—or fail to do—and see Allah, then we will have gotten the purpose. When something happens that you hate, or love, be careful not to miss the point.

Remember that nothing happens without a reason.

Purpose.

No event in your life, no sadness, no delight, pain, no pleasure… no heartbreak, was created without a purpose.

And purpose is such that… when we can’t seem to figure it out, we are always looking for signs. We are always asking for our Rabb to ‘speak’ to us. But those signs are all around us. They are in everything. Allah is always ‘speaking’. The question is whether we are listening.

And sometimes it was hard to drown everything else out and just pay attention to what Allah is telling us.

Especially when Nani was competing for my sanity, and in her own weird thinking, she truly believed that my sole purpose was to marry a wealthy man and procreate as soon as I could.

My purpose though, was different. It wasn’t about a man, because I knew now, that I would love Allah above him. That was the purpose of my heartbreak. It was more than just an heartbreak. It was a reason for returning to my merciful Rabb who always welcomes me back with more love than I can ever imagine.

And even though i knew all this, and I knew the purpose of this pain, it didn’t mean that I didn’t second guess myself at the slightest opportunity.

It didn’t help that Nani had been given me the 411 on how ungrateful I was and how nothing I did was right. It was a week of hearing about Doctorsaab and his amazing position that he held at the local hospital. She was clearly trying to show me how much I was missing out on and I wasn’t in the least bit concerned about it.

I wasn’t supposed to be listening as I passed by the kitchen to go out that day, but I had heard. I had been tracking Zubair’s whereabouts to avoid him as best as possible, and I knew that today was a safe day to venture out without him being around. My father had been dropping little hints about how he wanted to have a good talk with Zubair, but I really didn’t want this to become bigger than it was.

I just wanted it to go away.

”How can she be so fussy?”

I knew that she was talking about me.

Nani was talking in a hushed -(well, as hushed as Nani can be)- tone  to my mother as I passed the kitchen.

“So ungrateful,” she muttered to herself as she pulled out her kitaab and retied her dupatta, making sure that every inch of her hair was covered. “Whole family is like this, that’s why. You too, Bhengori. I try so hard and you don’t even try to talk some sense in the girl. If the mother and the sister are like this what else can you expect from the girl.”

I gritted my teeth. Really. Trust Nani to drag my whole family into an issue that had nothing to do with them at all.

And of course, seeing Nani do it made me think of how often we do that too. Instead of thinking the best, like the Sunnah of our Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam), we assumed the worst. And it doesn’t get left at that. Someone does something wrong, and their entire family gets chucked into the mix, extended relations included, with no valid reason whatsoever.

“Mummy, when don’t we listen to you?” my mother was saying, sounding a little angry. “You can’t force her to marry him. Mohsina said that she was upset. Don’t tell her anything please. Just leave her for now. It’s not easy for her. Let her keep the decision in peace so she won’t feel forced to change back.”

”You think she will change her mind?” Nani’s voice was hopeful as she said it, and I felt my own heart sinking, wondering if I could do anything right.

“Mohsina said not to get out hopes up…”

My mother was still talking but Nani wasn’t quite interested.

“What Mohsina Mohsina?” she snapped, her eyes glaring over her glasses. I couldn’t see her expression but I could tell that she meant business from her tone. “Mohsina is the reason for all this. The one that is teaching her all these silly ideas. I thought Jameela was different. Better. But she is just like her sister. At least Mohsina came to her senses by force and married someone suitable. Who knows what Jameela will do. She will end up with one useless fellow who has no job.”

That stung. I could practically hear the resentment in her voice. But to judge a guy based solely on their income bracket and appearance was as shallow as it gets.

It wasn’t like I didn’t want to be like my sister. It was just that I didn’t want to be the villain in this story. I had a good mind of barging in and telling them that I was ready to marry Doctorsaab just to prove them a point but I just couldn’t do it. Also, my father was quite adamant that he wasn’t the one that was right for me, and though I agreed, there was something else I realised.

I was in a major fix because no matter what I did here, someone got hurt.

I sighed as I pondered over my predicament, annoyed that I had let things get this bad. I needed to pull myself out of the hole I had sunk into, and see the rainbow beyond all the rain here.

And as I sat, my thoughts miles away, the beautiful pastures before me as the breeze caressed my cheeks, I couldn’t help but let my mind venture to the obvious here.

Being here, in the wilderness and the centre of ultimate natural beauty, was an awakening that of course, nothing happens without purpose. not fear. Not pain. Not even rejection.

I had been mortified. Absolutely embarrassed and ashamed that I had let things go far.

And then I remembered the little post it note that someone had put in the coffee shop, and I realised what our true purpose was about.

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.

And immediately, my heart felt soothed. With every little ache and pain, it reminded me of the purpose of being here. It awakened me from the slumber I had been in, as I pondered over the words of the Qur’ān.

So instead of giving in, instead of giving up, as I lay under the single weeping willow tree in the furtherest part of the farm, on the little log that lay next to the thickened tree trunk that was no less than a century old, there was  nothing else, other than the words of Allah that soothed me.

And there was no other place in the garden that made me feel so serene, as did this beautiful tree, that seemed to match the morbid mood I had found myself in when I first got here.

The thing with technology was that everything kept bringing you back to the spaces in your life that you wanted to fill. Every hit of dopamine that social media gave, every app that was created to remedy loneliness, was exactly the cause of all the discontentment in the world.

Sitting on my phone, reading a senseless book or wasting time on my browser would always bring me back to the huge voids in my life that I was trying so hard to not think about.

No one ever tells you about these feelings that come in between. No one tells you about the behind the scenes. The inadequacy. The pain. The wishing that you were anywhere else but in your own shoes.

Sometimes you had to look at others to truly appreciate everything you have. Sometimes being content with your lot means lowering your gaze from everything that doesn’t belong to you.

And so, as I pieced my broken pieces together, knowing that I couldn’t quite face Nani again right then after escaping outside, I knew that visiting my sister was next on the list. I had realised that I had been a teeny bit selfish the last few days. I had come back and got stuck in a place where no one knew where my mind was at. I had been drowning in my sorrows.

And as my phone buzzed with a message from Maahira, it was obviously divinely sent for me to climb out of the darkened hole I had sunk into.

Hunny, have u seen Mos lately? She says she’s fine but I don’t kno. Is she holding up?

And just with that, I realised that maybe I had become too focused on my own problems, to realise that my sister was going through something much more devastating.

I’ll check. x 

And only when I made up my mind to give her a call, and she took forever to get back to me, did I realise just how much it had missed out on while I was caught up in my own little bubble of chaos.

I barely knew that Mohsina was literally running from pillar to post, trying to sort out custody and legalities and a few unexpected accusations from Hammonds that had just come up.

And of course, I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. I had called Papa to ask if I could use the car to visit her, and knowing that I had to figure out what was going on, took the 20 minute drive to my sisters new flat, anxious about what she was going to tell me.

Here I was wondering what I would so with my broken heart, when her entire life was breaking apart.

I took deep breaths as I climbed the steps to get block, a little worried for my sister by then. She buzzed me up, and met me at the door, and I was relieved that she looked glad to see me. Maybe even a little relieved that I was at her place, for the first time since she moved, and a week after I was back, and looking like I was all put together.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, scanning my face as I entered her place, feeling quite unsettled about everything she had told me so far. I didn’t know that what she had divulged was only the tip of the iceberg.

Hamzah wasn’t there and her expression was stagnant as I tried to read her. Considering everything she had been through during the past few days, I had no idea how she was keeping it together.

“I’m fine,” I said, brushing off my own feelings as I watched her.

She wanted to ask about Zubair and I didn’t want to talk. To me, he was dead. That was the only way I could heal completely. Plus, I was feeling so much better than I was a week ago.

Mohsina gave a small smile, almost as if she knew, and I watched as she walked to the kitchen, admiring her in a pastel yellow blouse with grey wide leg pants that sat on her hip, and her hair tied back in a bun. Her cheeks were flushed and pretty, almost as if she had been doing some exercise, but I knew she hadn’t. She was just slightly more highly strung than usual and I wanted to hug her as I saw her forehead crease slightly in worry as she pulled herself up onto the bar stool.

“How are you coping?”

She shook her head and shrugged, and I was a little amazed at the patience she was showing in this situation.

I knew that Faadil was responsible for the accusations against her. Maahi had filled in me in on a little, but what I didn’t know was that he was also in some trouble as well.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Faadil and the day I had met him. Something about the way he looked at her, the way he had been so invested in ‘helping’ her… something about his graciousness had rubbed me up the wrong way

Rumour had it through some friends who were still at Hammonds that Faadil had been embezzling money for a while now, and no-one had picked it up. Well, until now. That’s how Mos’s name had come into the mix. If Mohsina was romantically involved with him and they had made purchases together, it was natural that she would also catch the fall for it.

”We’re waiting to meet the lawyers next week,” she said, sounding completely calm for someone who was under scrutiny for fraud. “I think it’s best to try and make a deal with them before this gets out of hand. That will sort out the legal part.”

“Why?” I said, not understanding how it all works. “Why must you make a deal. You’re innocent.”

She sighed, avoiding my gaze.

“Not completely,” she said softly. “I took money from Faadil. He didn’t take my calls but he emailed to say that he never meant to get my name involved. He was adamant that this wasn’t the plan, and he kept saying that what we had wasn’t just about money, and I had to believe him.”

She rolled her eyes and I widened mine. It looked like he was a teeny bit hung up on her.

“Hamzah doesn’t believe him,” she sighed, not meeting my accusing eye. Of course he wouldn’t. “He thinks that there was no way that Faadil had been transparent in those deals because he knows all the loopholes and I was obviously the scapegoat for his dodgy transactions. And it’s more complicated…”

I was trying to still see my sister in the positive light that I had been seeing her the past few months. The amazing friend and woman who had given up everything for such a noble cause.

“What do you mean?”

I was so confused, because all of these things were something completely new to me. I had no idea how accounts and cash flow works in a business.

“I knew,” she said meekly, looking devastated. “It didn’t hit me at the time what it could be but I knew that he was up to something and I never told anyone. They could probably even arrest me for withholding important information.”

She trailed off and I swallowed, remembering the day when she had met Faadil with the Porsche. According to my sister, he had been so gracious. I guess that graciousness had been replaced with greed.

“Can’t you just fight the case,” I said , not liking how this was going. I didn’t know everything but I knew for certain that my sister was innocent. She didn’t take something that didn’t belong to her. She would never.

“It’s not that simple,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Someone is giving them inside information. I’m not sure exactly what they know, they they have proof that I’ve used the money for personal gain. It’s like it’s someone who knows me so well, because there are pictures of personal belongings and receipts of stuff I’ve bought when I was still working. Someone close is conspiring against me and I just cannot place my finger on who it may be.”

She breathed out and looked away, her face contorted with emotion as she said it. Who would want to hurt her so badly?

“How are things between you and Hamzah?” I asked, as she picked up her phone for the umpteenth time, almost as if checking for some update that wasn’t arriving.

I couldn’t imagine what this was doing to her, emotionally. I couldn’t imagine what Hamzah was feeling right then. The past… Mohsina’s tainted past was coming back to haunt them in the most unpleasant way.

She placed her phone down, looked me in the eye, and shrugged.

”His wife is being convicted of fraud, Jamz,” she said blandly, looking like the weight of the world was going to crush her. “It’s a strain. We’ve argued a lot. And then there’s the glaring fact. Can you imagine what this will do to him professionally? Can you imagine the stories that are going to come up here, if this blows up? What will happen to him at work? They may even think he was involved, since we were proposed before it. His job, his reputation, his and his brother’s accreditation, his everything… since he’s a shareholder for his brothers private firm… they could lose everything that they worked so hard for.”

I blinked and watched her, as she paced up and down, now a little flustered, and I could see her staring into space as her brow furrowed again and she visibly breathed in. I just didn’t know how she was keeping it all together.

It was getting more and more complicated. The whole thing was just being blown out of proportion.

“It will be okay,” I said shakily, not quite sure I I believed it myself. “Not everyone can believe what’s in the corporate media, right? There must be ways that we can push this under the rug… ways that you can make people know the truth. Isn’t there anyone you can talk to, to sort this out?”

She shook her head, and I could tell that she had already given up. I just didn’t know how far she had already taken it. She had collapsed into a chair now, and I could see a single tear rolling down her cheek as she looked at me.

I had never, ever seen my sister like this before. So fragile and so in need of saving. I just hoped that Hamzah could be her knight in shining armour, swooping in to save the day.

”It’s not fair to him either way,” she said, shaking her head, throwing her hands up in the air. “Why must he put up with this? We did this for Zaid. He didn’t sign up for this when he married me.”

Who signs up for the ugly stuff when they get married?

People encounter all sorts of hardships. Things they didn’t know or expect. Duniyaa tests us in many different ways, and Allah Ta’ala makes it clear that we will be tested, but we have to remain steadfast. Positive.

It’s not like anyone has foresight. Things happen. We make mistakes. People get hurt.

Mohsina was one of the most selfless people that I had ever met. It wasn’t fair that this was coming back to bite her, when she hadn’t even done what they were accusing her of. I was certain of her innocence.

”Mos,” I said, my heart beating faster as she looked at me, almost taunting me to ask her what she was planning. “What are you going to do next? Is there anything I can do?”

I doubted that there was anything I could do but she looked so helpless that I knew I had to try.

“This will be the end of me,” she said, looking crestfallen. “They will find out everything. I can’t drag everyone into this mess. He’s trying to be positive, but I know that if Hamzah ever finds out that I was actually proposed to Faadil, he would probably want out.”

I sucked in my breath as I looked at her, a little shocked at what she had just revealed. Did she just say that she was proposed to that idiot? What was wrong with her?

My sister had a secret life that not one of us knew about, and I couldn’t believe that she was going to marry Faadil.

“No, Mos,” I breathed, not believing what she had just said, and what she was going to say.

Her eyes were filled with remorse as she watched me standing there, my mouth half agape.

“There’s no other way,” she whispered, shrugging. “Law suits can take forever. I’m doing what’s best for him. And for Zaid. It’s the only way he can keep his job and accreditation. If we stay together we’re both going to go under.”

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t true. I felt like pinching myself, because what was happening felt more than just a little heartbreaking. What Mohsina was about to do was an absolute nightmare for everyone.

She was already shaking her head as I appealed to her. I wanted to shake some sense into her. How could this have gotten so bad, so fast?

“Mohsina, no,” I said firmly, getting up and sitting next to her, my hands on her knees as I sat on the floor where she sat. “You guys are stronger than this, Mos. You’ll can get through this together. You guys are stronger than you think. You’ll love each other!”

She smiled through her tears, and I knew that she didn’t believe a thing that I had said.

”Love doesn’t matter here,” she said softly, her hands firmly on my shoulders as she looked into my eyes. “Jams, I know in your perfect world you think that love can solve everything…. but if you want to talk about love, it’s because I love him that I can’t put him through this. I can’t let him down because of my mistakes.
I can’t ruin the man I love.”

Oh my heart.

It just shattered, right then and there. I wasn’t even sure how much more of this I could take. I didn’t even want to ask her what next.

This was the most devastating news I had heard, after Layyanah’s passing. It was a resonating ache in my gut that felt like it was overtaking my entire body, engulfing my entire being. I was angry and resentful and I wanted to lash out at her for doing this.

“So what are you going to do next?”

The question came out almost as a sordid whisper. I didn’t even know why I was asking, because to to hear the answer was going to be the final blow that would probably dissolve me completely.

All I knew that it was the only thing that would make it real.

And oh yes, her emotionless reply was as real as it got. It was as real as the wrenching feeling in my chest, that felt precariously close to losing a vital limb.

“Next, we sign divorce papers.”

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Thinking Good about others  

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Breaking Down

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 72

Just like I learnt the golden rule of thumb (ie. silence of the thumb is golden)… I also learnt that in certain cases, with certain people and circumstances… actual silence is also golden.

And now, I know very well that Nani never means to be the way she is. She is a force of nature but also an exceptional source of wisdom for our family, and even though we’ve had our fair share of ups and downs over the years, never in a million years have I ever thought of her as less than the caring grandmother who always wants what is good for us (even though we may often disagree).

She was who she was, and though there were times when she annoyed me and made me want to run away, I was taught by my parents that there was still no way I would ever trade her for a lesser version.

Respect. Always. I knew that it went a long way.

It was just that sometimes… just sometimes… she was a tad bit too much. Now and then, when Nani borders on break downs, she really does get a little all consuming.

”She said no.”

Nani was saying it to herself, almost like a mantra, as I watched her, shaking her head. She had already been through it about three hundred times with us, and now she seemed to be going through it with herself.

”She said no.”

On repeat. There were the words again. The ones that she was struggling to understand.

“I don’t understand, Mohsina,” she said, looking at me, now, a certain panic in her eyes, as she stared into a blank space. “Can you believe it? What I did wrong in my life to deserve this? How can Isthikhaarah be negative when the boy is so positive?!”

