Burning the Bridges

Bismihi Ta’ala


Part 73

The overwhelming stench from the green garbage drum during late November of that year reminded me of the familiar smell of rotting flesh. It had been hot. Rainy with electric storms in the evenings, but hotter than I remembered it being the year before.

Often, on the farm where I worked, I would set ablaze the entire thing until it went up in flames, without even batting an eyelid, but today, nothing was coming easy.

Even setting the barrel alight was proving a task.

The stench was unbearable. Maybe I had left it a bit too long this week. With the windy conditions, I wasn’t prepared to light it until I was guaranteed smooth sailing, and today was the first calm day.

“Come now, Z,” I taunted myself, pulling my sleeves up to beyond the elbow, and steadying myself before the stench knocked me out. “Get with the drill.”

I ignored the images and emotions that poked at my conscience as I sniffed the air, knowing there was no way to stop them completely today. I just had to keep reminding myself:

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.

I had to keep reminding myself. I had to keep pushing myself. On days like this.. bad days… there was no other way than to channel every ounce of energy into the task at hand, blocking out everything that had ever broken me, and march forward to the ultimate destination. There was no place more beautiful than what lay beyond this.

I had pulled out the rod from the toolbox to hammer in a few more holes and already tossed a match into the drum, as I stepped back and watched the barrel go up in flames. It was soothing, to a degree, as I watched it burn. If made me feel as if I was, hopefully, burning the parts of me that had been destructive to my mind. It made me think of how I needed to burn those old bridges and build up new ones. The right ones.

About how I wanted to, so badly, make up for the things that I had done. About how badly I needed to.

I turned away from the smoking drum, already walking back to the room when I saw my phone flash in the corner of the little kitchenette. As predicted, the message from my sister was as curious as she was.

Is J back? She’s not replying to messages.

I slid open my phone and replied the obvious.

Probably jet lag.

Her next message was quick.

Are you sure that you’re okay? You don’t think you’re being a little… extra.

I sighed and unbuttoned the top of my overall, getting ready to change into something more comfortable. I was not getting into this argument with my sister again. It was probably going to put me in a worse mood if I did.

All I wanted to do was close my eyes and forget about the look in the girl in questions eyes when she saw me. It was as if I had broken a piece of her that she probably didn’t even realise was there. So much of hatred brewed in her eyes, and I simply couldn’t shake that feeling of guilt. I hated to do what I was doing, but there was no other way.

Z, don’t ignore me.

My sisters message came a few seconds later. She knew what I was doing. I did too.

You know that I love you and want the best for you. That’s all. 

I knew that. And that’s precisely what killed me.

I typed fast and furiously, wanting to evade the feelings that were surfacing.

I don’t deserve anything even close. 

Nusaybah was right. The girl that she wanted for me was the best, and I didn’t even deserve it. I didn’t deserve a girl who was so beautiful, so pure, but completely naive. Especially when it came to the likes of me.

Knowing about my life would unhinge the little perfect picture frame she had been living in her entire life, and throw her into the haze that I’ve been struggling to find my way out of for years. I couldn’t do that to her.


Think about how mummy would love her.

I swallowed. Hard. I couldn’t think of my mother now. It was irrelevant. My mother didn’t know what had happened to me these past few years. How I had spiralled. How I had let them both down.

She would probably be beyond disappointed with me too. The way my father didn’t even look at me, and refused to speak to me, was proof of how much I had failed them both.

I typed the next sentence without even thinking.

I would love her too.  

<this message has been deleted>

I shook my head and tried to shake away the thoughts. Feelings. Feelings were by the way.

Maybe she would marry the guy who had come to see her earlier on that month. Not that he was bad, but the thought of it felt like a punch in the gut, and I deserved every discomfort that this situation had brought.

He was all the things that she needed and deserved. I had nothing at all to offer her.

The reply to nothing came five seconds later.

What did you delete? Sorry, pookie bear was trying to pull my eyebrows out of I didn’t slice her some cucumber. 

The corners of my mouth turned up slowly as I read that.

Only Nusaybah would call my one year old niece a disturbing name like ‘Pookie Bear’. Weird name, considering that Safeeyah was named after my mother and surprisingly looked a lot like her too. She was a mixture between my brother-in-law Faheem and all the good and comforting things I remembered about my mother. Seeing her for the first time when Nusaybah was down had been the highlight of my year thus far, and I was actually really looking forward to them coming the following month.

I rolled onto my back and thought of her, tossing my phone across the bottom of the bed, realising that it was time to get out of the hellhole room and start with my weekky atonement.

And don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t that my room was an actual hellhole. The amazing family I worked for had given me a decent sized place, with a proper bathroom and good living conditions. It was just that the home I now had, had become what it was because of all the baggage I carried with me from when I was actually scum. I’d  moved all weapons into my room after I figured that my teenybopper crush had mistakenly stumbled upon my make-shift arms room. There was no other choice but to drag every reminder of the past into where I struggled to sleep at night.