I wanted to snort with laughter but I meekly covered my mouth and held my piece as I watched Nani, and then switched my gaze to Hamzah, who was staring fixatedly at his phone, and I could tell that he was trying very hard to keep a straight face.

He kept an eye on Zaid who was rolling around on the floor next to him, chewing his teether erratically, looking like he wanted to bite its head off. His first tooth hadn’t popped as yet, but we were still checking every day. He kept stuffing his cute little fist in his mouth and there was no doubt that he was teething.

I, on the other hand, grabbed a dhikr counter and urged myself to profusely recite more Adhkaar. It was so true that Dhikr was a means of even preventing inevitable problems. Also, keeping my mouth closed was a recipe for success when it came to Nani.

Also, keeping quiet wasn’t my nature but I was feeling bad. I sighed as I watched her forlorn expression, shifting my gaze to the gloomy weather outside.

Seemed like Jameela was bringing the London weather back with her return, and though her return was much anticipated, I wasn’t exactly feeling the whole getting drenched while we pulled her countless bags out of the car idea. Though Jameela wasn’t a huge shopper, my mothers lists of Marks and Spencer favourites Maahira insisted she send back were something else.

”Nani, I think it’s for the better,” I said as I grabbed the teacup that had half a cup of murky coffee inside it.

With Jameela’s romantic notions about life, I really hoped that she could at least get somewhere close to that kind of love that built you and bonded you, and that can be your safe space and shelter. A love that not only was good for this world, but also carried through to the hereafter. I really wished so much more for Jameela than what Doc seemed to be able to give.

“What better?” She said snappily. “He is got a broken heart, poor chap. I don’t think it is possible that Jameela is thinking properly. Maybe something happened to her head in the plane. All that fitna air made her go mad.”

I suppressed another snort of laughter and took a chug of coffee as I watched my mother’s face expression change slightly, and she shot me a warning look. Hamzah was barely meeting my eye. The truth was, no one but Nani really liked Muneer.

I knew that Doc didn’t tickle Hamzah’s fancy either and Jameela refusing meant us saving him from a lifetime of having to make conversation with someone who he could never relate to.

”Rather now than she say no later,” my mother said weakly, as she checked the pots on the stove. “There will be someone better for her, you will see.”

”And for him also. So nice boy he is.”

Okay, so I added that as a second thought because I was trying to score brownie points with Nani, and sometimes these things were essential.

Nani shook her head disbelievingly, almost as if she was in shock that we could even suggest that.

“Mohsina, just come here one minute,” Nani said, flapping her dupatta around and taking a seat after a few seconds, the melodramatic expression appearing on her face, as she patted the small of her back. “Just massage here. On the top part. All this stress is giving me back ache and I can’t even sleep properly. Every night I am tossing and turning because how will I explain this kind thing at Khairoon’s house next week to all the ladies. Nevermind. How much I suffer for my grandchildren, Allah knows.”

I ignored the urge to roll my eyes. Shame, Nani’s social status was under threat. But it really was for good reason.

She had completely ignored our attempt to try and explain the beautiful phenomenon of Allahs plan is the best plan. That no matter what happened now, if they were meant to be, they would be.

She also seemed like she didn’t believe us when we said that there was Khair in everything. She was convinced that we were lying, and we just couldn’t let Jameela make a decision like that when everything depended on it.

She also kept sneaking me looks, as if she didn’t believe me when I said that I tried to tell Jameela to think carefully.

Of course I did (not).

Jameela was due to be back any minute and I could tell that Nani was getting all revved up for a full frontal assault. All I knew was that I was going to try very hard to protect my sister from whatever was in store.

My poor sister was probably dreading coming back home and I really did feel sorry for her.

The moment had arrived as the first drops of afternoon rain had decided to appear from the formidable sky, and everyone was already rushing around, trying to make sure that all bags and luggage could be brought in before the full downpour.

The weather matched the atmosphere almost perfectly, and seeing her, in actuality, as she jumped off the car and Hamzah had already went out to help my uncle with bags, was another feeling completely. I didn’t realise how much I had missed my sister these past few weeks until I saw her there in the flesh.

And as I followed behind, staying under cover as I watched her exit the car looking as pretty as a picture, even though she was probably exhausted, I couldn’t help but notice on her face the look of resignation.

Tiredness. It had to be. And of course she would be feeling that way. Jet lag was real, and that was completely expected.

“Zubair is coming for the bags,” my father said to Hamzah as I approached the car, watching as Hamzah pulled a suitcase out from the boot and greeted my uncle with a hug.

I knew Papa relied on Zubair to do all the physical work at home because of his health, but Hamzah was perfectly capable of doing it too. I supposed that he was so used to relying on Zubair that he sometimes forgot he had an actual son-in-law.

“It’s okay,” Hamzah said in reply, but I could already spot the familiar figure as he walked toward us with a rain jacket on, and my eyes instantly switched to Jameela as I watched her glance in his direction and then simultaneously turn away, and I couldn’t help but conceal my smile.

Today, for some reason, Jameela’s demure actions didn’t make me feel all that concerned. After finding out that Zubair was actually not a horrible guy, for some reason, the things that had worried me about the two of them seemed completely irrelevant now.

And as Hamzah pulled out a bigger bag and Zubair efficiently went to take it from him, along with a smaller one that was next to the car, I couldn’t help but notice something in Jameela’s  entire demeanour change.

And it wasn’t unexpected. I knew that there would be some sort of underhand back and forth, but what Jameela did next was completely out of the blue.

She had literally morphed from some coy teenage girl to an assertive young women who immediately stalked over to where they stood, mere milliseconds before Zubair could reach the bag in question. Her fully clad arm stretched out, snatching the bag handle out of his reach just as I caught his gaze linger on her for a few moments longer than necessary before he looked down.

”I got it, Papa,” she said flatly, glancing at my father, as Papa’s brow furrowed and Zubair instantly took a step back. “We don’t need his help.”

And with that, mouths slightly agape, Papa and I both just watched her wheel her bag through to the house, barely even knowing how to react, before I hastily followed right behind her, determined to figure out what on earth all that back there was all about.

That was weird. Not to mention, completely awkward.

It was so unlike Jameela that I could barely believe that she did that. It was so unlike her normally sweet and sensitive nature, that I could barely believe that this had actually happened.

Pure-hearted, considerate Jameela had come back from London in such a combative mood that I could barely believe it was her.

And as I watched her in her free flowing abaya and tightly wrapped hijab, enter the house, greeting my mother and Nani, briefly, I couldn’t help but shoot them a look to tell them to give her a break. Doctor and his broken heart was all by the way, because what was happening was what was making me a little unsettled.

I followed her as she made her way up to her room, wondering why she wasn’t even looking at me.

Two weeks away had made her a different kind of person, and I was still struggling to come to terms with it.

She had stomped up the stairs in a bit of a huff, and as I walked behind her, it took me a while to figure out that she was avoiding eye contact. Whatever had happened down there was completely intentional and I was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter what it took.

Jameela had pushed her room door open, tossed her smaller bag on the bed, and turned around before plopping herself on its edge.

”What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t help but ask. I could see that something was up. I mean, she barely even stopped to greet zaid. When Jameela ignored Zaid after weeks of not seeing him, something was definitely up.

“It’s stupid,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes briefly before shaking her head. “I’m stupid. Just don’t worry about it.”

”Jameela, you’re not stupid.”

My voice was soft and coaxing and it was all it took for the tears to start welling up in her eyes again. I wasn’t sure what was bringing it all on, but I knew that this was not just any normal reaction.

“Did something happen?” I asked, sitting down next to her as she fell back into the bed, almost in surrender, and covered her face with her hands.

”Y-you don’t want to know.”

Her voice came out all strained and muffled and I could tell that she was really uncomfortable about whatever she was going to say. It didn’t mean that I wanted to hear it any less. In fact, I now wanted to know more.

Something major had gone down and I now needed to know.

”Talk to me, Jamz,” I said soothingly, knowing that I had to be there for her. “What’s going on? You know everything happens for a reason. You’re not yourself, and it can’t only be the proposal causing all these weird emotions…”

I grinned at my sister, but she didn’t smile back.

Okay what on earth was up with her?

I looked at her enquiringly, tilting my head to the side as she took a deep breath as if she was going to say something big, and I was already all ears.

“You remember Nusaybah?”

Nusaybah.

Nusaybah. Mr Mujahid’s (aka Zubair) sister.

I looked at her, narrowed my eyes and nodded as she sat up and yanked her scarf off, revealing her hair that was tied up in a loose bun and stretched her slender neck.

Jameela was perfectly and naturally slim and I was sure she would stay that size her entire life.

“Zubair’s sister?”

I said it as naturally as I could. I only hoped that Jameela hadn’t taken things into her hands and gotten involved in something haraam. She knew better than that, but with temptation- you could never tell.

At the mention of Zubair, expectantly, her gaze faltered. I did expect that.

She took a deep breath.

”She wanted to ask him about what he would think about me,” she blabbered, and I focused on her a little more intently as she spoke. My poor sister was looking distraught, ans I was soon going to know why. “I don’t even know why… but she was convinced that Zubair may have been a little interested in me. And because she said it, well… I was stupid, okay? I got my hopes up too.”

Uh-Oh. I wasn’t sure if I liked the way things were sounding. Seemed liked these two girls were playing a matchmaking game. I stared at her, but remained silent as she continued.

“Anyway,” she said, sounding tired and embarrassed as she visibly flushed. “She told him that I may be interested. And I told Papa, because he suspected a while back… and I wanted him to know that Nusaybah was talking to her brother about me. It wasn’t anything official, it was just a little feeler to decipher what he felt…”

Oh no. Oh no oh no.

She wasn’t looking happy and that didn’t mean anything good. And then, it all just made sense.

Zubair was looking so awkward and out of place out there, especially when Jameela grabbed the bag and stomped off. It was all happening so fast and I wasn’t entirely sure what had gone down but I knew that it was something completely unexpected…

And now I understood. It was all crystal clear.

”He said no, Mos,” she whimpered softly, looking visibly stung by the outcome, as if she was reliving the moments that she heard of the first time. “He said no. I  mean, deep down, I knew that he wasn’t really interested but I thought that after Nusaybah had mentioned him, she may have had a better idea. I had already said no to Muneer at that point. I thought that everything about him seemed wrong because maybe Zubair was actually better for me.”

I was still digesting it. While Jameela was away in London, so much had happened in these past three days, and I was completely unaware of it.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” she went on, shaking her head and sitting up. “Maahira said that maybe you were right. All my stupid dreams and fantasies. I’m not like you, Mos. Now I understand what you said before, about me waiting till I’m a bit older. I think I don’t know a thing about real life and marriage and I’m really am sworn off men for the next year at least. I cannot deal.”

Maahira? She spoke to Maahira about this. And she didn’t tell me. I was hurt.

”Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked her. I couldn’t believe all this that had gone down without knowing a thing.

“Mos, I knew you are dealing with so much yourself,” she mumbled, her eyes slightly misty again. “How can I trouble you with my stupid worries that aren’t even worth it. You have your in laws and Zaid and Rabia and plenty more to sort out…”

I breathed in, and the sting subsided a bit. Yes, had other things on my mind but Rabia had been quiet for a while and I was hopeful that things between us would return to normal. Rabia was the type to hold a grudge and though I didn’t make a huge effort to end the feud, I figured that her silence was a good sign.

My sister had a problem and I was hurt that she hadn’t confided me in me but I couldn’t quite imagine what she felt.

“Besides,” she said, taking a deep a breath in. “I’m not even worried because I’ve started reading this amazing Duaa. Nusaybah actually told me about it. You know the Duaa of Musaa AS? I was feeling completely down and depressed and it’s the only thing that got me through. I’m in so much of a better state than I was…”

رَبِّ إِنِّي لِمَا أَنْزَلْتَ إِلَيَّ مِنْ خَيْرٍ فَقِيرٌ

Rabbi innee limaaa anzalta ilaiya min khairin faqeer
“My Lord, indeed I am, for whatever good You would send down to me, in need.” (Surah Qasas, ayah 24)

I heard of it.

The recitation of this Du’aa was after Musa (as) was forced to escape from the city, into the desert, and headed towards Madyan.

After a long journey, Prophet Musa (as) came across a group of male shepherds who were watering their flock at a well. Keeping their distance, he noticed two women waiting in the back with their sheep. They felt it was safer to wait than to mix with the men who were gathered at the well.

When asked, they explained to Musa (as) that their father was an old man and unable to feed their flock, so they had to take on this duty. Now keep in mind that Musa (AS) himself was disheveled and exhausted from his travels, he likely did not have much to eat or to drink.

Still, he empathized with their situation, “So he watered (their flocks) for them; then he turned back to the shade…”(28:24) as he turned back to the shade he recited this du’a,

Rabbi innee limaaa anzalta ilaiya min khairin faqeer meaning, “My Lord, indeed I am, for whatever good You would send down to me, in need.”

Musa (AS) acted in an honorable manner to help these women in a foreign town amongst strangers. He prayed to Allah, asking him to provide more opportunities to do good acts like the one he just did. Also note, after having helped the women he did not stay and mingle, it says “watered (their flocks) for them; then he turned back to the shade”. Musa (AS) in this du’a also uses his state by saying that he is faqeer- meaning in dire need, or in poverty.

And through this Duaa Allah Ta’ala gave him so much more than just a home. He got food. He got provisions. He got a wife. A home. A family. Security. That was the blessing of that Duaa… that Allah gave so much more than just what was apparent to him at the time.

“I read it, Mos, and it’s like a calm descends on me,” she said with a certain kind of hope in her eyes. “And I’m okay. Really. I know I can trust Allah to reveal my story in the best way. I just have to avoid Zubair as much as possible. I don’t know how I can ever face him, and with him being here…”

It was going to be a difficult task to do forever, but she would get over it.

I wanted to hug her. I felt terrible for her. And I knew that I never liked him and always thought that he wasn’t good enough, but now I couldn’t help but feel insanely protective and want to break his legs for breaking her heart.

I really had no words for him! How could he say no? Without even meeting her, or even getting to know what she was about… Mister Mujahid made a decision based on nothing at all. As for Nusaybah, I wasn’t even sure what possessed her. I knew what rejection felt like and to see the hurt on my sisters face was like I myself was punched in the stomach.

“I’m so sorry, Jamz,” I said quietly, a cheeky smile creeping on my face. “If I knew earlier, I would have slashed the tires on his motorbike. I can still do it.”

I knew that I was being mean, but I was only trying to make her smile. And it worked.

”Please,” she said softly, the smile fading. “Just don’t do or say anything. It’s already so embarrassing.”

Poor Jameela.

I smiled sadly as I tried soothing her the best I could, letting her take a small nap as I went downstairs to tell Nani and my mother that she wasn’t feeling great.

My mother went to check on her too, but Nani was still looking completely out of steam, and I was kind of glad. After everything, she really didn’t need Nani telling her what a bad decision she had made by rejecting Doc.

I wondered if she regretted that part. I knew if I was in her position, I would, but Jameela wasn’t me. When she had her mind set on something, she was pretty one-tracked.

All I knew was that somehow, during this time, so much had happened that I couldn’t quite believe that I had no idea all this while.

And of course, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Even as we got home later that night, Zaid in his cute little car romper, almost asleep, as Hamzah helped me out of the car, it was all still racing through my mind.

Why did Jameela let Nusaybah do it, if she wasn’t almost sure that he felt the same way? Did she just feel pressured? Was it something she just wanted to strike off her list? Or was there some reason that Zubair had actually said no. The way he looked at Jameela… well, I knew that I was no expert but I could definitely tell that something more than awkwardness was in his gaze as he watched her match back to the house.

But maybe not quite.

I shook my head and sighed, letting Hamzah push open the door as I walked to the room and placed Zaid down, wanting to talk to him about it. I had tried to ask him about Zubair in the car, but had to stop because Zaid was popping his head up at every word and behaving like he was the main participant in the conversation.

He was becoming more alert with every day, and even though it was cuteness overload, it meant that Hamzah and I didn’t quite have the moments we used to have, when he would quietly feed and fall off to sleep.

These days I couldn’t even take out my phone without him wanting to grab it, and I knew that it was a lesson for me to have less screen time too.

I smiled at Hamzah, telling him that I would be with him in a minute, as I glanced at my laptop in the corner of our bedroom.

I wanted to ask him if he could talk to Zubair. Perhaps he would have some way of asking what Zubair’s deal was. Was he really that uninterested in my sister? I really couldn’t believe it.

Jameela was gorgeous by any standards, and the fact that he wasn’t even remotely attracted to her, to the extent that he didn’t even want to talk to her, just didn’t seem feasible.

And as I pulled off my scarf and checked my browser, waiting a few seconds for mails to load, and clicking on one that claimed to be urgent.

Mostly, these were mails with queries that had to do with previous accounts or budgets I had drawn up, and for a while it had been kind of quiet. I figured that there was someone competent in my old position, and I was genuinely glad.