Mistake number one, and why I could never think of my infatuation as more than a phase.

And once again, I was reminded of the reason that I felt that I was in hiding, and the cringeworthy feeling overcame me because I knew that there was no escape.

Repentance. Atonement, and all the things that go with it.

My bold, unapologetic truth.

In  Islam, it is the act of leaving what Allah has prohibited and returning to what He has commanded. The word denotes the act of being repentant for one’s misdeeds, atoning for those misdeeds, and having a strong determination to forsake those misdeeds (remorse, resolution, and repentance)

It was the ultimate solution. The reason I allowed myself to actually get up each day with a conscience that doesn’t kill me inside. And though part of my resolution was the inescapable nature to make it up to my father, without even seeing him, my atonement actually ventured into more complicated routes.

It started with small, consistent acts. Monthly, I would drop off a set amount of money at the wife of a man I was once paid to target, because I had found out that she was an orphan with no support system and had three small kids from him. And though her husband wasn’t the best of humans either, and had a reputation of supplying their neighbourhood youth with the most addictive crack, my conscience wouldn’t let me rest.

So each month, I would take a trip on my motor bike to leave a designated amount of money in her postbox so she wouldn’t have to worry about where her babies meals were going to come from. It was a small gesture. And if it meant I ate a little less for the day, so be it.

It was a small price I could pay for a bigger part I had played, but it was worth being able to sleep at night sometimes. There were, of course, times when I wished that I could give back more. When I wished that I could help more.

One day, when the money I earned was halaal and completely clean, I vowed to be more to the community. I hoped to always feel like I was helping someone out. But that was the thing with remorse.

Sometimes Tawbah is not enough for the soul. Sometimes we have to keep pushing ourselves with better deeds.

Right now, all I was doing was trying to undo a lot of the pain and hurt that I caused, and I knew that today I had to head closer to home.

And as I dragged myself out of the room and pulled the door behind me, making sure I latch it, I knew that as much as I didn’t want to, today was the day I had to go to my fathers place. Though he barely looked me in the eye as he watched me from the window, I knew that I would sometimes revel in the sight of him peeping behind the curtain to watch me weeding the grass or neatening up my mothers rose bush. It had been growing wild for some time, but a few months ago, I had pruned them down and to see them bloom again gave me a feeling that was close to redemption.

At least, that’s what I liked to think.

And as I pulled on my helmet, jumping onto the bike and turning it on with a roar, I knew that I had to get my mind into the game. I was doing this to right myself. To ease my reformation. To be the best that I could ever be, and I knew there was no other place to start from home.

And I knew that my father an I always had our issues. I blamed him for my mothers death and he blamed me for choosing a rotten sort of lifestyle that killed her, long after he had dusted his hands off it.

And the thing was, I barely knew her, but I knew from stories that I’d heard, that she was a special kind of lady. And despite everything I’d heard about her, then came the stories I remember Nusaybah telling me as kid.

The stories of the Sahabah entailed  the story of Zubair bin Awaam (RA) mother who someone so awe inspiring that it made me wonder how humans like this even existed…

Safeeyah (RA) was the mother the full sister of Hamza ibn Abdul Muttalib. It was said that she was the Prophet’s only paternal aunt who actually embraced Islam and migrated.

She had a strong personality and was therefore inclined towards sternness and harshness.

Her first marriage was to Al-Harith ibn Umayyah, who was Abu Sufyaan’s brother. He then died before they had had any children together. She was then married to Al-‘Awwam ibn Khuwaylid, who was our Mother Khadijah’s (may Allah be pleased with her) brother. She gave birth to two of his children: As-Sa’ib and Az-Zubayr. When he passed away, Safeeyah RA devoted all her attention to her two orphaned sons, especially the younger one. Whenever he came home complaining of being bullied by children of his age, she would sternly rebuke him, tie him and beat him up so as to make him strong and firm.

When one of the members of her husband’s family once passed by her while she was treating her son in this way, he requested her to be kind to the poor orphan. She replied that she wants to make a man out of her son; a man that would be undefeatable and insuppressible, a man that would never surrender to any of Allah’s creatures.

It was reported that Zubair RA engaged in a duel with someone who slandered him and was so strong, that he broke the hand of the slanderer and severely beat him up. This man, with his pains was brought to Safeeyah and she asked him what had happened to him, to which was told:

He fought with Az-Zubayr and he [Az-Zubayr] did to him that which you can see.”

All in all… Safeeyah (RA) achieved what she wanted; Az-Zubayr RA grew strong in body and soul.

Ans yes; these were some of the most amazing personalities. We could only dream to be like them. In our broken way, we try and aspire to emulate them.

It was just that… I wasn’t quite sure if I what I could say about myself. There were times when I felt strong. Stronger than the world and everything that had happened to me… everything that I’d brought upon myself. And then there were times when it felt like the entire world was on my shoulders, weakened by the burden of it, and I couldn’t shrug it off.

And I supposed that circumstances were what they were, and there wasn’t much else to be said. The thing is, Allah takes us through stages that polish us, and eventually makes us shine because of it…

There were so many trials that we had encountered along the way, but the most noteworthy event was the one that hit the hardest.

It was a horrible, guttural kind of pain that ate me from the inside every day until I realised that my mother being killed by a stray bullet that was meant for my father, was really not my father’s fault. I couldn’t blame her death on anyone. It was determined long before and nothing he could have done that day would have saved her.

And yes, it was a loss that was felt unanimously and it hurt like hell. It was the reason my father never married again. But that wasn’t why I was trying to set things right again.

Why I needed to make it up to my father was because I had learnt that when you do something for Allah Ta’ala’s sake… when you help with the intention of setting right the affairs of the world that have gone so wrong… you are rewarded in ways you can never even imagine.

And that was my only consolation. Even though my father barely spoke to me. Even though he couldn’t look at me after knowing what I had become. Even though he would never forgive me, I knew that I had to keep trying.

And I knew that as long as I lived, I would keep paying the price for my sins. I would keep up with the atonement, keep seeking repentance and keep trying to be better.

That was the least I could do.

And so I did it.

And later that very day, as I sped through the rained out city streets on my way home, again I wanted to make up for my wrongs. I had stopped at my sister’s friends nursery to get another rose plant, because my entire life was going to be spent trying to make up for all the pain I had caused people. That day was no exception.

As much as I wanted to undo it, I knew that I couldn’t. Everything that I had come came with a price. My entire life, the company I had kept, the enemies I had earned along the way… was the price I paid. I knew that there was no way that I could drag a girl into the dirt everyone had on me.

And so it went, the story of my life.

I knew that I had to silently bear the brunt of my mistakes. For me, there would be no point in believing in fairy tales of note. For me, there would be a greater purpose in life, than just marriage and what would come after.

For me, I strongly believed, that maybe there was something greater than love.

They say the mind cannot comprehend what awaits us, that sadness will be forgotten.
They say that the eye has yet to see
and the ear has yet to hear the beauties that await us in our new home.

They say rivers of honey.
They say rivers of milk, they say rivers of wine.
They say if you give your life, then all eternity will be yours.

Maybe for me, there would be the sweetness of another dimension. Maybe for me would be the scent of musk as my blood spills on the ground. Maybe for me, green birds would await me. What could be more valuable that a greeting with the angels who promise eternal bliss…

I sighed as I placated myself, reaching home only after Esha salaah, pulling off my riding jacket and changing my soaked pants hurriedly, before getting ready for bed. The last thing I expected at that moment was a pounding on the front door of the little house I stayed in, which caught me just a little bit unaware.

And of course, with my history, senses were at once heightened as I grabbed a weapon, and moved toward the door.

I knew that in all likelihood, a killer probably wouldn’t be knocking on the door, but it could also be a trap. Fear wasnt in my nature, but curiosity was.

Although I could just ignore them, I knew that whoever it was, was probably someone who had some business with me. I had already unlatched the two latches, and stuffed the firearm under my arm, before yanking open the door.

I found myself blinking as I looked into the eyes of the guy I had seen just the week before. A easy-going guy I had surprisingly come to like, despite the fact that he looked at me as if I came from another universe.

“Hey, salaam.”

I greeted him back with a quick handshake, my weapon now safely tucked away under my arm.

“How’s it?”

I nodded and stepped back. It was pouring outside. He came in without hesitation, shaking off the rain from his jacket and smoothing it down.

”Sorry to barge in like this.”

I shrugged, moving over to the kettle to switch it on. I figured it probably had to do with that idiot, Hashim, who thought that he was invincible. The guy made my skin crawl with irritation.

“Tea?” I asked, knowing that it was the only thing I really kept here. My meals would usually come from the coffee shop kitchen.

He looked around awkwardly while I popped the firearm into the top drawer, and pulled out two mugs.

All my shiny toys were probably giving him the heebi jeebis, but I pretended like they weren’t there.

”I need your help,” he said quietly as I turned to him, looking like he was mentally carrying way more than he could handle. “Actually, my wife does. I think you may know a little about the money she borrowed… from the guy with the Porsche.”

So it wasn’t about Hashim. The guy with the Porsche. Of course I couldn’t forget.

I didn’t want to say that the Porsche guy had come back here, the day of the wedding, to see Mohsina just before she got married. Of course, I couldn’t say that… unless it was vital to whatever he needed.

He was the reason why I’d ever gotten involved with this family in the first place. The reason why I came back for atonement. Why I’d made it incumbent on myself to be here and protect this family that we’d harassed and caused so much of trouble to. Also the reason why I couldn’t seem to pull myself together and be the man I wanted to.

There was way too much at risk here to do what I wanted to do. Any move I made would land me in trouble.

“Yup,” I said blandly, not offering any further information. “My uncle’s client.”