This time, there was a single e-mail that stood out, and as I opened it and skimmed its contents, my heart beat with a certain kind of intensity that I’d never felt before.

The mail stated that a case had been opened against me, from Hammonds, claiming that I had stolen a large chunk of money with signed documents (by me) to confirm. It cited references from bank statements and messages and pictures from some Instagram accounts that I didn’t recognise. There were a host of accusations and allegations and I couldn’t even see anything made sense to me at that moment.

I actually couldn’t even think properly. I was in absolute shock, as I scrolled down in a daze.

My world had stopped. It was like everything had frozen in time. I wasn’t even sure what on earth had happened, but all I knew was that someone was out there to get me, and they were doing everything in their power to do so.

I glanced at the e-mail again, closed my eyes, and then, for first time since Layyanah’s death, I completely broke down.

---

Authors Note: Apologies for the delay. Signal issues since I’m not in the city. And the drama starts once again…. 

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

 

In the Clouds

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 70

Travel. It had it moments. Sometimes when things get a little over the top, it’s good to remind yourself where the sunshine is. There was just something about the open skies with cotton candy clouds that made me light-headed with elation.

And then there’s one above that:

Praying to your Lord when up in the air. Well, that was just sublime. A feeling of being grounded, without actually being on the ground. A touch of freedom without actually being free. It was a most powerful weapon, a way to find home, wherever in the world you may be.

When your head finds the ground, and you are connected with your Rabb, there’s no other place you can go but higher.
It was a beautiful reminder that everything that happened and everything in existence was never our doing and always controlled by the Greatest Power of All.

And up there, amidst the great white cotton clouds, with natural silver linings from beyond, glared a light from the highest point of where one could ever conceive.

The view from the way up where even blue birds fly was something that reminded me of faith and fairy tales, and the feeling of being beyond it made my heart soar just as high as the airplane did.

SubhaanAllah.

I mean, have you ever stopped to think how Allah Ta’ala commutes people over seas, in a meagre piece of metal? How the airborne vessel actually stays up there, despite it defying every conceivable law that you’ve ever known? How Allah Ta’ala seems so much closer and greater as you peak out at the clouds, letting your imagination run wild as you wonder what Jannah really looks like, and what it really felt like to be able to have whatever your heart desires…

Narrated Abu Hurairah [ra]:

“I have prepared for My righteous servants what no eye has seen and no ear has heard, nor has it occurred to the human heart. Thus, recite if you wish, ‘And no soul knows what joy has been kept hidden for them.”’

(Sahih al-Bukhari, Muslim, at-Tirmidhi, and ibn Majah, Surah Al Sajdah, 32: 17)

It was a first for me. After Umrah with my parents years back, it was a first time I’d travelled so far and for such a worthy distance and it made me see life out of the bubble I’d always keep myself in.

The thing was; travelling not only opened your mind, but also offered a stark and rude awakening as to how status-driven the world was. The world judges according to what kind of holidays you had, how much money you forked out for your tickets and what kind of brands you sported while you continued on your mission of competing for the best instagram hits for your travel diaries.

Being tucked away in a farm in the corner of Gauteng, and with my nose stuck in books wasn’t exactly conducive to reality. This- being in the hustle of bustle of major movements and people of the world- was reality… and it wasn’t pretty.

On the up side, it was a welcome diversion from the last week at home when Nani had forced me to meet Muneer (aka Doctorsaab) again. Doc was making efforts to solidify his case as husband material, to the extent where his cringe-worthy shenanigans made me feel as if I wasn’t even remotely old enough to be subjected to his courting.

I had made sure that I maintained a safe distance on the couch at the opposite side of the room and excused myself when things got a little too haraami-like, my cheeks flaming red as Nani wiggled her eyebrows at me when I exited the room.

And there I was, thinking that the older generation was supposed to have a natural sense of modesty. Nani may have just been the exception.

I still, for the life of me, could never imagine myself actually married to him… leave alone being his smoothie chef and raising his rugrats for the rest of my life. Nani couldn’t understand how I could not want to be the wife of a Ken-look-alike who had a medical degree and the depth of a shallow pond.

I sighed, pulling out my backpack and my jacket and placing my doodling pad back in. Sketching was something I did to keep myself busy, although I wasn’t exactly amazing at it. I just didn’t want to get caught up in the in-flight entertainment this time, so I had carried enough to keep myself busy for all those hours, and not let the holiday spirit conquer the better parts of me.

I pulled my scarf on tighter, taking note that just because I was on a technical ‘break’, didn’t mean that I forgot who I was. It was a small reminder to myself that wherever we are in the world, we were Muslims first.

Dress wise, character wise and Imaan-wise. One slip could be disastrous. Deen was a complete way of life, a soothing for the lost soul, and a quenching relief when we are faced with the drought of hope that the world brings. Going out there, into the open, seeing so many new faces and places… well, it made our lives seem so small compared to the vastness that surrounded…

Being here, finally having landed in Heathrow Airport, I was feeling like an entirely different person. After going through the queues, searches and motions that came with regular travel took up a good amount of time and energy, but I was in awe of what kinds of lesson I took was going to take home here, even when my trip had just begun.

People watching had got my mind all fired up as I wondered what each persons story was… what they were here for and where they were headed. I grabbed my Qur’ān that I had placed in the seat holder, pushed my glasses up my nose, and headed out behind my uncle and aunty as they all started disembarking.

”Mo-Seena?” A voice said, and of course, I didn’t turn around because it wasn’t my name they were calling, but I heard it loud and clear.

My sisters name. Well, a version of it. But my sister wasn’t here, so…

“No,” the voice said, and I could hear her talking to someone else about how this girl looks like Mohsina but she can’t be her. “Mos’s sister, right? Jameena?!”

And at that, I swung around, nearly toppling over in the midst of people streaming around me, finally being able to see who the speaker was, and giving her a once over as I did.

A few people gave me annoyed looks and I blushed and quickly continued walking as I smiled at the girl, already recognising who she was.

I probably hadn’t seen her more than twice in my life, but I had heard plenty about her from Mos. It had been an amazing thing when she had reverted and seeing her at Mohsina and Hamzah’s function dresser completely differently to how she had been dressed the previous time had completely bowled me over.

I mean, what were the odds of meeting Mohsina’s long lost friend and colleague here in Heathrow airport today?

Definitely no coincidence. And what was her name again. Ah, yes.

“Lesley?!”

I was honestly gobsmacked to see the amazing transformation of this beautiful girl. Her hijab was tied beautifully, with not even a strand of her blonde hair showing. Her modest dress was flowy and loose, with her ankles covered, and I was honestly struck with a feeling of amazement as I watched her.

”Oh my goodness,” she breathed while I fell back and we trudged along with our hand luggage. She had echoed my own thoughts, leaning forward to embrace me, until her vanilla mixed with Orbit gum scent overpowered me. “It’s so great to see you! Assalamualaikum!”

”You too,” I said shyly, greeting back and trying not to stare, despite how intrigued I was, as we made small talk.

Her husband was at a few steps behind, dragging two hand luggage cases with him as we made our way through the long and wide corridors.

As for Lesley, who had actually just let me know that she was called Aalia, I couldn’t believe how much she had changed. She had a look of serene contentment on her face, and I couldn’t quite digest how Allah Ta’ala can take someone from zero to hero and make them one of His most beloved just through the gift of Hidayat. It was nothing short of a miracle.

When Allah wants to guide, there’s no limits.

”How is Mos, after… everything..?” She asked, her eyes concerned for my sister as we glimpsed a queue ahead. “I think of them so much. How is the baby?!”

She didn’t say it but I knew that she meant after Liyaket and Layyanah’s death. It always felt like people were too scared to mention them. I felt the same way too. Death pricks at parts of us that are sometimes buried deep below, and when we go there, sometimes it feels like picking at an old scab that doesn’t quite want to heal.

She smiled sadly and I remembered that they all worked together at one point. It was a loss that they felt unanimously.

“She’s… good,” I said, nodding. She was good. Mostly. “Zaid too. Coping. Mohsina has her moments.”

It wasn’t untrue, what I had said. I didn’t want to mention that Mohsina was having quite a few moments, up until lately.

Her moods had been a little weird lately. On top of their marital woes, they were still very obviously dealing with a tragedy, and I also knew that Rabia had gotten a little hectic too with targeting Mohsina, especially after she posted a little something malicious on Instagram last week.

I knew where it all came from of course.

And I pretended like I wasn’t shocked, but I actually couldn’t believe that Mohsina’s in-laws didn’t call their daughter out for doing it. I honestly feel that the girl had never caught a hiding from her parents before, and it entitled her to acting the way she did.

She had taken it upon herself to write a long post that about family members who were big influencers and supposed to inspire people, yet kicked people out of their houses and had sinister methods (with a whole lot more falsified drama to the story).

It was a very obvious jab at my sister and though Mohsina went a little crazy, and it came with more name calling and coverage that sent dms to @mostlymoshina too, I couldn’t quite understand what went through Rabia’s head.

Mohsina was still angry at Rabia (if not even more so now than before), and the thing was, I kind of felt sorry for Hamzah, who just looked at a dead loss when it came to the dramas between his sister and Mos. When it came to the relationship between sisters-in-law, I could see how it went.

Where Hamzah pushed to make things okay, both women pulled, making it even more complicated.

“I’m sure Hamzah is taking care of her,” Lesley was saying, after a few seconds, in step with me as we walked toward the queue. Passport control queue was going to kill us. “He always was a good guy.”

“He is,” I said, nodding in agreement, despite what Mohsina complained about lately. The usuals. That he was brainwashed by his sister and never stood up for her. But he was a good husband nonetheless. An amazing father and role model to Zaid. “That’s what’s important. And he’s good for Mohsina. You won’t believe how much she’s changed too…”

”I know,” she said, her eyes twinkling as we reached the gates. “I’ve noticed from social media… or should I say lack of it…? She’s so different to what she was… what can I say? Pre-Hamzah…? I truly believe that the best kind of spouse is one that makes you check yourself, lifts your Imaan and really brings out the best parts of you.”

Wow. To have that coming from Lesley was super inspiring.

“So true,” I said, with a small smile. “Sometimes he is the only one who can talk sense into her.”

He really was. Even when Nani couldn’t get through to her Hamzah just knew which angle to go in with.  I knew that the magic was in the words of the Qur’ān that had changed her heart, and the way she saw everything thereafter. Hamzah was just the product of her efforts, the continuation she needed for her love story with Allah to continue.

”I always knew the two of them had a thing for each other,” Lesley whispered to me with a wink. “I think everyone in the office did. Including Faadil. That’s why he sunk his paws into her. I still can’t believe that ever happened.”

I paused briefly, careful not give away too much in my expression, not aware that Lesley knew about Faadil. Not aware that Faadil knew about Hamzah either. All these office dramas were way beyond my understanding.

”Allah saved her from a nightmare,” I said, almost to myself, honestly wondering how she would have dealt with a marriage that featured someone who respected no one but his own selfish needs.

It was a twisted triangle where the better man had definitely won, and I hoped it would stay that way.

Haraam relationships had a way of biting you in the behind at some point. I just hoped that it wasn’t still making its way back to her.

And as we queued and made our way out, waving to Lesley and joining my uncle and aunty as they grabbed a taxi and finally got to the hotel, I was still completely in awe of the meeting with Lesley.

Once again I felt sublime gratitude that I saw this. That it made me appreciate Deen so much. That someone else had seen a beauty in it that made them want it too. That I could be here to witness and learn so much from what I had seen.

The hotel was a good half hour away, but getting to where there was some Wi-Fi was an amazing relief, and I couldn’t help but log on to WhatsApp quickly and send my mother, Maahi and Nusaybah messages to let them know I was in town and at the hotel.

I had to be quick because Nani was stalking me on WhatsApp, so I was afraid to go online. I knew from Mohsina that she had a habit of doing that, especially when she didn’t like the way something was going. It was a good thing that I didn’t check statuses because I kind of figured that Nani had probably put something about ideal, amazing husbands on hers, in an effort to nudge me toward the likes of Doctorsaab who seemed to fit every criteria she had set for me.

The hotel we were staying at was central but basic, and I sighed tiredly as we finally reached our rooms and plopped my bag on the floor. I had already splayed myself on the bed, enjoying the feeling of lying completely flat for the first time in over a day. M

As always, airplane seats were comfortable to sit in, but barely suitable to sleep in. Though the room I had now wasn’t big or fancy, it was neat and clean, and that was really all I needed right then.

I didn’t even realise how tired I was, until my head found the pillow and I almost instantly drifted off into a soothing slumber, only waking to the sound of buzzing next to me as I grabbed my phone.

All that flight time had definitely had it’s effect, and as I glimpsed Nusaybah’s name on the screen as I picked up, I tried my best to sound anything but drunk with tiredness as I greeted.

“Girl, where are you?” Her upbeat voice said, and I could hear the background noise as she spoke, almost as if she was in the middle of a bustling street.

I stifled a yawn, pulling my specs on, hoping I didn’t sound like a complete dead loss.

“I’m downstairs in the foyer. Waiting for you. Faheem is on call and dropped me off here on his way. Come join me.”

”I’m coming,” I croaked, trying to rub the sleepy drunkenness out of my eyes.

Gosh. Nusaybah was really something else. I couldn’t believe that she had come so soon.

I glimpsed a message for Maahira saying that she was working till late but may see me the next day. Pulling on an abaya and a scarf, I speedily exited the room before she came up to literally yank me out of bed. She was so full of energy that I really couldn’t keep up.

My mind was already overwhelmed with the new spaces as I ventured downstairs to the reception area, glimpsing Nusaybah from a distance, her niqab covering half her face as her eyes crinkled with joy.

Being in a new country hadn’t yet settled in for me.

But being here with Nusaybah… well, she was really one of those people who reminded you of Allah Ta’ala, just by seeing them. It was the reason I met her over and over again.
She was always so full of life and energy, and good advices, and it was only natural that her positivity overflowed to those around her. Seeing her already made me feel at home, even in this strange place. Just being with her gave me a whole new sense of purpose.

I couldn’t help but spend a few seconds admiring the view of the city behind us after greeting her with a huge hug, before I finally took a seat opposite her. She was studying a menu, and I didn’t even realise my tummy was rumbling until she asked me if I was fine with sharing a snack platter.

I nodded, knowing that the hotel probably didn’t offer much else halaal, just happy to see her for now.

”You’re looking jet-lagged,” She said with a grin, closing her menu. I had spoken to her on WhatsApp a few times since she left and she knew a little of what was going on. “How was the flight?”

”It was refreshing,” I said honestly. “I can’t remember when’s the last time I flew. Just glad to be here, finally!”

She grinned.

”The flight can be killers,” she said, shaking her head. “But Alhumdulillah. Everything okay back home?”

I groaned, knowing she was referring to Nani, especially since she was honoured to witness the first hand verbal assaults of my grandmother when she was going through what she called her very own kind of emergency.

”Err, kinda,” I said, still remembering Nani’s parting words before l left. “Honestly, I feel relieved to have some time out of the mix.”

I didn’t want to mention that Nani was far from happy about me running away in the middle of a proposal. Neither did I want to mention that Muneer actually did propose. Thinking about it gave me a weird feeling in my gut.

It wasn’t exactly the way I planned to spend my short break but with Nani, there wasn’t much compromising. She wanted me to give an answer in two days, no matter where in the world I was. She would have no other way.

Nusaybah smiled a quirky smile as the waiter came up to us with the platter two hot drinks that looked exactly like what I needed. It was freezing outside.

“You can tell me,” she said with a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard all the levels of cray cray and I’m not even kidding. My husbands ones sister is not exactly my cup of tea but I put up with her. Someone bothering you?”

Sounded like Nusaybah had a similar issue to Mohsina. Why were sisters in law like that sometimes? Why was Nani like this sometimes? 

Anyway, I could barely imagine Nusaybah being that kind of sister-in-law. But then again, I would never know, right?

”Remember the doctor?” I said, letting the drink warm my palms, and cutting straight to the chasr. “The one that came with a proposal.”

Her eyes widened and she looked at me and blinked once.

Exactly how I felt

“Oh Emm Gee, Jameela!” She exclaimed, and I was so sure she would spill her drink as she almost jumped up. “A stunning and amazing girl like you with so much of goodness in your heart… Of course he proposed! He would be an idiot not to!”

She chuckled to herself as she watched me, and I smiled shyly, wondering how to tell her that I was feeling completely in over my head here.

“And I would be an idiot not to accept, right?”

The question hung in the air as I said it, and she gave me a sympathetic look for a moment and grabbed a cracker, before she spoke again.

”You don’t have to do anything,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sure he’s a great guy, but I’ve realised that everyone looks for different qualities in their spouse. Usually, qualities that compliment theirs, traits that they don’t have. So if he’s got all those things that you always wanted, if he can build you to be a better person and pushes you toward Allah, then I would say, it’s a good match. But if not….”

She trailed off, and I noticed she didn’t meet my eye as she said it.