All I knew was that I hadn’t seen him since then… since I’d left my uncle… and that meant that all ties with my uncle were also cut in the process.

I really intended to keep it that way, but Hamzah had other plans.

“I need you to dig up some info for me,” he said roughly, looking like his life depended on it.

I didn’t know that it did. What I also didn’t know was that what he needed from me was to once again build all those bridges that I’d worked so hard at burning.

“I need to know as much as you can get about every transaction he had with you guys. However much it costs, I need every dirty detail. They’re trying to lay it all on Mohsina. Whether it’s on his name or Hammonds, I need to know. There’s something fishy going on with him and the money and we’re going to get to the bottom of it. I need your help.”

The much awaited Zubair POV. Oops. Got a bit serious, didn’t even realise. Well, let’s see what unfolds… 

May Allah Ta’ala make us all true mujaahideen on this Deen… fighting our nafs and shaytaan with the same kind of determination…


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..💕
















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When the Game’s not Over

Bismihi Ta’ala 

Part 44


Buzz. Buzz!

Maahira: No!

Are you serious?

Me: you heard me. He’s here. Right now.

Maahira: Did u even tell Hamzah???

Me:  .

Maahira: boy, you’re in trouble.

Me: Not my fault. Didn’t have a chance to talk again. Tonight.

MaahiraTalk. tonight? Watch me while I die laughing.

Me: *rolling eyes*

Maahira was being super immature.

And as I thought about what to reply amidst my anxiety, it was precisely at that moment when Jameela started pounding on the door, in complete fishwife style.

It was the first time that my usually dazed and dreamy sister was actually sounding more panicked and out of control than me.

“Mos, are you in there?!” She called, sounding like she was losing her marbles. “Mos, you won’t believe it! Your boss… ex boss… is here ! He’s waiting outside. It’s a bit early for the function but from what he told me, I doubt he’s here for that…”

“Just keep him outside,” I said hastily, pulling on my drabbiest cloak and a black scarf. Last thing I needed was Nani spotting the ‘business mens’ and going outside with a rolling pin. “I’m coming out.”

”Dont worry,” she said quickly. “He doesn’t want to come in. He’s at the shop.”

I sighed, relieved, as I checked in the mirror and picked up my phone again. I cannot look good. I cannot make an effort for him. I cannot.

Buzz again. 

Maahira: listen. Tell him 2 respect ur wishes and leave. He can’t even be there at d function. Plz listen 2 me this time. U can’t risk it.

Gosh. She wanted me to chase him out. I might as well send Nani.

Me: What if he pulls out all the lines?

Maahira: don’t be fickle. You cannot fall for it.

Me: Faadil is smoother than chocolate ice cream. You know me and chocolate.

Maahira: then go on a damn diet, girl. It’s time to divorce chocolate! Chocolate is bad for your health!

Me: *sad face*

Maahira: are u crazy? What are you even thinking about. This is Hamzah. He wants to make this work.

Me: :>

Maahira:  That’s my girl. Allah will put Barakah in the right thing when you do it the right way. Faadil is never going to be the right way.

She was right. Faadil wanted a long engagement and huge, flashy wedding with all his high flying associates. Hamzah’s requirements were so much simpler.

Simple wedding. Simple home. Simple life.

It was a simple equation.

Simple everything = More Barakah. No questions.

Me: I know. I need to be strong.

Maahira: U are. C u later now. Still recovering  from Samoosa run #2. Burying all hopes of happily ever after in my pillow. Scarred 4 life. xx

I smiled, despite my sombreness at the current predicament I found myself in. I couldn’t wait to hear Part Two of Maahiras Samoosa Run Escapades, because they were always filled with the most dramatic and hilarious scenarios.

And after convincing myself that chocolate is really bad, I was all psyched up to handle Faadil’s smoothness, and knock it right out my system.

Besides, after the week that I’d had, I was hoping that no obstacles would be chucked in to throw me off course. But such was my luck… everything that had happened seemed like it was meant to throw me off track and the tests that were happening entailed me grappling to stay on the right path, no matter what it took.

And I know that you are wondering where it all started so let me dive straight into it and spare you the grief, because all I knew was that I was way in over my head.

But that’s the thing with Tawakkul, isn’t it? Even when you are over you head, somehow, things still come through for you, when you have faith that Allah will see it through. The thing with Tawakkul is not only to pray and believe that not only will you be able to believe that nothing can harm you with Allah by your side, but to fully understand that you have the strength to fight anything because your strength comes only from Allah Azza Wa Jal.

And at that point, right after Ramadhan, when spirits were still flying high and my heart was endowed with faith of higher degrees, I had some kind of hope in my heart that what I wanted would somehow be granted.

In fact, even at the beginning, I remember already feeling exhausted, as I had complained to Jameela. If only I knew what the rest of the week entailed, I would have been far less dramatic.