She knew. She knew that I didn’t want to marry this guy. Just like how Mohsina and Papa and my mother knew too. I just needed affirmation that I was doing the right thing. I mean, who turns down a handsome and upcoming doctor, who looks so good on paper. It was ludicrous.

But nonetheless. I still didn’t feel it, no matter how hard I tried to. The people milling around us seemed to fade out as we spoke, and I didn’t anticipate feeling it so deeply as I did then.

“What do you ask for?” She said softly, and I looked at her, slightly confused as she watched me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, slightly confused.

“I mean, like in your Duaas,” she said with a wink. “I would always tease my friend Khawlah that I wasn’t ever sure what kind of amazing Duaas she made. She got a Mr Perfect… and she got an amazing husband twice over. She had been through so much when she was younger, and then her first husband passed away when they were both really young… and I honestly wondered what kind of status she had when she got married again to her childhood friend who she never thought she’d see again. Seeing dreams come true is something like eating chocolate. Sweet and addictive. I know it sounds idealistic… but is this guy… this doctor… well, is he your dream guy?”

Dream guy. I mean, I didn’t even know if that existed, but I got what she meant. Was he everything I had imagined?

I hated to say it, but he was nothing like I imagined.

I shook my head, feeling like I’d disappointed myself by admitting it.
Nusaybah, however, looked unbothered. Almost as if she knew I would say that from the onset.

What she didn’t know was who it was that actually fitted that description for me. How I would daydream about him asking Papa about me. But of course, I could never tell her that. It was way too embarrassing to be crushing on a guy who barely even noticed I existed until I broke into his weapon house stash.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to know. I was just too afraid to tell her. What if what I said was too close to what are knew? What if she actually suspected that I was a little obsessed with her brother.

It was something I would take to the grave.

“So what do you ask for?”

What do I ask for? My Duaas were pretty basic. I didn’t really know what I wanted. The usual was a man who is brave and kind, puts Allah first and isn’t afraid to stand up for what he believes in. In this day and age, it was so hard to find the right person.

I think everyone is looking for someone who is good to them, unconditionally. Someone they can talk to and who they like to listen to. It sounds quite simple but it’s actually kind of hard to find both.

“I suppose I just want someone who is decent and has good values,” I said quietly, heading for the safe route. It was important to me though.  Someone who didn’t do others down was important. “Someone who l who sees me for who I really am…. instead of just a pretty face or whatever guys see when they look at me…”

I trailed off because I didn’t want to sound stupid. Good ethics was the best I had. But what do you know about ethics when you meet a person?

“That sounds fair,” she said with a nod. “Jameela, you’re so sweet. Like, one of the sweetest and unassuming people I ever met. You’re light and happiness and candy floss…”

I giggled as she chuckled at her own words.

I was candy floss. Really?

“I’m serious,” she said, her eyes going wide as she looked at me. “You are like that cute little poem. From the day I saw you, I thought.. ‘she’s sugar and spice and all things nice’. That’s why you need someone just as nice too, but with also a little bit of spice…”

She winked and I rolled my eyes, not even believing she was comparing me to a nursery rhyme.

“First impressions can be deceiving too,” I said with a grin, because she obviously thought way too much of me.

Nusaybahs eyes lit up.

“Zubair says the opposite,” she said with a grin, shaking her head, and my heart ridiculously raced at the mere mention of his name. “One of his many theories. Because I always ignore first impressions, and he doesn’t. He says you never get a second chance to make a first impression. Sometimes when you know, you know…”

I swallowed awkwardly, wondering how we ended up on the topic of Zubair again. And why, when it was precisely what I was trying to avoid.

“At least now that he’s away from my uncle I can have actual conversations with him,” she continued, almost absentmindedly as she went on. “He was so young when our mother passed away, and being there for him was second nature until something happened between my father and him and he fell into the wrong crowd. I honestly wish that I could turn back the clock, and guide him toward the right path before he got caught up, but it is what it is. My mother used to say that Allah’s plans for us are always more beautiful than our own wishes. Maybe it was my wish to always be there for him, but maybe it was Allahs plan for him to somehow end up right where he is.”

Oh my goodness, this was getting way too close to home.

The reality that hit me was like a wall of bricks cascading down. It had just occurred to me that I was so completely obsessed with her brother that I couldn’t even hear about him without acting like a complete idiot, and blushing as if I was already a new bride.

I was trying to walk away and hold on at the same time, and any thread of hope that she was offering was like glimpsing that silhouette of sunlight, like the one peeping out at me from behind the clouds.

What was wrong with me? I was so messed up. Completely done for. I felt like I needed to bath in Nani’s phook water. Or maybe I needed something stronger.

My mind is was in the gutter. Completely and utterly.

I was in the gutter. In the gutter. In the gutter.

But what Nusaybah said next was about to pull me out of there, and lift my hopes right to the clouds.

I just didn’t know it yet.

 

---

Dearest Readers

My sincerest apologies for the delay. Just that crazy time of year again, but I will try and post the next masala by Friday. Hehe.

Much Love,

A

x

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

Springtime Secrets

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 61

Jameela

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To me, she turned and said:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But how did I even explain that to my father?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jamz, I need to know something.

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

Shoot.

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

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

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

Oh no, I was already getting nervous for her.

Me: Did Hamzah find out ??!

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

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

Clear as day.

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

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

Mos: I told Hamzah about Faadil.

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

Me: Mos. Is he okay?

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

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

Me: You didn’t?

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

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

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

But was it wise?

I typed quickly, hoping to reassure her.

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

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

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

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

But the truth was completely different.

Let me think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Mission Revive a Sunnah: Avoiding Suspicion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

The Greatest Gift

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 45

And all of a sudden, it was June, and as the morning sun broke over the tips of the mountain edges, the sunshine appeared like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

It’s silhouette boasted its sublime beauty as I cast my gaze over it, I couldn’t help but sniff the the scent of roses in the air and hold out a hope that it was surely a promising sign. And as nature showed off it’s best winter bits, I wanted to sink myself into the realm of abandonment that it promised, but it was just that, with Faadils arrival that morning… I was starting to doubt my own optimism.

And as I hastily made my way to the kitchen window, sneaking past Nani and Ma, who, along with one of my aunties, seemed to be very absorbed in their meal preparation, each allocated a task that looked particularly tedious, I kind of hoped that they wouldn’t notice me there.

I had strategically positioned myself in the the corner of the kitchen that that had the most extensive view of the yard, purely because it was the only perfect  spot for me to spy on my sister and her boss, just to ascertain if things were really as dandy as she had pretended they were.

And with the backdrop of Quránic recital and slight chatter in the background, my sole intent at that point was to locate them and attempt to figure out his intention too.

And as I watched the from afar, clapping my eyes on  Mohsina, in her black cloak and scarf, talking somewhat civilly to her boss, a fear had gripped me as I realised that this wasn’t just a normal conversation.

I mean, why would he come all the way here just to talk about some audit? Besides….The look on his face, when he said he wanted to meet with Mohsina… there was something that I couldn’t mistake. It was obvious that he had feelings for my sister… and the worst part was, I think that my sister wasn’t completely unaware.

And as I processed and sighed, as I watched them in the distance, almost as if they were talking about something intimate, I literally wanted to run out and scream at my sister, like a policewoman, to tell her to keep her hands above her head and just take a step back. But of course I couldn’t. After all, she wasn’t a baby. I was supposed to be the smaller sister, who needed the taking care of.

And as if it was a final straw, I just sucked in my breath as I saw him pulling something out from inside his coat, and then, as they both stepped out of my view, I was literally at my wits end.

Oh gosh, no, he musnt. He must not spoil this. he must not try to bribe or threaten her with materialistic things, he must not, he cann-

“Jameela!”

I jumped as I heard Nani’s voice right next to me, widening my eyes as I realised that she had caught me red-handed, my eyes fixed outside like an obsessed crazy woman.

“Who you looking at like that?” She asked, her eyes narrowing over her spectacles as she looked at me accusingly.

“Nothing Nani,” I said, swallowing nervously.

Oh goodness. If she had to see Mohsina and Faadil, Nani would probably lose her mind. I could not imagine all the things she would say if she had to know the very obvious truth. How could my sister ever be so stupid?

And of course, I had to think of something really fast because Nani was still looking at me suspiciously and trying to figure out exactly what I had been up to. She knew that something was up but from where she stood, she couldn’t see them. All she could see was the gorgeous morning sun that had settled so easily over the veld that was displayed before us, and it was a breathtaking sight.

What Nani didn’t know that my breath was kind of punched out of me for completely different reasons.

She hovered for a minute, before looking at me – and then suddenly, tapped my arm almost aggressively.

“Ouch,” I said, rubbing my arm.

Mohsina and Faadil were no longer in view and although I wondered exactly where they had gone to, I was quite grateful that it meant that Nani wouldn’t spot them, but she still wasn’t looking happy.

She was shaking her head at me disappointingly.

“You looking at that boy isn’t it?” She said accusingly. “That fella’ your father got for the shop. I saw him here earlier.”

Oh gosh. Nani. Only she would call him a ‘fella’.

“Erm…” I started, not really sure if I should really allow her think that I was being like one beh-sharam who couldn’t control her gaze and was checking out boys so candidly.

But Nani wasn’t hearing any of it. She was already on her own roll, and Ma and my Aunty’s ears had also perked up.

“Don’t you go getting any ideas!” She continued, giving me a death glare, with her eyes widened. “Jameeela, you are a good girl, you don’t go doing all funny things like your sister. We’ll find you one nice boy from in the family and get you married there. You must remember that your Nana’s father came here in 1915 as a trader. Not as sugar cane worker. We can’t get all mixed up with lower class people.”

I widened my eyes, a little shocked at this onslaught. Haai, I didn’t even know about all these things. Did Nani even know that we lived in the 21st century?

“Mummy,” my mother said, clearing her throat, and obviously feeling a need to step in. “You know we don’t worry about all these things. As long as he is a namaazi (prays regularly) and comes from a good family, we will accept whatever Jameela chooses.”

“No such thing,” Nani insisted, looking appalled, and raising her rolling pin in warning. “If he’s not aapra wala (our people), how he will provide for her? How will they get along?”

She shrugged her shoulders and then turned to the counter, hastily pulling out a container from the cupboard to add more flour to the dough she had just made.

I glanced at my mother, noticing her silence for a few seconds, as she probably gathered what next to say.

I didn’t quite understand. Growing up, my parents never made much mention about such things like sugar cane workers and different castes. All I knew was that we were Muslim and we had to strive to be the best Muslims we can be. Ma often told us that we could never judge anyone, no matter what they were, what they looked like or where they came from. I also understood that everyone had their differences but if there is love and understanding between families then anything can be easily conquered.

“Mummy, don’t teach her all these funny ways,” Ma was saying reproachfully, as she glanced at me. “She mustn’t worry about material things so much. Nowadays girls have too many lists and criteria that need to be ticked off, that every boy they see is not good enough. If they can’t afford her facial products, he’s not good enough. If they don’t have money in the family, he’s not good enough. It’s not Islamic. Nowadays, we spoil the girls too much and then when the husbands can’t maintain them, they come back home and we cry.”

Now Ma was generalising and putting me down unnecessarily. We weren’t all like that.

I wasn’t quite sure about that. I wasn’t really worried about if the guy could afford me. But I did know that Mohsina had worried about those things at one stage. Money was important. Family was important. Complexion was important.

I just didn’t agree. As far as I was concerned, I just want someone with a mild temper, good manners and who had Deen. I just wished Nani could understand that.

“You saw what happened with Mohsina,” Mummy was saying as Nani looked indignant. “If her situation didn’t change, only Allah knows what kind of home she would have got…”

Ma was right about that. Imagine if, according to by suspicions, Faadil was the next son-in-law. I wasn’t even sure where he fitted in, with regard to all of that traditional hogwash… but I wasn’t exactly sure that he would make the greatest husband. Financially, I knew he might have made up for it though. But at the end of the day, money doesn’t really buy you happiness, does it?

And now that they had moved on to talk about my Bari Foi’s niece in law who had gotten married into a ‘poor’ family and was actually really happy, I decided to make my way out the kitchen since the point of money not buying happiness was proven, and because Mohsina and her boss’s presence was becoming a major concern for me right then.

I only hoped that she wasn’t getting herself deeper and deeper into more sins….

And as I made my way down to the hallway passage, peeping around the corner to see if she was maybe on the patio, it was at that moment that the door opened and my sister walked in, barely even looking up to see if anyone was around.

Her red-rimmed eyes were a dead giveaway, and as she trudged up the stairs, I followed her into the room where Zaid was still napping, careful not to make too much of noise and wake him. I could tell that that was probably the last thing Mohsina needed right then.

She had already delved into her bag-packing, and as much as I didn’t want to to pry, and she had told me to mind my own business, I knew that this was something that I couldn’t just shove under the rug.

”Mos,” I said softly,  sitting on the rug near the bed and grabbing a few vests of Zaid’s to fold and pack. “Is everything okay at work?”

Mohsina glanced at me, and wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye as she nodded.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, and looked away again.

I had to ask her. There was no two ways about it. I had to.

”Mos, does Hamzah know about him?” I said, my heart beating incessantly as panic filled my gut. Did she know how dangerous this could be? How much of pain and hurt she could cause if she didn’t handle this correctly?

She shook her head and looked at me, tears filling her eyes once again, as she looked away. She was clearly overwhelmed with emotion. What had happened outside was probably more than she bargained for.

And there was no denying that the situation at hand now was completely terrible.

”Ah, Mos,” was all I could say, as she hopelessly covered her face with her hands, looking as if she was completely inconsolable. To tell the truth, so was I. I had no idea what to tell her.

But because my nature was to be a dreamer and full of hope, I knew that I had to be positive and give her some too…

“It’s going to be okay,” was all could say soothingly, getting up to place my arms around her shoulders comfortingly, but if didn’t quite do the trick.

Within her, was already a torrent of emotion that seemed to overcome her as she clutched me and sobbed her heart out for a good few minutes. And as she did so, I could feel the crushing of self-desire, the breaking of her inner-most despair, and the sheer desperation that she clung onto me with. It was like she was searching for something that she hadn’t quite realised that she had lost…. trying to piece all those broken pieces together… but they didn’t quite fit…

And even though it took her a few minutes, eventually, as the tears ceased and her body eventually calmed, as I held onto her tightly, with it, she had released all of the hurt and grievances that were holding her back.

”I just feel so terrible,” she said, pulling back slightly as she looked at me. “I always thought that I loved Faadil. That he was everything I wanted.”

What she had just uttered was way more than I knew, a revelation of something undercover that had transpired, but I held my tongue back from calling her out right then.

“What do you mean?” I asked carefully, feeling a bit worried about her response. “He knows you are marrying Hamzah?”

It was the furtherest I’d ever come to asking her the truth about her boss and the look in her eyes was a dead giveaway.

“He literally begged me not to,” she confessed as she nodded, pulling at a thread on the duvet cover, not meeting my eye. “It was everything I had ever wanted. Most insta-worthy kind of scene. The backdrop, the smooth words, the revealing of the most stunning one carat diamond ring…”

I sucked in my breath as she trailed off, instantly feeling panicked. A one carat engagement ring? She still didn’t meet my eye and my heart contracted painfully. What this world does to us was something I sometimes couldn’t make sense of…

“He promised me the world,” she continued weakly, as she confirmed my suspicions. “Said that Zaid would stay with us. He could employ two nannies- for the day and night, and a helper too, for housework. He said he was looking into it and we could even accommodate him at Hammond’s, by making some adjustments to my schedule and a small nursery with a qualified assistant. He wants to make it more child-friendly. He’s prepared to do whatever it takes.”

”Oh gosh, Mos,” I said, my heart beating crazily as she said it.

She sounded like she was already bought. A night nanny?

My word, that was a luxury. I knew how little sleep Mohsina was getting these days.

And my heart sunk because I already knew that she was going to fall for it, hook, line and sinker. All of these things were what Mohsina  always wanted in a marriage. The stability. The money. The financial security.

After all, Hamzah was only a CA. Fine, he wasn’t exactly incapable of providing, but he was still establishing himself. How could that compare to the associate Director Faadil, who manages a mega-corporation and had millions on his payroll every year? He could probably even hire a helicopter to transport them wherever she wanted. He could give Mohsina the life that she always dreamt of, and she wouldn’t even have to sacrifice Zaid.

Why would she not jump at this opportunity?

“Jameela, he even said I didn’t have to work, if I wanted to be a stay-at-home mother,” she continued quietly, glancing at Zaid who was shifting slightly in his sleep. “It’s not only about Hammond’s. He was sorry he didn’t tell me all this before but when he heard that I was getting married, it made him realise how much I meant to him and he just can’t let me make this mistake…”

I narrowed my eyes, as anger rose in my chest.

I had no words for this… treachery. Whether something went on before this or not… All this time, throughout losing Layyanah and coping with the emotions that had brought, Faadil was nowhere in the picture.

He took her for granted because he thought she would be around, no matter what. When Zaid came into the picture, it probably suited him better, because he assumed that she’d be focused on him and not really on the market anymore. Suddenly… When he heard that Hamzah was prepared to marry her… everything changes?

Why was she so gullible?

I can’t understand. I wanted to cry.

“So you going to believe him?!” I almost cried.

My heart was beating crazily as I said it. My sister was way in over her head.

She looked at me, and tears filled her eyes again.

“It’s everything I ever wanted,” she cried, tears falling freely as she continued. “I would have died for this kind of commitment from him, Jameela. But Jamz… You don’t understand, Jameela. That kind of life he’s offering me.. where I could have anything I wanted at the click of a finger…”

My heart lifted slightly as I waited for her to finish.

”That life means nothing to me anymore,” she finished, and my heart soared as she said the words.

It was inexplicable right then. The relief I felt, was like the warmth of the  sunshine on my face early this morning. The brightness that it brought was not just light alone, but new life, and hope, and soothing to the heart… much needed relief from the torrents of rain that seemed to be the drenching us for weeks on end. Breathing came easily again, and as I filled my lungs with new air, once again, I felt alive and eternally grateful for this great bounty.

Mohsina sniffed and dabbed her eyes.

“I don’t want to go back there,” she whispered, meeting my eye.. “Back to that place where Allah was only a second option for me. Back to that place where I didn’t trust Allah enough to let Him come through for me. And now that He’s come through for me, and He brought amazing things through for me again, am I just going to desert Him and forget everything He granted me in His mercy? Does He not say that when you take one step toward him, He will run to you, so am I going to just turn my back on Him once again?”

Her eyes were brimming with tears as she looked at me, almost as if I was capable of giving her those answers. Only she held the pen to her story. Only she could determine how this was going to end…

“And I know I was wrong, Jamz,” she confessed, as she swallowed back more emotion. “I was wrong with Faadil and I was wrong with Hamzah. I know that before this, I made Allah Ta’ala wait, and everyone else took precedence. The thing is, I realised that you can love someone until you are blue in the face, but you can’t force them to meet you on the bridge. Even those with the most love for you can still leave. Whether it’s a friend or family or a beloved…. whether it was Maahira, my family, Hamzah or even Faadil who was so busy while I went through my own turmoil after losing Layy… everyone takes a step away from you at some point. But not Allah. But not Allah, Jameela…”

She paused, swallowed and looked at me. She was so right.

Not Allah. He stays where He is, waiting for us to come back, even when we’ve forsaken him.

And it was obvious that it hurt her. That’s how it was with Haraam relationships. She had forgot Allah and it pained her and it broke her and sometimes you are reduced to a point when you are not even sure if you could ever be repaired…

“I’m so proud of you, Mos,” I whispered, not able to speak any louder due to the emotion that weighed me down.

This wasn’t easy for her. I could see that. But this wasn’t only about her. There was a greater picture, a bigger story, and a more promising future that she had to make for herself.

“Don’t be,” Mohsina said remorsefully, shaking her head. “I ignored my Creator. I put everyone else first, and I made Him wait. I was sooo terrible. And I know that it may take a while to get to a comfortable place with Hamzah. Old dirt may pop up. The past may haunt us. It may not be easy from day one, but I know that Allah will heal every pain and replace it with something better. And that’s why I know that this … what Allah has allowed and inspired, it’s only through Him. If He has done so much for me, even if this is not perfect, even if it’s not that amazing kind of feeling and the perfect situation… I know that I have reached out for Allah and He is more beautiful than any sin…and all I want now, even if this doesn’t go perfectly, even if Hamzah hears about this and wants to call it off, even if there’s no-one else here for me… even if I have nothing else…. all I want, Jamz, is for Allah to forever hold my hand…. and that will be the Greatest Gift…”

Her voice broke at that point and I understood exactly what she said, as she pulled herself together, trying to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks as she let loose every emotion that had been consuming her. She had got it spot on, and I couldn’t even believe that she had reached this place where Allah came before everything else. The most beautiful part was that she had no idea about this spectacular sacrifice that she had just made and that had so completely inspired me too…

“Gosh,” she moaned, glancing at herself in the mirror and looking horrified. “I’m going to look like a train-wreck for my Nikah. I’m not sure if Hamzah will even recognise me…”

I smiled as I watched her carefully dab her face with some toner, and apply a little bit of concealer to cover up her puffy eyes.

I didn’t know what else to say. Honestly, my voice was just kind of stuck in my throat because I could not possible even convey the joy that I felt right then.

Soon Zaid would be awake and her time would run out, so I hastily helped her with her packing, silently thanking Allah for making Nani give out that huge sum of Sadaqah that saved us from a very unfortunate plight.

I still could barely believe what had happened, but I knew that she’d made a mistake. I knew that she regretted it. But as I glimpsed her smile that day, I also knew that despite whatever had happened in the past, very clearly, her heart was very much focused on her future.

As the time for the Nikah approached, and she emerged from her room, I noticed that my pretty sisters cheeks were naturally flushed, as a new bride should be, but it wasn’t even that that was making her glow the way she was.

And I didn’t know much about love or soulmates, or any of that stuff, but as I looked at her, knowing that this though this was something she had prayed for fervently,  I could feel that her entire purpose and aim here was for Allah’s pleasure. She had, undoubtedly, sacrificed so much to get here, and I knew that, most definitely, the sacrifice had not gone unnoticed.

And as she focused on her new chapter, the part where she left it to Allah, and surrendered herself in a must sublime way, I could feel my own heart soaring with joy. Zaid was in a particularly good mood after his nap but what her feelings were at the time when she had given her answer to my father and and they had headed off to masjid, I could not imagine. All I knew was that this was, by far, one of the most crucial moments of her life and she would probably never forget it. As the time of the Nikah drew nearer, and the excitement in the house mounted, I could not have imagined a more beautiful transition of woman to wife, than my sister had endured that day.

It was just pure exhilaration as I shifted my gaze to my sister, and I forced myself to hold back. My eyes were filling with tears and the lump in my throat seemed to expand.

The streaming of the live Nikah was transmitted through the link, and the break in transmission got us slightly on edge, but as Mohsina’s phone beeped next to us and she showed me the screen approximately three minutes later, I couldn’t help but chuckle as I saw the simple two sentence congratulatory iMessage.

Hamzah:

Deals all done, wifey. Too late to run. 

I shook my head, knowing that only Hamzah would be daring enough to send a message like that at this moment as she smiled almost in contempt and tapped a reply. No doubt, Mohsina probably had a witty comeback.
She placed her phoned down, knowing that congratulations were in order from everyone else too, and as I took pleasure in her happiness, it was as if this morning’s emotional escapade had never happened.

Gazing at her, her beauty even more apparent on account of her sublime joy, there she was, this new woman, all set for this new journey, with only Allah in mind, as she knocked down all those obstacles that had ever stood in her way.

And yes, it was truly such a momentous occasion, and as I watched her, her recently slender figure draped in a simple but beautiful abaya that she had purchased for the Nikah, with the sun gleaming through the window and highlighting her subtly made up face, an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia had caught me off guard. She had, most certainly, grown into a woman who was so much more worthy of all those mistakes she had made, and I knew that throughout every encounter and trial and setback, she always emerged stronger and more beautiful than she had been before.  Every test purified her and every setback had served to bring her back to her purpose, and I knew that this step was going to be the greatest one yet…

And as I slunk back with Zaid in my arms, waiting for my turn to offer her a proper greeting and goodbye, as Nani gave her Du’aa (prayer) of happiness and many, many pious offspring which made me cringe, I could hear Ma and one of our cousins wishing her with the beautiful words that our Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) had taught us to pray for couple:

Barakallahu lakuma wa baraka alaikuma wa jama’a baynakuma fii khair.
May Allah bless your union, and shower His blessings upon you, and unite you in goodness.

And as I glimpsed her face, all I wanted to do was reach out for her and hold her close to me, not only because she had been through such an enormous change of heart, but also because she was, undoubtedly, doing the most amazing and selfless thing. And I couldn’t believe it, because what I could see before me was the unfolding of the most beautiful kind of love story. It was the most inspiring kind of reformation that I ever had the privilege of witnessing.

And that’s when I realised, that this journey that Mohsina was taking was not about Faadil and breaking free. It wasn’t about Nani or my parents expectations. It wasn’t even about Hamzah or Zaid any more. And that was what got me, because everyone who was so in awe of this amazing match and union, will make you believe that this is the happily ever after, where the shoe fit Cinderella or the frog turned back into a Prince. People will make you believe that this is the once upon a time and then end of the rainbow that we’ve all been searching for, the initiation of them both riding into the sunset to have their very own happy ending.

But it wasn’t.

And when she gave me a small smile, almost as if she herself couldn’t believe that this day had actually come and my sister was no longer just the  accomplished and Instagram-obsessed, self-motivated, career-driven chartered accountant that she had once been, I knew it for sure. In her place, instead, there was a calmer, self-contented girl on a journey of reclaiming her heart, who relied on Allah and Him alone, and I couldn’t quite believe this amazing change in her had actually taken place.

And as I soaked it all in, if there’s one thing I learnt, it’s that when you really want something, always remember that you hold the pen to your story. You can close the pages of chapters and start a brand new one whenever you need. You can walk away from those things that may ruin you or drain your spirit. Learn to embrace that middle road, the middle chapters, after which you are not sure what comes, because this too… are filled with magic and hope.
You can seek those people who you always wanted, and write them in, as you please.  You, and only you, hold the pen to your own beautiful story.

Live a beautiful love. Dream a beautiful dream. Guide your soul, through His guidance.

One day, even if it doesn’t come together right then, it eventually was will see that all that is with Allah, is never lost. In fact the Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam)
has said: “You will never give up a thing for the sake of Allah (swt), but that Allah will replace it for you with something that is better for you than it.” (Ahmad)

Sometimes Allah takes in order to give. His giving is not always in the form we think we want. He knows best, what is best. But still somehow, we will give your whole life, still, to reaching this ‘place’. You do this because in the fairy tale, that’s where the story ends. It ends at the finding, the joining, the wedding. It is found at the oneness of two souls.

What they don’t tell us is that that we will never finally be complete, because we haven’t yet found that source of completion. The final piece that joins it all together. The deal-sealer. The beginning of the path back to Him. That the ‘something better’ or the ‘best’ is the greatest gift: nearness to Him.

Sometimes the greatest gift lies beyond the taking and the returning…  sometimes the greatest gifts, is that something eternal, that never tires, never leaves and never breaks….

And that is the only Greatest Gift that is forever worth waiting for.

---

Authors note: Dear readers, just a quick one to say that this was an extra long post so the next one (or two?) before the break will be a bit shorter, InshaAllah…

Much Love,

A

xx

Mission Sunnah Revival

In line with love for Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Salaam), a narration goes like this:

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…

The Sunnah of Giving up arguing and having good manners…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, and approach the month of Dhul Hajjiah, let try and increase our Ibaadat.

Abu Umamah Al-Bahili Ra reported Nabi (ﷺ) said,

“I guarantee a house in Jannah for one who gives up arguing, even if he is in the right;

and I guarantee a home in the middle of Jannah for one who abandons lying even for the sake of fun;

and I guarantee a house in the highest part of Jannah for one who has good manners/Akhlaaq.

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aan

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah ­

The Simple Things

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 41
Mohsina

Sometimes we get so caught up in life that we forget that we don’t always need to be busy, to be rushing to the next thing or to keep on checking our phones or e-mails. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves that it’s okay to slow down, to pause, to take a break and to take notice of the little things that aren’t so little.

Sometimes we don’t realize someone’s prayer that saved us from falling deeper. Or a smile that came through for us when we needed it most. Or a a simple kind word that made a difference to someone’s difficult day.

The simple things, sometimes, can take us a long way.

And yes, for me, there was a time in life when I stopped worrying about the simple things, and stopped caring what people think. When I shifted my focus, when I got detached from people, and built that wall that kept me an arms length away… at any given time.

Watching my father being held, at gun point when I was 18 years old, when nothing we had was good enough to invoke any mercy, had shifted something within me.

It was from that point on that I decided that I would be fearless. Unyielding. Unattached. I supposed that was my coping mechanism.

When it came to suitors, to family, friendships, and to Hamzah too… I never risked digging my hopes in so deep that coming out would prove to be any sorts of painful.

I always knew that people could leave. Come and go as they pleased. Leave each other, and never return. It was something I’d realised from listening to friends talking about relationships or being a little too cautious for my own liking. 

And so, instead of focusing on the One who never leaves, that’s when I shifted my focus to things. Shoes, handbags and accessories were easiest to deal with. People, to me, were the problem. 

So when the blues got to me, as I sat in my room, one day in Ramadhaan, it took me a little by surprise.

And maybe it was a combination of my mind finally attuning to reality, and also being the time of the month and the emotions that came with it… all I knew was that it felt like she had left me and the light had followed her. Simply put, whichever way I saw it, there was a gnawing ache in my body which translated to me missing Layyanah immensely.

Suddenly, the world was filled with so much of darkness that it was almost impossible for me to see at all. And as I trudged along, a flickering torch lighting much less of a path than I’d hoped, there were moments when my heart gave in completely.

How much my heart yearned for her advice, her laugh and just her general two cents, I wasn’t even able to fully comprehend, but being so busy with Zaid had filtered it for me, so it wasn’t so obvious.

But then there were the moments. Moments at night when I couldn’t seem to drift off to sleep, where I would stare at the ceiling and wonder how she could  leave me like this. At such a dead loss, completely clueless as to how to even sort out and live my own life, nevermind her little boy’s…

It was the day after Maahira had messaged, when Zaid was still with Hamzah and family, when I had gone down to see if there was anything to munch on (it was that time of the month and I was feeling a little spiritually low, and Maahira was also coming to visit after iftaar so I could explain the whole marriage saga), so I grabbed a packet of cookies just as Nani walked into the kitchen, and gave me one of her eye-balling looks.

I was being my usual unbothered self, as I strutted around the then empty kitchen, looking for something to munch on and to do whilst I heard her voice from behind me that made me jump.

“No roza?” She said with a frown, looking at me, almost accusingly. Nani was looking at me accusingly as I hid the stash behind my back.

I pulled my face slightly because next, I already had a plan to head straight to the shelf near the stove, due to the fact that for some reason, someone had left a huge slab of Cadbury Bubbly chocolate (that everyone knew was my ultimate favourite ), right in proximity of my wandering eyes.

But with Nani’s eyes now fixed on me, I slunk back to the bar stool, determined to leave my chocolate-cravings for later.

“No, Nani,” I said with a small smirk. “I’m not fasting.”

”Oh,” she said, obviously peeved that I would have the guts to even admit it.

And I got the old traditional thinking but after explaining to my brother that women take a break from certain forms of worship once a month, he now obediently turned the other way if he ever saw us sneaking a treat to our rooms. Nani obviously, thought it was appalling that he knew, but I thought it was important that he knew that we weren’t cheating.

“You missing Zaid?”

It was Nani again and I knew that was her way of asking why I was still sitting there, because it was the first time I had set foot on the kitchen after ages.

And to tell the truth, though the short break definitely had helped with my sleep deprivation, I was actually missing him so much that I pottered around my room trying to deal with myself in the best way possible. As much as I wanted to call every minute and see how he was doing, all I did was message Saaliha (maybe a bit too many times) to ask how he was… but despite her being polite, her answers were always brief and to the point.

For all I know, she had probably been given instructions by Hamzah not to over indulge me and I got that. Well, a little, except for the fact that I still thought that he was behaving like a selfish brat.

I sighed audibly, unable to contain my annoyance.

“You okay?” Nani asked bossily, and turned back to mixing the batter she had put in the metal bowl in front of her.

“Just tired,” I said half-heartedly. I still had piles of work to do and I just couldn’t seem to get around to it. Faadil had messaged me about six times this morning for follow ups on budgets but I just wasn’t feeling like getting into it. I knew that my job was on the line too, but for some reason, it didn’t even faze me.

Sure, I missed some aspects of my apartment but sitting like a lump and getting spoilt rotten had been absolute bliss.

Besides, Nani was in a particularly good mood because she hadn’t once even commented on my laziness. Maybe she was feeling sorry for me or just wanted to be nice, but when Nani actually missed an opportunity to hound me about learning to cook, I knew that the odds were in my favour.

And as she turned to look at me, a slight frown on her forehead, I couldn’t help but notice how different she appeared. It had been so long that I had really taken her in, that I didn’t quite realise how much she had aged.

Although she was still highly capable for everything that she had carried out over the years, her back was now slightly hunched and her movements were a little slower than before.

There it was. Another reminder that time was running away with me and if I didn’t say anything it would forever be lost…

And I suppose that’s why, although it was probably the best time for me to head back upstairs and either do the work Faadil had mailed me this morning, or just some general adhkaar and Ibaadat (worship) that I’d kind of made a habit of to ground me, I knew I shouldn’t.