”I can’t breathe,” I had remembered saying to her as she walked into the room, with me scrounging around for a decent abaya to wear, as Muhammed Husayn told me that Hamzah and Papa were waiting downstairs to speak to me.

“I had a feeling that outfit was a bit of a clingy one, especially around the upper area…”

I glared at her as she grinned at me quite obnoxiously, quite peeved that she was making light of a potentially serious situation.

“Listen,” she said, pulling off the pretty baby pink abaya she was wearing, with a cream trimming. “Wear this, but stop acting like you are having an anxiety attack. He only wants to speak about Zaid. Your outfits not going to make a difference.”

I glared at her.

“Or maybe it will,” she said mischievously and I narrowed my eyes, but I was, honestly, quite relieved and very intent on being modest.

I mean, modesty was our trait. What defined us as Muslims. Besides, what else could come out of strutting myself, except Nani having anxiety attacks too and we really didn’t need more kuku people in the house at the moment…

After being quite certain that looking decent and unexposed would have a far greater impact than being revealing, I calmed my nerves and made my way down the stairs, surprisingly keeping myself together. My frame of mind had altered significantly, and strangely enough, those things that impressed me before, seemed almost inappropriate. Where a basic slack suit would have been fine before, going on front of non-mahrams with anything slightly fitted made me cringe. I can’t believe how I actually wore topas above my bum before.

And making my way down to the lounge very self-consciously, with my father in the passage and the rest of my family seated just outside the house for Eid supper, I didn’t even process that the house was unusually quiet inside. By some miracle, Nani hadn’t gotten wind of Hamzah here yet, being so busy with the evening meal, and the silence felt a little strange. I actually half-wished that Nani had been let in on it but then then again, if everything didn’t go as she expected, the dramatics would have been inconsolable, so I instantly held the thought back.

And as I halted outside the lounge door, I could hear Muhammed Husayn talking to Hamzah, and as I entered, I was quite shocked that my otherwise unconscious brother was actually offering Hamzah something to eat. The fact that he had some manners was a great surprise…

“Thanks bru,” I could hear Hamzah’s voice say politely. “It’s been a busy Eid. I cannot eat a single thing more. Maybe just some water.”

And if I wasn’t bordering on palpitations, I would have probably greeted as I entered, but as I entered, my heart was literally in my throat as I realised that not only was my family not present at all, but Hamzah’s entire family was missing too.

In fact, it kind of caught me off-guard, because it  meant that while Muhammed Husayn went off to fetch the water, all I was faced with in a painfully appealing blue-grey kurta, his legs folded underneath him, Sunnah style, as he sat with a gurgling Zaid, was Hamzah himself.

And with Zaid already on the carpet, and in his element, I had arrived just in time to see the royal roll-over from tummy to back, and it always made me laugh when my little guy had that look of amazement on his face, as soon as he accomplished his goal.

I smiled as I saw it again, watching Hamzah excitedly pick him up and throw him in the air, while Zaid broke into a fit of giggles, just before they both caught site of me.

I had just entered the room, clearing my throat noisily, not able to conceal the major trauma that it had brought on, because according to me, that stuff was just damn dangerous

”Sorry,” Hamzah said sheepishly, glancing at me briefly I stood there, probably looking as formidable as ever, before he quickly turned his gaze away.


”Wa alaykum Salaam,” I mumbled, relaxing a bit because I knew I shouldn’t be so possessive, so I added . “It’s okay. He loved it.”

And I wished I could just chill but being there, right now, was making me all sorts of unsettled, because honestly, I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to make it through this meeting.

Muhammed Husayn had re-entered, watching us almost anxiously, as if we were some kind of ping-pong match. I wasn’t quite sure what he expected. To tell the truth, I wasn’t quite sure what I expected either…

”I’m sorry if I disturbed your Eid supper,” Hamzah said, his back to me as I made my way to the couch behind him, and my father hovered outside. Sitting within this view was awkward, and I wasn’t quite sure why I felt that way.

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t even with my family and that some of my cousins annoyed me anyway, but I didn’t.

There was so much on my mind. I had heard, through the grapevine, that he had decided to go to Al-Aqsa as a last minute I’thikaaf plan, and it was something that I wanted to desperately ask him about. I wanted to ask him what had inspired him in the spur of the moment. I wanted to know how he felt now, after such an overwhelming trip.

I wanted to ask how his Tarawēeh had gone. How he felt first Ramadhaan after losing his bestest friend. I wanted to know if his heart had been healed with the word of Allah. I wanted to ask him if Ramadhaan had gone as it planned, and if Allah had made apparent His love for him through the recital of Qur’ān that had become his beautiful refuge. I wanted to ask him about his journey from then until now… about how he had undergone the significant change that I’d glimpsed a few months back, before everything went so terribly wrong.

I wanted to ask him too, if he felt the navigation of Qur’ānic guidance that had brought him back to his route, when circumstances had swayed him off-track, and love and loss had broken him inside. I wanted to ask him if he had felt the weight of Allah’s word that had intervened between his heart and his whims and if his purpose in life had changed as much as mine did….

But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t say al the words I needed to. I couldn’t even say one.

And at first I didn’t understand it. it’s not like I hadn’t spoken with men before. I wasn’t that green. As an external auditor, my entire career had been meetings and clashes with the opposite sex, and it was barely appropriate or ideal. I did it because I didn’t have any motivation not to. I didn’t have the kind of conscience that halted me.

Now, though, as I stood there, with only Hamzah in view, even though I was properly dressed, I could honestly say that I never felt so awkward in my life. Something major had altered within me and I literally felt like hiding behind a curtain.

I knew, on this journey I was taking, there was a little room for deviation. As much as I wanted to ask him… I knew that there was a way to speak, to be modest and aware and keep myself from appearing anything less than dignified.

”My father said you wanted to speak to me,” was what I said quietly, careful not to be speak too openly.

And as he nodded, without looking at me, and the whole situation was oddly surreal.

And as if a reminder was vital, in the back of my mind was the story of Musaa (AS), which stood out for me as having some of the most important lessons. Attraction to the opposite gender is not taboo; it’s like hunger in Ramadan, and it’s completely natural. But, as a lesson, in this story, Allah shows us how to control them:

Allah Ta’ala says: Then there came to him one of them, (daughter of Shu’aib (AS)) walking shyly, as it was narrated from the Commander of the Faithful, ʿUmar ibn Al-Khaṭṭâb:

She was covering herself with the folds of her garment.” Ibn Abî Ḥâtim recorded that ʿAmr ibn Maymûn said: “ʿUmar said: ‘She came walking shyly, putting her garment over her face. She was not one of those audacious women who come and go as they please.’”

The âyah goes on: She said: “Verily, my father calls you that he may reward you for having watered (our flocks) for us.”

And those words… well, it was a beautiful example of good manners and modesty: she did not invite him directly lest he have some suspicious thoughts about her. Rather she said: My father is inviting you so that he may reward you for watering our sheep.

How simple and beautiful were the ways of our pious Ambiyaa, who showed us a most virtuous way of life…

I breathed in as I awaited his response.

”Yes,” he said blandly. “I spoke to your father. He said to speak with you. Its been a long two weeks, and I can’t describe how much I missed this guy. With going back to work I thought it’s best to work out some kind of proper arrangement so we can both have the best of him.”

I took a deep breath, knowing what I had to tell him first, before we figured out a better arrangement.

“We can…. but, I resigned,” I said flatly, looking at a spot on the carpet near him, and swallowing hard. “Two weeks ago. From Hammonds.”

The silence in the room was almost deafening.

He was the one person I was waiting to break the news to, since it had happened, because I knew that this would be my one shot of redemption. It would be my one shot to prove that I was taking this seriously. It was my one chance to prove that maybe… just maybe… I was more worthy than he had thought… but the news had a less than desired effect..

He glanced at me briefly, before looking down again. It didn’t seem to be news to him. I couldn’t seem to meet his eye either.

“I see,” he said quietly, gently lifting Zaid up onto his lap, and shifting onto the couch, so he could face me, without meeting my gaze. “Did you get a new offer somewhere in else?”

He was waiting for my answer and his tone was neutral as he asked, but I knew that there was a note of inquisition there.

“I’m thinking about doing something different,” I ventured carefully, purposely wanting to knock him for a six. “I wanted to study Qur’an.”

I could tell from the way his gaze suddenly faltered, that this was something he didn’t quite expect.

Good, I thought to myself. I liked to catch people off guard. I was, after all, anything but predictable.

And I expected more of a reaction, but all he did was tickle Zaid’s tummy, almost as if he was avoiding a response.

Zaid, however, was making up for it completely.  And as we both sat in silence, listening to Zaid giggling gurgling away, both Hamzah and I were on completely different wavelengths.

“That a massive change,” he said softly after a minute… so softly that I barely heard him. “I didn’t know how much had happened while I was gone.”

I kept silent, simply because I could not formulate the words to say what I needed to. There was still so much to let him know, about Hammonds, about the job, about everything that had happened in between that had upset our entire future…

But how could I even begin? 

How could I explain to him that those vile men had taken me and broken my spirit to such unworthiness? How could I explain to him the humiliation of having to beg for my fathers safety, with money I didn’t even have? How could I tell him the feeling of having to literally sell my happiness into the safety that Faadil had promised me?

But it was over now, right? It didn’t matter. We just had to work on Zaid and giving him the best we could.

I couldn’t look at him. The moment I tried, everything came flooding back, and I didn’t want to remember that, as the basis that formed us. I didn’t want to remember the hurt and the ugliness and the general feeling of hostility caused by wealth and status that existed between us.

This was too much.