It was just that, somehow, after the general cleansing and lightening and purifying of my heart over the weeks had taken effect, there was nothing else that I really wanted to do than bear my heart and soul and that was exactly why I sat there for another five minutes and wondered how exactly to approach the topic that I’d been avoiding with Nani for over a year.

”Nani,” I said finally, watching my grandmother whisking her mixture vigorously while the extractor hummed above her, ready to fry her mixture.

“Nani, I’m sorry,” I blurted out, already feeling embarrassed about how emotional I was already getting.

Nani glanced at me and frowned, her face slightly perplexed as she probably tried to figure out if I was just making a joke or what.

She said nothing, but as she looked at the sincerity on my face, I could see her expression ease, while she chopped carefully on the chopping board, before she finally broke into a small smile.

“What are you sorry for?” She said roughly in Guji, looking at me enquiringly.

“For everything,” I said quietly. “For not listening. For disappointing you. For causing problems. For making the wrong choices. For telling you that you have favourites…”

Yes, I had. I had accused Nani of having favourites. And I made it clear that she never treated me as one of hers.

I understood now that Nani was coming from a place where she was worried. Immensely worried and concerned that I wasn’t going all out to settle down and make a life for myself. And not get married, but that was beside the point.

Nani looked like she was shocked. But now that I was into it, I might as well go all out.

”Also, I’m sorry that things with Nadeema got so bad. Nani, I didn’t want it to be that way, but she was doing something that I couldn’t tolerate.”

There. I said it. I didn’t tell Nani what she did but I gave her an idea. I didn’t tell her that she had been speaking to the guy I was proposed to, and was even meeting him. I didn’t want to bring it all up now. It was the unmentionable things that we never mentioned.

But now I had just mentioned it.

“It’s okay,” Nani said in Gujarati. “Khair. He wasn’t right for you anyway.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly at Nani, wondering howcome she suddenly changed her opinion.  She had been so furious when I called it off.
Convinced that I would never find anyone better.

My  entire adult life had been spent hearing about how I can’t be so fussy and picky and no-one likes educated girls, and now she was saying that he wasn’t right for me in the first place.

I wondered if the change of heart was the current situation I had found myself in. Maybe Nani had finally realised that I didn’t really need a man to have a baby. Ah. The relief. At least it will save me from more soppy, spineless Sameers.

“Really?” I asked, curious, wondering if she was for real.

She shrugged, glancing at me as she dropped spoonfuls of batter into the hot oil.

The smell of freshly fried bajias was making my mouth water. Now let me tell you, my Nani didn’t just make a simple bajia.

Hers was the type with all the best stuff in it. The type that made you do metaphoric circles around trees in your mind as you bit into their crunchy texture. The type that made you salivate embarrassingly, just by smelling them.

The type I knew I had to learn to make, when I eventually decided to get married.

She was silent for a while, while the oil spluttered and simmered, and then turned and looked at me.

“His mother didn’t like my Samoosas,” she said with a serious face, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Nani’s samoosas were legend. There clearly was something wrong with his mother.

“And he wasn’t right,” she continued. “Not your type. Too ‘small-build’ for you.”

“What?” I said, widening my eyes.

Haaibo.

Was Nani saying I was too fat for him? Okay, I know he was on the smaller side but it wasn’t like I was that huge.

She shrugged.

Oh great. I couldn’t believe her.

She had turned back to the bajias, almost as if she hadn’t just called me fat.

It was at that point when Jameela entered the kitchen, and I knew I should have just let it go, but I was quite offended, so I couldn’t just be silent.

And fine, maybe Nani had forgiven me for my past mistakes but saying I was fat wasn’t exactly a good way to end the conversation.

“Jameela,” I whined, as my sister started taking out a jug for the milkshake. “Nani said I’m fat.”

Jameela had forgiven me for my outburst about her teenage-inspired-badboy-crush but she hadn’t mentioned it since. She still blushed awkwardly if anyone mentioned him or we saw him going past.

“I didn’t say she’s fat,” Nani said, not in the least bothered. “I said that boy was too small for her. Not right for her size.”

I looked at Jameela pointedly, while she grinned.

”I told her the truth,” Nani said pointedly. “I didn’t say she was fat. She mustn’t become like your Choti kala. Weight goes up and down like yo-yo. How will she find a boy when he won’t know who she is the next time he sees her?”

I spluttered as she glanced at me, wondering what Choti Kala would say about this. I knew Nani was just messing with me but it was fun to have something else to worry about.

Besides, I knew there was a stage when I was a little on the chubbier side, but being a lot more conscious of my weight now had brought me down pretty well. I knew that this Ramadhaan, unlike others, I had actually lost some weight. I was looking better than before. I also knew that I had been through so much recently that maybe I needed to just go with the light humor for now.

And as Nani went on about “makko” men (she probably meant macho), I couldn’t help but think of what Nani would think of Faadil. Despite the fact that he was ‘office men’s’ with big, big business, he had a good build. Plus he was super handsome and charming, that he could even charm the socks of me, in the most challenging of situations.

But then again, no-one quite knew about all his other antics that he got up to when he thought he had covered his tracks so well.

Okay, trash the thought. That was my utopian mind taking over. Nani would probably have a heart attack if she got wind of who he was.

Jameela was snickering silently to herself, and I stuck my tongue out at her.

Muhammed Husayn, evidently, had also smelt the famous bajias  and had just sauntered into the kitchen to investigate.

I already knew what was coming. Great. A family affair at my expense.

He sat silently and listened, while Nani explained her very intense whole theory about how sizes matter and opposites that attract. About how size determines the type of selection available and how girls who are thinner have a better selection of the opposite gender to go with. The theory went something like: The larger you are, the less selection is available for attraction.
It was like magnetic fields all over again in high school physics, which thankfully, I had dropped in grade 10. No regrets.

Shew.

”For Mohsina,” she said, matter if fact. “She can’t have one skinny small mens. She needs one with… what you call this thing?”

She tapped her upper arm and gestured at Muhammed Husayn while he smirked.

“Muscles, Nani,” he said blandly. “Muscles.”

”Yes,” she said, thrusting her spoon in the air. “He needs muscles. Can’t marry one bichaaro boy who can’t even pull you out the car seat.”

Great. Now she was suggesting that I get stuck in car seats. I loved my grandmother to bits.

My mouth was still hanging open, but as I watched my siblings grinning at me, I just shook my head at them and rolled my eyes.

The laughter was much needed, even though I wouldn’t admit it. I stayed silent though, as they went off to get ready to break fast, and I sauntered off to the lounge, knowing that my slight disconnection was probably due to the fact that I hadn’t been immersing myself in Ibaadat as much as I wanted to.

I had pulled out my phone from the shelf I had placed it on early, looking at another reminder from Faadil, and decided to ignore it for now, opening my Instagram after what seemed like days. A host of direct messages stared at me as I closed the app again, not yet ready to go into the mundanities of that kind of life yet.

Make up tutorials. Daily care routines. Trending memes that would cause a bit of a stir and create some much needed humour…

It all seemed so far away from me.

While I was searching everywhere for peace, I didn’t know that it was right in front of me, within this glorious message that was sent from above.

There are certain things that come only from the magic of His closeness, that you are privileged to seek. I had taken pride in the wrong things. I had taken pride in my fake life, that I was trying to make greater than it really was.

Because if there was one thing that I had learnt in Ramadhaan, it was that time was something I wouldn’t get back. I knew that if i didn’t make the most of this time, I would certainly be stupid. This was the time when I had to invest. The time I had to beg, steal, borrow and make sure I take advantage of, no matter what.

And for that time, I sought refuge in Allah, battling to find that place where I could connect with my Creator m once again. I sought refuge in Allah, in His mercy, and on the hope that He may see something within me to forever make me His bosom friend.

And as I had been waking up in the wee hours of the morning to seek Him, I found myself once again. I had tasted the sweetness of Quran. Of salaah. Of Duaa.

I sought refuge in it, even though I didn’t always have the words. In conversing with my Lord, even when I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I bore my heart and soul, so much so, that my parents and siblings had actually begun to get worried.

Our beloved Nabi, salla Allahu ‘alaihi wasallam, is reported to have said:

“There are three characteristics, whoever they are found in him, will experience the sweetness ofIman; that he loves Allah and His Prophet, more than he loves anyone else, and that he loves another person, not for anything, but for the sake of Allah, and that he hates to return to infidelity, like he dislikes to be thrown into fire.”

And it was that sweetness, a bliss that had consumed me, that I couldn’t seem to get enough of.

And I didn’t know it yet, but there was something quite noteworthy that it was all leading to.

Ever heard that saying, sometimes what you’re looking for comes when you’re not looking at all? 

It just so happens that there’s nothing that rings truer than that, for that particular day.

And having my family around me that day was all part and parcel of what was to be revealed. It lightened the mood. Made things simpler. Lifted my hopes.

I knew they were just poking me. Getting me to lighten up. Maybe even make me laugh. And I almost had. Nani was in good spirits, and still at it as we made our way to the iftaar table after salaah. I had been diligently frying the samoosas,  without even grabbing any testers, while Papa and the rest took a seat and made usual small talk.

Nani was going on about teaching Jameela how to make round rotis, and that’s precisely when I spotted Muhammed Husayn making his way to the kitchen shelf and grabbing the alluring Bubbly chocolate that I had set my sights on earlier.

And I know it a simple chocolate, but for a chocolatarian like me, it was the worst thing that could happen if Muhammed Husayn had just grabbed it at 6.30PM when all other chocolate stocks were low and even the slots on the Checkers app were  fully booked. With my brother, any edible would be devoured in 3 seconds, flat. For me, this was disaster.

I mean, chocolate was the answer to all my problems, especially when I was in fragile states like today.

And I really didn’t mean to stare him down so accusingly, but he must have noticed because he suddenly looked at me, and then said, almost apologetically:

“’This yours?”

And I couldn’t lie. It wasn’t really mine. But Jameela had noticed my annoyed expression and frowned at him, always quick to pick on my brother who had a bottomless pit as a stomach. Especially when it came to the finer things in life.

”Hey greedy, you had yours earlier this week,” she said accusingly. “That was Mosee’s.”

And of course, I was annoyed with him, but what else could I say besides the usual:

”Shame, no, it’s okayyy! Let him have it.”

But Jameela was like the our personal Haraam house police, and wasn’t going to have any of it.

“No,” she said, turning to look at me. “It’s really yours. Like, it’s legit haraam for him to take it without asking you. When you didn’t come down since Zaid left, I forgot to tell you. He brought one for each of us.”

”Who, Papa?” I asked, thinking of how sweet my father was. He knew just what my favourite chocolate was.

“No,” Jameela said blankly, glancing nervously around the table, while Ma and Nani watched her. They both had that look on their faces and I wasn’t even sure why, until she spoke again.

“Hamzah’s mother sent it,” she said quietly. “When they fetched Zaid. She sent a few things. The last time she came to the shop I sent a few things and… Shame, she didn’t have to.”

Jameela flushed slightly as she said it, probably thinking I might be angry about her entertainment of my ex-in-laws. I wasn’t though. It just felt strange.

”So nice of her,” Nani said, missing the awkwardness completely. “To send for all of us. I thought maybe for a special occasion like the masjid sent last week.”

“They had sent for completion of Qur’aan,” Jameela was saying. “This she sent with sooo many other things. Plus, that mosque does two khatams in Ramadhaan. Most people are only finishing their Khatam next week.”

I was secretly a little happy that Hamzah’s mother had actually sent something for me. It made me feel all fuzzy inside.

I was losing interest in the conversation but I couldn’t believe how fast Ramadhaan was going. I was just glad that by next week I would be reading again and be able to make the most of my Qur’aan. It was the one thing I truly missed during these few days.

My heart was feeling a very palpable void.

”Hamzah will finish tomorrow,” Muhammed Husayn said, almost out of the blue.

And I must have had a confused look on my face because as Jameela looked at him too, I couldn’t help but wonder what my brother was on about.

“Finishing what?” I said, still slightly confused.

”He’s reading his last part for tonight. At the house behind the new Masjid in JHB North. I went there last week. He was also talking to Papa the other day when he came and he confirmed it.”

What? My heart literally skipped a beat as he said it.

Why, oh why, didn’t I come down when they came to fetch Zaid? I was being stupid and emotional because I didn’t want him to go. But now, I missed out on this whole conversation that had happened and I couldn’t believe I had acted so childish.

”He’s a Hafidh?” I said dumbly, and Muhammed Husayn looked at me like a I born on another planet.

“Duh.”

It was Jameela’s turn to look at me in surprise. She probably didn’t know either. I mean, she would only know if I had told her.

And why on Earth was my heart beating so fast?

”Wait,” she said, looking at me again. “You telling me he’s a Hafidh and you didn’t know it?”

“We never discussed it,” I said quietly, as if that explained it, barely even believing it myself.

How could we have not even spoke about that?

How could we have never discussed that he was a protector of the most beautiful book? How could we have not spoken about what an amazing gift he had been blessed with? How did I not even see the value of that, before this…

I breathed in, not even seeing clearly anymore. For some odd reason, tears were blurring my vision, and I wasn’t even making an effort to stop them.

Of course, my brother was still giving me the kuku look, Jameela was just shaking her head at me and Nani and my mother were sitting there, with a shocked expression on their face, as if they couldn’t quite believe what had just been revealed and my odd reaction.

To tell the truth, neither could I.

This wasn’t just big. It was huge. And everything just seemed so clear now, depite my oscured vision,  and it was like everything single thing that had happened till that very point was all leading to this. It was a huge discovery that was somehow so much more important in my life than it had ever been before.

Yes, this wasn’t anything unique. There were thousands of Huffaadh around here. A blessing that each of them had, to hold the Holy Qur’aan within their bosom. It was a seemingly simple task that took years of effort and practise and healed even the most obstinate of hearts, but till that day, I hadn’t realsie the true amazement of it.

There was a huge lump in my throat that seemed to be obstructing my breathing canal. I looked up at them, with blurry vision, taking in a deep breath, and knowing that this was no coincidence. Sometimes the simple things in life are really not so simple at all.

“Excuse me,” I almost whispered, swallowing as I pushed my chair back.

I didn’t need to tell them where I was going.

I think they all already knew.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

The Sunnah of Duaa…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, I think the Sunnah of Duaa is one that we need to keep with us… InshaAllah

The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said, ‘Du’a is worship itself’. Then the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) recited this verse, ‘Your Lord says: “Call upon Me and I will respond to you. Verily, those who disdain My worship will enter Hell in humiliation” [The Noble Qur’an, 40:60]’. [Tirmidhi]

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

A Change of Heart

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Bismihi  Ta’ala 

 

Jameela 

Part 39

I once heard a beautiful something that went something like this:

 

The heart is like a mirror. If it is not cleaned properly, it will not properly reflect the recognition of it’s Lord.

 

And it may not seem like a game-changer, but you see, everyone thinks they are fine, until they realise that they’re not.

 

And only once I experienced this for myself, did I realise what it truly meant to have a dead heart. A heart that sees nothing beyond what is layered on top of its dust. A heart that is beating, but has no connection to the one who fashioned it. 

 

Because before this, I was alive in body, but my heart was drenched in ignorance. I was experiencing a spiritual drought. I was desperately in need of some showers of mercy. 

 

But every once in a while, there comes a time in life, a period of intense need, when the thirsty hearts of man are aching for a spiritual change of season, but need a little push to get there. 

 

And as Ramadhaan approached that year, I could already feel my heart yearning for its solace. The souls were stifled. Hearts were undoubtedly ill. The buzz in the air was palpable as Mummy did the usual mundanities of bulk grocery shopping and samoosas galore.

 

And don’t get me wrong, okay. I’m not saying that it was Nani’s samoosas …. but what I did know was that the samoosa filling that happened at the onset of every Ramadhaan did play a really vital role in this particular development, as much as Nani tried to deny it, but that, I’ll come back to later.

What I could say for sure was sometimes when you least expect it, life can do a 360 on you. 

 

A change that can change the hearts, like never before. 

And what changed it, you may ask? 

Well, all I can say is that there’s a time in life when you come to realise that there are certain things that can only come from the wealth of Allah Ta’alas treasures. Through dusting of the layers. Through cleansing the hearts. Through starving the Nafs. Through nourishing the souls… through Dhikr, through Salaah… and most of all, with Quran…  

Quran Shareef was the reason that Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was able to cope with his life.

 

I mean, who can claim to have a life worse than him? No matter what our beloved Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) experienced, he was never hopeless, because he had the Quran.

 

And the same can ring true for us too. The cure from the Curer. The Healer of Hearts. With Him, with His sublime message, the storm can never be too fierce, and without him, surely we will get knocked by even the slightest of a breeze. 

 

But sometimes we need a little stumble, to seek our Lord again.

It was still the week before Ramadhaan when it all started, when we should have been preparing spiritually but we obviously hadn’t, as I walked into the room, I had no idea whatsoever about what lay ahead, but what I was seeing before me was already giving me a little clue…

 

“Hey pretty mama,” I whispered to my sister as I walked into the spare room of our double story home, which undoubtedly had the best view of the plot that my father had inherited from our late grandparents. 