I hadn’t even said what I needed to say. I hadn’t even gathered my thoughts enough to string them into the kind of thread that would patch up all those shredded pieces. I hadn’t told him that I had prayed, in the early hours of the morning, and that I had asked Allah to illuminate a way. I didn’t tell him how he had inspired my change… How he made me want to be better… and I hadn’t even told him all the things that I so desperately needed to say way back when I never got to say them….

Instead, I just looked down again. So that was it. That’s all he really wanted to speak about. Alright then.

I shifted in my seat, now intensely aware of the silence and not sure if it was my cue to leave. After all, there was no need for me to be sitting here with a strange man, if we had nothing more to discuss.

Hamzah’s focus had now been shifted to Zaid, who was now suddenly a little more unsettled, as he let us know in his own way that it was probably time for bed. Knowing that his tummy was starting up again, my first instinct was only his comfort.

“I think Zaidoo needs to la-la,” I said cheerfully, swallowing back all emotion that may have surfaced, knowing that it was time to call it a day. “I’ll take him up.”

If not anything else, maybe this will be the beginning of a more civilised relationship between us, that we both would be more accepting of.

It would be the initiation of more understanding and compromise. That sounded like a good plan.

“Relax,” Hamzah said to me, instantly scooping Zaid up and cradling him in his arms expertly now, as he popped a dummy into his mouth.

I turned my face because it was doing strange things to my insides because I had no idea that Hamzah actually had it in him to do human things like rock babies to sleep.

“I’ll do it. I missed this guy way too much to part with him…”

I was instantly on edge now, feeling a little threatened that he was getting so cozy with my little guy. I knew it was silly of me but i couldn’t help the possessiveness.

”But you’ll have to,” I said firmly, not wanting to raise an argument about who was keeping him tonight. We had discussed this a while ago. “Part with him, I mean.”

“I know,” Hamzah said, but I could hear an edge to his voice. “But I may change my mind.”

I narrowed my eyes. Now he was making me anxious again. One minute I was sure that he was a saint, and the next I wanted to strangle him.

“You can’t,” I said firmly, shaking my head. “Not allowed.”

”I’m not allowed to change my mind?” He asked incredulously, and I shook my head vehemently, no longer feeling so aware of myself.

When I got ready for an argument, unfortunately, I was all about tit-for-tat. As much as I knew that I needed to work on it, I just couldn’t swallow my anger.

”Its not fair on me,” I said bluntly. What will I do without Zaid here? He was my safety net. “You can’t just swop and change as you please.”

”But what if I want to?” he insisted, looking at Muhammed Husayn now, almost as if he was talking to him. “I like change. It’s more exciting when it’s not expected. What if Zaid wants to?”

”Not in this case,” I insisted, revving myslef up for a proper motive to argue. How could he pin this on a baby? “Zaid doesn’t know any better!”

I couldn’t believe he was pursuing this.
Muhammed Husayn was looking at us both now, opening his mouth to try and stop us.

“Okay okay,” my brother said, glancing at me as if I was embarrassing him, “Can’t you’ll just come to some agreement…

Zaid had conveniently abandoned the sleeping mission and was bobbing over Hamzah’s shoulder, flashing me a scampish grin.

It was almost as if they were all ganging up on me and I loathed the betrayal.

Frankly, even if Zaid started blowing me kisses right then, I wasn’t gonna sway.

“Maybe we can do a trade off?” Hamzah said furtively, and I knew he was aiming for a compromise. I wasn’t.

“I’m not interested,” I snapped, getting up and walking a few steps toward the exit to show I was serious,  but not wanting to go without Zaid. “I don’t compromise on my deals and that’s final. Muhammed Husayn, please bring Zaid up to me. Now.”

I shot my brother a warning glance and Hamzah had the cheek to look amused. He actually found it funny.

“Okay okay,” Hamzah laughed, putting his hands up in surrender, as I halted, waiting for him to hand over Zaid. “I’m sorry, I’m just joking. Just open this, and I’ll stop being a pest.”

Ugh. He was being ten times worse than a pest.

He had apologised and I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or angry. This was the worst part about Hamzah. He was always up to some stupid prank. I thought that he would have grown up from back in the day, but he obviously hadn’t got the memo. That was, clearly why, no-one intelligent ever trusted him enough to get involved with him. Except me. Clever me.

I was glaring at him now like he was the bane of my life.

Also, what was with this audacity to look so alluringly proud of himself and it made me even more agitated. Even as he handed a silver paper packet over, I was still fuming, feeling like I had compromised way more than my sanity to accommodate him. If this was another prank, he had to leave…

But because he sounded so sincere as he handed over the package that I had barely noticed was next to him all this time, I kind of crumbled a little, letting him pass it to me through my brother, whilst studying it silently, with a no-nonsense look on my face.

“I brought you something,” he said quietly, as I opened the packet. Actually, more like ripped it apart, due to my state of mind, which almost immediately dissipated as it opened. “It’s kind of an apology.”

And as he said it, the thing was, if I had a weak spot for anything, they weren’t many people who didn’t know what it was. Coffee and Cadbury chocolate were my favs, and just catching a glimpse of that purple-blue wrapper always made my heart sing, and as I pulled it out, the huge slab of Bubbly chocolate was basically a soothing to my eyes.

On it though, I hadn’t even processed, stuck with a fancy piece of washi tape was a little handwritten note:

Another chocolate, another chance?’

And my mind was so clouded with emotion that I couldn’t quite understand. And of course, I felt a little conned into forgiving him but if didn’t quite answer what exactly Hamzah was saying until he looked up at me, and then spoke.

“In case you are wondering,” he said with a grin, his eyes meeting mine for the first time that evening. “Muhammed Husayn did tell me that he ate your chocolate.”

Muhammed Husayn was looking only slightly apologetic, as I glanced at him.

“Also… I’ve been doing my fair share of thinking,” he said quietly, sounding extremely apprehensive. I figured this wasn’t easy for him to say. Who would have thought Hamzah actually lost his pluck? “And well…. after Maulana gave me a good talking to about being mature and stuff…. I spoke to your father and asked his advice…”

I actually had no idea that my father spoke to him , and as I looked toward where my father stood, he smiled at me, almost reassuringly.

”What did my father say?” I asked, a little calmer now, as I wondered what the two of them really spoke about and if he was really just talking about my father’s concerns… or someone else’s.

“He said he worried about you and Zaid,” he said steadily, glancing up at me, his eyes meeting mine and holding my gaze for a minute. “I did too. So I asked Allah to show me a sign about what I needed to do and when you told me just now that you had quit Hammond’s and wanted to start classes… Well, I suppose that was it.”

Wait. A sign?!

“Listen,” he said softly, obviously noticing my alarmed expression. “I know that we are all just figuring things out. What I do believe is that everything happens for a reason and all I can see is Allah piecing this whole thing together in a better way. And maybe it wasn’t meant to be before, and the timing was off, but I do firmly believe that Allah is showing us that sometimes these things can’t be planned or chosen, and maybe we lost so much and people we love but is it maybe possible that through this all, Allah is choosing us to be together in a most unconventional way..?”


Us? Did he just say us? Together?

I swallowed the huge lump in my throat, biting back emotion as he said it while I spotted my father lingering by the doorway, with a strange look on his face.

Oh gosh. Tears were filling my eyes and I wasn’t even sure if I had was understanding right. I missed Layyanah so much right then.

But Hamzah wasn’t finished.

“I love Zaid too, and I know know you can do this on your own, but you shouldn’t have to. All I know is that I don’t want to have to miss another Eid day with him ever again.”


That was me. It was just snot and tears and I couldn’t quite believe I was already starting to bawl my eyes out. Every damn thing just made me want to ugly cry. And I wasn’t certain but I thought I heard Hamzah just say that he might want me in his life.

And I’d like to say that I was bowled over by this very impromptu proposal, but I’m afraid that there weren’t many words to describe how I felt right then. It was a bitter – sweet occasion that brought back so many memories of Liyaket and Layyanah and I couldn’t help but think of how they would have felt right then.

And sometimes we look for these situations as if they can be found, but the thing is, sometimes it comes suddenly, overwhelming you, like a hot summer storm. Sometimes these things can’t be planned and chosen. Sometimes Allah intervenes directly, and the entire thing just becomes a new part of you that you’ve reached, and there’s no going back without soaking it all in.

And the rest as history, of course, because I already knew what I wanted. There was no way I could even hold Hamzah’s annoying tendencies against him because I knew that there was no better way to work this out, and despite my worries and concerns, Allah had come through for me in so many more ways that I had ever imagined

And of course, I had been on cloud nine till Monday morning, basking in congratulations and well- wishes and being extremely grateful to Allah for inspiring Hamzah’s decision, because I knew that none of it was possible without my Rabb who was forever looking out and keeping watch for me. Besides that, we knew that it was the best thing for Zaid, but it didn’t mean that it was only about him. We had both given our final answers two days after making isthikhaarah, and everything felt so right, that I couldn’t imagine it any other way.

But as always, reality had to intervene at some point, and I suppose it was a way of getting back at me as I found myself slightly anxious- making my way back to the office, facing real life once again.

Hands down, that last day at Hammond’s was the hardest and the huge set back for me. Seeing everyone again, going through the motions… was extremely overwhelming. Most of all, meeting Faadil, this time, making sure we stayed an arms length away from each other, with no emotional attachment at all, was most difficult.

And it was emotionally taxing and he had tried to convince me otherwise, but on that day we had both agreed that we were going to be mature about our break up, and wish each other well for the future. That’s what closure meant. The meeting had ended off on a slightly nostalgic tone, but the relief I felt after, hoping that he was no longer holding onto a future together helped me to shoved the thoughts out of my mind as I tried to push myself into the week ahead.

It was just that, even at that time I had made it clear, I got a feeling that the conversation wasn’t completely over. He had been cool about it, but from past rumours, I knew that Faadil was always the one to