 

There she was, my gorgeous sister. Even in her frumpy  clothes, she was still a stunner.

Nevermind, she was lounging in her scruffy grey gown and pink fluffy slippers. It didn’t matter that her hair was dishevelled and make up completely trashed, Mohsina was the step-in mother who was just trying to pull through. 

 

She was rocking Zaid vigorously as she tried to settle his squirming body, which seemed to be particularly restless that day. I honestly did not know she had this in her.

I could see her grape-coloured burka I had gifted her for Eid the previous year placed next to her, over the chair, and the Quran she had used since madrassa days lying next to the crib, on a higher shelf. It had probably been a while since she opened it, but I knew that recently, since we had lost Layyanah, she had made it her daily routine to read a few Juz of Quran, and I could literally see the effect on her heart. 

That was the beauty part of reading for the deceased. There’s no one in the equation who does not benefit, and neither does it remove from the reward of the reciter. In fact, it was probably her salvation from the craziness of this new life…

As for Zaid, Mohsina was really trying everything to keep him settled, but it wasn’t easy. Nani was trying too, putting all her past skills to good use, while she embarked on this great role of alleged great-grand parenthood. 

“Did you try the gripe water mixture Nani made?” I asked, looking at the empty bottle next to the bed, and feeling a teeny bit sorry for her.

 

“Yasss,” she said enthusiastically, plopping down on the rocker while she held him tightly. His eyes were still wide open as he looked at her. “Tell her to make more. And then she can maybe massage him like she did last week. And put him on her knee to sleep. He hasn’t made a poo in two days.”

 

Oh gosh, TMI. Like why do mothers say things like that? 

Zaid was sucking on the pacifier in his mouth, but looking far from contented. 

 

And I knew it was the formula battle that was causing it. It was why Layyanah had been breastfeeding so persistently in the first place. I remember her once saying that she found that he twisted and turned in his sleep when he drank huge amounts of formula. 

 

She stifled a yawn as she tried to place him down as gently as she could, but he immediately gave out a moan, making her scoop him up and cradle him once again, pressing his stomach to keep him from squirming.

 

“Where is Nani, by the way?” Mohsina sighed, frowning slightly. She was looking a tad bit frustrated. 

 

I knew she wanted the help but I wasn’t good with Zaid at all. He always bawled in my arms.

 

“Filling samoosas,” I said with a small smirk. “From before Fajr. We’ll have samoosas coming out of our ears by the end of Ramadhaan.”

Mohsina’s eyes widened.

 

“I hope she is not planning on serving Samoosas today,” she said in a warning tone. “I ordered the woolies cookies and cappuccinos and Ma says she baked, and that’s all I was planning on giving them. Samoosas would just give them the wrong idea…”

Samoosas. Well, Nani’s entire life at the moment revolves around samoosas, and about that, there was nothing much I could say.

 

“Talking about woolies,” I replied with a tiny smile. “Nani wasn’t too thrilled about the nappy purchase from there last week. Or the formula. Said you’re wasting your money. She said next time to give you her list and she’ll get you a pensioners discount from the supermarket down the road.”

 

Mohsina grinned. Nani’s reaction to the whole situation was something that was pretty awesome. It was probably due to the fact that my sister was adopting an entirely new kind of role in her new-found life that was very much like the role Nani had always imagined for her… minus the husband. 

And of course, it was a shocker for me too. For the first time in years, Mohsina’s phone was barely in her hand. Work had taken a backseat. Her entire life had changed and Nani was noticing it too. Most of all, despite the heartbreak in the backdrop, it had almost completely healed their rocky relationship.

 

Almost. Except for the unmentionable things that Mohsina or Nani never mentioned. 

 

“Nani,” Mohsina mumbled lovingly with a shake of her head, and a humoured look in her eyes. “How can we explain to her the value of convenience? It’s the click of a button, and everything is here. Now I understand why new mothers always look like they do. Honestly, Jamz, I will never look at a stay-at-home mother the same way ever again. They are the new royalty.”

 

I never thought I’d hear the day that Mohsina would say that. And I was so, so in awe of her too. 

As for Nani, besides being thrilled about everything else, since she had heard about the new development this morning where Hamzah and family were due to come this afternoon to see the baby and discuss options on how to care for him in the best way, Nani’s entire purpose in life seemed to alter.

 

”Ohhh, he’s coming here?!” She had said disbelievingly as she heard my mother talking.

 

She said ‘he’ as if he was some kind of royalty or A-list celebrity. 

 

Her half-filled Samoosa was in mid-air as she stared at my mother inquiringly.

 

She was all anxious and excited as Ma explained to her that he wanted to spend time with the baby and was coming with a Maulana, and some of his family who wanted to talk about guardianship of the baby. Ma had made it clear that it was meant to be very professional and serious and no funny business was possible, and asked Nani to make special Duaas for them to come to an amicable decision. 

“Duaas are always there,” she said with an interesting glint in her eyes, but said no more as she continued stuffing the samoosas with chicken mince once more.

 

I walked toward the window, almost automatically, as she smiled back at me, glimpsing a kurta-clad figure in the yard and knowing exactly who it was. The kurta was uncharacteristic for a normal morning, and as I watched, not realising just how long I was standing and unashamedly staring, her voice sounded behind me.

 

 “Who you looking at like that?“ 

I blushed, knowing she had caught me red-handed as I quickly turned away.

Ah yes, the hearts were certainly ill and needed some intense healing…  

 

Especially mine. Tarnished and blackened by all the sins.

 

We tried, a lot of the time, not to cross paths… but sometimes it was unavoidable. 

 

Also, the way Mohsina was looking at me was even more unavoidable.

 

And as I looked at her too, I could see this changed woman who was nothing like self-centered one I had thought she was all these months. She had gone from someone that I could barely relate to, to an amazing woman who I looked up to and greatly admired .

 

Now, to add fuel to fire, she was mercilessly scrutinising me, with a sly smile as she raised eyebrows. 

“I know that look,” she said, shaking her head. “You like him, don’t you?”

 

I shook my head and she sighed. 

Well, not exactly. His name was Zubair and it was a few things that had come to my knowledge recently that had made me … understand  him a little better.

How he had gotten into trouble with his uncle. Why he had maybe resorted to what he had done. Why he needed to earn extra money in the first place, because he hadn’t finished school and his options were so limited, he just had to do all the dirty work that had got us into so much of trouble too…

 

“He’s not exactly usyaar, is he?” She said with raised eyebrows. “The complete opposite of you. Nani might have a thing to say about that.”

 

I swallowed and looked up at her.

 

Usyaar. The Gujarati equivalent of innocent and sweet-natured. Exactly what every mother-in-law was looking for in a son or daughter-in-law.

 

I knew that. And that was precisely the reason why I wouldn’t ever think of him as anything more than just an employee.

 

If only I could control my unruly heart.

 

“You got that look on your face,” she said with a cock of her head and warning glance. “Don’t get caught in that trap. Of feeling like you need to sneak around because ‘he’ is not what people expect of you…”

I blushed, even though I wasn’t guilty of being in that kind of trouble. I knew the rules. No furtive glances. No unnecessary chit-chat. No passing each other’s paths, even by ‘mistake’. 

 

My traps were only in my mind, but they were just as dangerous. As dangerous as he was, in fact. 

What I didn’t know was the Mohsina was only trying to ensure that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes that she did.

 

“I haven’t ever spoken to him,” I said, not wanting to entertain any further thoughts about the ‘he’ in question. “He keeps his distance even though he stays here.” 

 

The thing is, when we had first met him, in the coffee shop that day, we didn’t know that his mother was late and his father had kicked him out of the house after he started working for his uncle. His sister was married and in the UK for a few months… so he didn’t have much family here for support either. And that’s how he came to stay in the front house. 

 

”Papa seems to like him,” Mohsina conceded, glancing at me as she said it, rocking baby Zaid a little slower as he seemed to be nodding off. “I’m surprised.”

 

“He was the one who told Papa about his uncle and how he fooled you into paying him so much,” I said quietly, purposely changing the topic to slightly safer avenues. “I’m so sorry that you had to dig into all of your savings …”

 

I knew that Papa had finally spoken to her about it yesterday and it wasn’t until now that I felt confident to talk about it openly to her too. They had a long chat and spoke till almost midnight, before Zaid woke up bawling and Mohsina had to abandon the heart-to-heart because she was the only one who could pacify him.

What exactly they spoke about, I wasn’t sure… but from the way Mohsina seemed today, I could see that a lot of baggage was off her shoulders. She looked so much more serene.

“It’s only money,” she said quietly as she held Zaid closer to her. “And Faadil helped me. A lot. I paid him back most but there’s a little outstanding. I suppose it wasn’t the most ideal solution but one good thing is that it left less money available for all of his dodge extra-curricular activities…”

 

A slightly pained expression flashed over her face as she said it, and then she shook her head, swallowing hard as I looked at her inquiringly. 

“Activities?” I asked questioningly. 

“Just a few things I found out about him,” she said with a shrug. “A while back….”

 

I smiled sadly as she looked away, but not wanting to ask anymore questions for fear of the answers. The fact that he had given her so much of money and saved us from a horrible situation did make even me feel indebted to him too…

 

The entire thing was just messed up and it was his fault.

 

My heart sank because she spoke almost as if she liked him, yet my sister was way too good for that self-obsessed twit. What she even saw in him, I had no idea…

 

Mohsina turned to me, her hands tightly wrapped around baby Zaid as she stopped rocking him, a serene smile on her face as she glanced at me victoriously and finally bent to lay him down. 

 

My heart contracted slightly as I could picture Layyanah doing this umpteen times before, biting back tears as I watched as she placed him down in the little cot she had bought from the baby shop yesterday.

I smiled amidst the grief, a little in awe of how Mohsina herself had done this whole new transition. Something in her had shifted.

 

And though I expected Mohsina to be all possessive and impossible, she was actually being pretty level-headed in her approach… and though I could see that it was stressing her out, she had really taken it in her stride. 

 

Well, until now, when she looked at the time and did a double take. 

“Oh my word, I didn’t realise the time!” she squealed, widening her eyes and looking panicked as she realised that she had half an hour till they were scheduled to come.

It was actually what I had come to tell her before I had seen her in her maternal glory and got completely distracted. 

 

“I still have to get dressed and read my Salaah! Jamz, please stick around here and tap him back if he starts to move. Or just call Nani. At least it will stop her from frying any samoosas…”

 

And with that, in true crazy-mum style, my sister had already zoomed off to shower and I hovered around and watched the little sleeping sweetheart, wondering how such a tiny human could bring about such a huge change in so many people’s lives.

 

Change, huh? I never thought I’d see it. Till that point, to be honest, I had really given up on my sister. Despite knowing that I should never give up on anyone… I had shelved the idea of ever trying to see eye-to-eye with her until now. 

Instead of the superficial and selfish sister I had been accustomed to the past few months, and amazing, selfless and maternal side of her was make its way to the shore and it gave me goosebumps to see the potential she had.

 

I was so, so proud of her, for putting this above everything, and not just fitting it in like I thought she would. 

 

After the strange behavior she had exhibited over the past few months, pushing us away and distancing herself further and further… somehow, it was like something had clicked into place when she had lost Layyanah. The arrogance she had previously displayed was no longer a part of her. Instead, there was a simmered down, completely contented version of herself that had come to the fore once this new situation had become apparent.

 

And I didn’t even think of her last words to me as I got busy with Zaid and my babysitting duty. I wasn’t even sure how time ran away with me, because the next thing I knew, car doors were slamming outside and Mohsina was sprinting out of the bathroom, scrounging around in my cupboards for something decent to put on.

 

I couldn’t imagine how she must have been feeling at that point, if I was stuck in my own kind of frenzy about what the outcome of this entire meeting was going to be.

 

No matter what she said or how tough Mos acted… It was obvious that this was important. What was happening right now meant a lot to her. Not only was she dealing with someone who was once quite important to her, but all over again, for other unprecedented reasons, she had to make a good impression and build their trust once again and this was a meeting that would hold so much of weight.

 

And of course, it was precisely at that time when Zaid decided he was hungry again and started bawling his head off. Mohsina was yelling at me to take him when I pulled open the room door to head downstairs and be my best version of politeness, when I caught the whiff of freshly fried samoosas in the air. From Mohsina’s unimpressed expression, I knew she did too. 

 

I also knew that she was probably going to kill me for letting it happen but the truth was that when Nani was set on something, especially when it came to samoosas, there wasn’t much else anyone could say to stop her. 

What we didn’t know was that this whole Samoosa Saga was probably going to bring about a lot more than anticipated.

 

Sometimes, changes are gradual. Steady, slow and easy, sometimes the changes give us time to be accustomed to them and give us some sort of warning.

 

Sometimes the changes need to be within us, and we have to work on our inner selves. Sometimes the changes start directly from our filthy hearts, so we can finally see Allah Ta’alas magic in everything once again. 

 

And yes, we were all waiting for Ramadhan that year, to bring its peace and comfort, but what we didn’t know was that our entire world was already starting to transform before that.

See once in a while, with the realisation of life and death, when the hearts are altered and our souls have been moved through the beautiful sustenance of worship, it’s like the ground beneath has shifted. You see things with a new eyes. It’s like your whole world has changed, and things will never be the same again 

 

See once in a while, once in a blue moon, people can surprise you.

 

And once and a while, the ones you least expect, they may even take your breath away…

 

 

---

Assalamualaikum 

 

Dearest Readers 

 

I sincerely hope that everyone had a beautiful Ramadhaan. May Allah accept all our efforts, and grant us istiqaamat. It’s quite a transition, getting back to the old routine.

Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) said: “The most beloved of deeds are those that are performed consistently even though they may be little.”

 

May Allah guide us to maintain our efforts. 

May it be a means of change, not only for now, but also a means of us continuously improving.

One sign of acceptance is to be able to maintain our efforts and do more. InshaAllah. 

Mission Sunnah Revival will continue- let’s try and bring all the past ones back into practise InshaAllah, especially trying to stay off social media and guard our gazes…

 

Please do remember me in your duaas

Much love 

 

A x

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

 

 

When it feels like Home

Bismihi Ta’ála

Hamzah

Sometimes in life, when the focus has shifted and life’s giving you a bit of uphill, you’re given the grave choice between losing someone, and losing yourself…

And some people may call it selfish, but if you’re the kind of person that I am, you’ll understand what it feels like to wonder what will happen to your loved ones when you’re no longer around. To understand that if you lose yourself, nothing good can ever come out of it.

And if you are anything like me, and you lose yourself to someone, almost as if there’s no going back, your day and night becomes consumed with all sorts of thoughts and possibilities about what can and may happen.

It might sound crazy (and it is), but people like me, are one level above the realists. We are the worriers; the ones who think of every possible outcome for every possible scenario, even before it happens.

And I didn’t know it yet, that, that was exactly how it all started, but here I was, all soaked up and letting myself fall more and more into the sweet surrender of unconditional love, when I had slammed right into the most amazing lesson, that put it all in a nutshell for me.

And it was just as well that I’d heard it the day before, but in a beautiful narration reported by Abdullah ibn Abbas (RA), who was just a boy at the time, Nabi Muhammad (Sallalahu Alaihi was Sallam) advised his young companion to be mindful of Allah.

In the original Arabic of this, he uses the phrase “ihfadh-Allah, yahfadhak,” which literally translates as: “take care of Allah, and Allah will take care of you.”

And I’m pretty ashamed to admit it, but it had only become a recent habit of mine to recite the chapter of the cave with its innumerable benefits, also known as Surah Kahf, every Friday without fail.

And it was just as well, because within the extensive story of Musaa (AS) and Al-Khidr (AS), who was said to have somehow but unintentioanlly drunk from the Fountain of Life, it’s result being eternal life…. Allah teaches us something amazing about those we strive for, give ourselves for, and are consumed by the most…

Umar ibn AbdulAziz once said, “There is not a single righteous believer who dies except that Allah (swt) will protect his children and his children’s children.”

And to come back to that amazing moral… within the story of Musa and Al- Khidr (AS) , as these two men were journeying together, they came to a town where the people were, to say the least, extremely miserly and refused to give them even a morsel to consume.

It was at that place, as they were leaving the city, when Al-Khidr(AS) saw a wall that was crumbling, and promptly repaired it.

Now, imagine, like you and I, after the people’s refusal to assist them in their hour of need, Musaa (AS) was appalled by this seemingly virtuous deed, saying that he should have asked for some payment at least. Al Khidr (AS) then explained the wisdom:

“And as for the wall, it belonged to two orphan boys in the town; and there was under it a treasure belonging to them; and their father was a righteous man, and your Lord intended that they should attain their age of full strength and take out their treasure as a mercy from your Lord. And I did it not of my own accord. That is the interpretation of those (things) over which you could not have patience” (18:82).

And truly, we can never understand the wisdom of Divine knowledge, the extraordinary insight that those pious saints are given and how they are able to execute their tasks with such perfection…

The sublime fact here was that Allah (SWT) sent Al-Khidr to protect the wealth of these orphans without anyone else’s knowledge or invitation for one sublime reason: their father was a righteous man. Their father took care of the commandments of Allah, and Allah Ta’ala, in turn, not only took care of this man, but Allah protected the wealth of the orphans as a favour to their Duniyaa, even after he left this world.

And it was mind-blowing, because if you ask any man today what his greatest worries were, that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?

And as I looked at my friend that day, before he left for his trip to the bank, taking in his full beard, Sunnah attire and reformed ways, I could very clearly see that fatherhood had not only come naturally to him, but also reformed him in so many ways.

And it was so true, because in this case, being so close to my friend, as I witnessed him becoming a father, I couldn’t help but feel the same way.

And maybe it was the fact that for the day, I had been given the immense responsibility of watching over him for a few hours, that got to me, but that too, was not without coincidence.

“Are you implying I can’t take care of a two month old baby?” I asked Liyaket, trying to sound incredulous as I looked at his doubtful expression.

I mean, how hard can it be? All they do is drink and sleep, right?

I wasn’t yet thinking about the poo part. That, I’d pass onto someone else.

”It’s not that,” Liyaket said, biting his lip hesitantly as he held onto his son before he left. “You know this is my kid. My blood. Severe attachment issues going on.”

”Hey,” I said, trying to sound all cool and collected, as if I was the most responsible adult in the room. “I got this.”

“Okay, bru,” he said, stepping back as I heard his wife issuing some last minute commands about before he left, as if he was leaving me stranded in the desert.

And I got it. Because, from my own parents perspective and now that I saw my friend morph into fatherhood…

If you ask any man who they are working so hard for, who is the first person who comes to mind? Their kids.

But there was really no need to worry, because the answer was right there, in that Surah we are supposed to be reciting every week.

We just need to refocus. We need to pry our eyes away from the goal of being “great parents,” and set our sights on becoming “great believers.” (Which will inevitably lead to being a great parent.)

Just be good. Be sincere. Be conscious of Allah, attain piety, and Allah will, undoubtedly, take care of it all.

I held little Zaid close to my chest as his parents left, wondering why I suddenly felt like I had this enormous responsibility on my shoulders, as I watched him drifting off to slumber, almost like we had done this plenty of times before. And then I got it: I supposed that’s how a parent feels. One day you’re just a single being and the next day, you have this tiny little life depending on you for every little thing.

It’s amazing to see, isn’t it? The change that happens sometimes when a child comes into the world, how the focus shifts. Somehow, all you want to do is keep them close, shelter them from the world and keep them away from any harm that could possibly ever come to them.

There were so many things that had happened… so many trials that the world was seeing… and so much   that we had to keep our guard up about, that this parenting thing that Liyaket was already taken so seriously was already rubbing off onto me.

It had barely been three months but it was as if, without any warning even, my heart already held this binding attachment to the little guy. It was like coming home.

I already loved the kid. There we were, sitting for almost an hour, and it felt almost as if we had been best friends for years. I had bared my heart and soul, and it was as if he just got me, no questions asked.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t exactly converse back. All I needed sometimes was someone to hear me out, and share my thoughts with. I mean, why else did you need in a soulmate? 

“Hey, that suits you,” Rabia said as she came down the stairs, smiling widely as she saw him lying in my arms, fingers in his mouth and spitting up a lovely tsunami of saliva while he was at it.

She was dressed in a long, flowy kind of dress, looking like she was ready to go somewhere important, but wasn’t in much of a rush to get going either. Maybe he was the diversion, but as her eyes settled on him, I knew that she was already a goner.

As for Zaid, he was oblivious to his cuteness as he lay there, gurgling away at nothing in particular, while Rabia went all gaga over him, with no reservations.

”Isn’t he just the sweetest little thing!” She exclaimed, bending and beaming at him as he smiled back at her. “And he likes me! What a big smile… oh my.. and he’s got stories for me too… Yeeess… I’m talking about you, little pooky pops...”

Pooky pops? Oh-Kayy.. That was a first.

I sat back and watched Rabia losing the little dignity she had left over a two month old. Seriously, what babies do to women…

“Can I carry him?” She asked, her expression unreadable for a few moments as I watched her eyeing him out.

I shrugged and picked him up easily, passing him over as she watched me in awe.

“You’re an expert, aren’t you? Where’s Liyaket?” She asked with exaggerated disbelief, taking him carefully and cradling him affectionately. “Does he need to burp?”

She eyed the bottle that was on the table, that I had literally just finished feeding him.

Okay, my bad. I did forget about the burping part. That would explain the white stuff that was now trailing down his chin, and his slight discomfort.

I wiped it with a tissue that was lying around. No time to find allocated face towels.

“He does,” I said bluntly, not admitting my mistake, as I put the lid back in the bottle and handed it to her. “You can see if he wants more after. Layyanah needed to go to the bank for a bit to sort out some account. They’ll fetch him after.”

Rabia’s eyes widened. I didn’t tell anyone in my family that he’d be here because I knew that they’d make a big deal over it. Like I was completely incapable.

As it is, Liyaket was supposed to be my best friend, but when he’d phoned ten minutes back, I could hear the humour in his voice as he was obviously calling to check on me, and not on the baby. And yes, when he had told me he would be coming into town and needed a hand with the baby, all I thought to myself was that it couldn’t be that hard, right?

Feed, play, sleep, right? Whatever. I was a little hesitant but as always, I wasn’t one to turn away a challenge.

Plus, soon I’d be leaving for the trip of my lifetime and I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to spend some alone time with the little guy again.

“The thing was, I wanted to be as available as possible. Liyaket didn’t have many people who were there for him and i wanted to be one of the few who were.

“They actually left him here alone with you?” She said, blinking in shock. “Looking after a baby? And you are this calm? Where is my spoilt and selfish brother and what have you done with him?!”

I grinned, despite her insults.

“Seriously, though,” she said, rocking Zaid as his eyes fluttered open again. I threw her his dummy in case he started wailing. “Doesn’t this just make you want another baby in the family?”

I narrowed my eyes at her, not really knowing how to answer that. I for sure, was not planning on it anytime soon.

“Let’s get to the marriage part first,” I said with a raise of my eyebrows, not mentioning Imraan on purpose as she looked away, pulling her face at the marriage part.

My sister may be an outright pest who interfered the ith everyone, but I also knew that she had gone through a pretty rough marriage and didn’t exactly come out with the best of mindsets. To top it off, last weeks Samoosa run with a guy who I had met at work had been an absolute lost cause, and she had made it very clear that she was giving up all hope of ever finding a decent man to marry.

As for my brother, I knew that his wife was kind of desperate for another kid. He had told me to make Duaa this time, when I went out with Molvi, for that specific thing, and I would.

This time, going out was going to be a completely different experience.

A mixture of nerves and excitement overcame me as I thought about how my first trip with Molvi out of the country in would pan out. I just couldn’t seem to contain my excitement.

And despite my contentment, I didn’t think many people could digest how I had just filed for unpaid leave after just a month of work. Audits, taxation and accounting no longer psyched me up like it used to. It’s like I had been completely consumed by another purpose.. a great calling that my heart was fervently yearning for…

Those few weeks with Maulana Umar had altered me, and as much as my heart was being captured now, there was no going back now.

Zaid was looking slightly unsettled as I watched him with Rabia, noticing him sucking on his fingers relentlessly. Hungry or tired? It was the greatest mystery in the land of tiny beings.

“I’m in love,” She declared, cradling baby Zaid close to her as he snuggled in.

I needed to have a chat with him. He was such a comfort creature with the ladies that it was almost embarrassing.This behavior was simply not on. If he continued like this , the ladies were going to have a field day with him. Not that he minded. But still. A little dignity at least.

Zaid’s eyes were now finally closed, and we placed him carefully on his size in a little cushion type thing that was apparently designed just for babies.

“Can’t I just wait for him to grow up?” She said quietly, careful not to stir him. She didn’t know that he slept like a log. “If I have to go through another Samoosa run I’ll just die.”

”Me too,” I said with a grin just messing around with her, sitting back now and placing my legs on the coffee table as I was finally able to relax. “Fed up of samoosas.”

Sheesh. This parenting this was no walk in the park. Now I knew why Liyaket cherished nap time so much.

Rabia gave me an unimpressed look. She obviously didn’t appreciate the humour.

”You don’t even know what a Samoosa run is!” She said bitterly. “Besides, when we went to Mohsina’s house, they didn’t even serve samoosas. They served moons and pies. Really now. Did you guys actually plan it that way?”

She looked at me sceptically and I smiled, not being able to dissolve the memory that it brought back. It was still funny even now, as I thought of it months later.

And because Mohsina’s expertise was to stir up things, the Samoosa saga was her way to get back at her Nani. It was her  idea to go against tradition and I knew that she had done it just because she wanted to annoy her.

And as we had just arrived at the house, after a few minutes  minutes of sitting and listening to general business talk of the men, I kind of decided that I needed a breather.

It may have been the plan, or just pure coincidence that on my way,  I had caught sight of Mohsina, outside the kitchen door, seizing the opportunity to have a quick chat before anyone else saw us.

”Hey,” she said, taking a step back into the kitchen and frowning at me, her cheeks slightly flushed. Her sister, who was in the room, cautiously made her way out. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

And I smiled guiltily, because I knew she was right. If Nani had to get wind of this, I would probably be in for it.  But I was drawn to her, well, not just because of how pretty she looked that day, but to be honest, because from the kitchen was the smell of something yummy and I hadn’t had time for lunch..

”I know,” I said indignantly, but not making any attempt to leave either. All I wanted was a samoosa. “Just checking what’s on the menu…”

It was just an excuse and she had turned away with a shake of her head, and I kept my distance, because I did still respect the rules we had set.

And as I watched her silently,  I could see her strategically taking some things out into a Tupperware, and placing some more things on a platter, before turning around to face me, with a triumphant expression on her face.

“You want to see something funny,” she had said mischievously with a grin, as we peeked into the room from where we were standing. “Watch Nani’s expression.”

I already knew that Nani was a really traditional character, and that made me like her even more. I had a feeling that she was probably the only one who Mohsina truly, but secretly took seriously.

It was just that I wasn’t quite sure if she would like me, so bringing the flowers that day was my form of a trade off for her approval. The dynamic between her and Mohsina had also intrigued me significantly, and I could see that Mohsina was itching to put some masala in the works that day, and she was very much successful.

I stood behind as we peeked into the room where the food was, from where we were standing, while Mohsina went onto the other side, scanning it for Nani and notably noticing her face change while she looked from one platter to the other, literally searching for samoosas, while I could hear someone asking where Mohsina was.

I could see Nani getting a little worked up, as she was calling for who I presumed was Mohsina’s mother… and that’s when Mohsina quickly straightened her scarf, gave me a warning glare that spelt that I better get out of there without a word of what she had just done, and made her appearance in the room once again, as if she was not just behaving like a unruly child a few minutes before that.

I was chuckling randomly for a good ten minutes after. For some reason, Mohsina got a kick out of living on the edge, and causing a stir. It was just that, living in the edge sometimes led to catastrophic consequences.

I stifled my sigh, looking at Rabia as she got up to put the kettle on. Looked like she wasn’t heading out after all.

And yes, as for Mohsina, maybe I should have known from the very beginning that her nature was a little erratic, but I thought that she would be able to draw boundaries where it mattered.

And now, more than ever, the lessons from the mistakes I had made now stood out greater than ever.

‘Knowing’ someone before you got proposed didn’t change a thing. Knowing someone before , set up expectations that sometimes didn’t materialize. Knowing someone before, having those memories, was something that stuck with you and literally hounded you… even when you were trying your utmost to move past it.

I sought refuge from the wrong I had done, from every sin that I thought was little, from every word I had said that may have been a source of Allah’s wrath raining down on me.

Astaghfirullah.

And now, as I found a new path in life, I knew that I had  found something better. By changing my life, by maintaining my respect… by keeping my honour intact, Allah had granted me not only peace… but a contentment that felt like I was coming home, every time I surrendered to Him.

Now, I knew better. I would do better. I knew that I’d never set myself up for so much of pain and heartache, the way that I had before.. Next time, I would play it safe.

I looked at my sister, who was still waiting for an answer.

”I think we can just blame it all on the samoosas,” I said with a grim smile. “Or lack there of. Next time, please insist- samoosas are obligatory.”

Rabia let out a loud burst of laughter.

And yes, I felt sorry for her, and she had it tough, but although  I wasn’t the biggest fan of her ex-husband, I couldn’t blame anything on him solely. Marriage is two people who are equally choosing to either make it or break it. Or maybe it wasn’t all that simple. I didn’t have all the answers, but I did know that I had plenty of time.

“No more Samoosa for me anytime soon,” she said blandly. “The problem is that everyone else gets the extra rich, cheesey ones and I’m just stuck with the tinfish.”

Tinfish samoosas? I chuckled.

“When I meet that husband of mine,” she continued with a frown. “If he even exists… I’m going to give him one big smack, for taking so bloody long.. howcome everyone has such good luck? … It’s so unfair… I met a girl ones who didn’t even have to go through all of this. Along came one rich, handsome guy from the blue and pitched up to propose. How unfair is that? And then Shabana… remember our second cousin..? she’s so spoilt rotten, can’t cook and doesn’t even greet properly when we meet her, but she got such a nice guy. And people like me end up with the rotten leftover.”

Ah, here we go again, the old ‘howcome’ saga. Howcome they get it all and we don’t? Rabia was a big fan of it and I wasn’t.

I shrugged.

“It’s Allah’s justice system,” I said simply. “You can’t question it. Allah already knows both sides of the story. We are all sinners and have done bad things. Everyone has their tests… look at people who are worse off than you before you start comparing…”

It was the golden rule to combat jealousy. And even if someone is bad to you, indeed, isn’t Allah is in charge of the how, why and where of punishment? If not now, will Allah Taála not even the scales at some point?

In a verse of Holy Qurán Allah says:

“… Indeed, Allah loves those who act justly.” (Holy Quran 60:8)

If we want to take our matters into our own hands, when Allah is the ultimate judge, is this not an injustice?

Rabia shrugged and sighed, looking at the sleeping Zaid and planting a kiss on his forehead, downing her cup of tea before getting up to leave again.

And yes, I understood her point. There are times when I wonder how people who I know or once knew ever got away with things that they did. There were times when I wondered how the scales will be evened, when it seems like nothing in life is fair and will ever be okay again.

But all these feelings… this hostility… the aversion to people… the ill feelings… it all went away when I took a new step in my new journey of life.

I didn’t have to hold onto past grievances because I had full faith that Allah already knew exactly what my heart had been through and had a perfect plan that was just for me.

And yes, for now, I had found a place where my heart was at ease… and I had found home.

I knew that if Allah was in my side, whatever hurt, whatever pain… I knew that my Allah would never abandon me.

Home was where my heart was contented and where I really had no desire to be anywhere else but where I was right then.

And as I got up and left Zaid in his sleepy silence for a good few minutes, I found my mind switching back to the present once again.

It was just two days left, before I would be leaving again, and I could barely wait.

And I supposed it was his luck that as he shifted again and the front door opened, with both my sister-in-law and my mother entering, the huge wail that escaped from his mouth got them both rushing over and swooning over him like they’d never seen a baby before in their lives.

Life, huh? It was weird that way. One way you were a normal person with not much purpose, and the next moment you have this tiny human being who turns everything around and brings a light even in the darkest of times…

Sometimes home wasn’t a place. Sometimes home was a feeling. Sometimes home was two eyes and a beating heart, and sometimes that home was all that mattered.

It was just three weeks, I told myself, feeling amazingly discomforted by the fact that I would be away from Zaid for so long. It felt liek a lifetime and I was beginning to feel like a real parent now.

Feelings of guilt and missing out on important milestones of his life were starting to plague me. This whole parenting this was becoming a little too a serious for me, but I couldn’t stop it. I supposed once it hit you, there was no going back.

My world had already changed, and life was already so different to the one of that free-spirited and carefree guy that I glimpsed in the mirror just a few months ago.

What I didn’t know that coming back home after three weeks would feel like I was coming back to a completely different world…

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

In an effort to revive a Sunnah, let’s try and put our family first, instead of friends, followers and anyone else… be the best we can be to those who truly do love us the most ❤️

Sunnah of being best to our family.

Aisha (RA) reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “The best of you are the best to their families, and I am the best to my family...”

Source: Sunan al-Tirmidhī 3895

Du’aa for Rajab 

اَللّهُمَّ بَارِكْ لَنَا فِى رَجَبَ وَ شَعْبَانَ وَ بَلِّغْنَا رَمَضَان

Allaahumma Baa’rik La’naa Fee Rajab(a), Wa Sha’baan(a), Wa Bal’ligh’naa Ramadhaan.

“O Allaah! Make the months of Rajab and Sha’baan blessed for us, and let us reach the month of Ramadhaan.”

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah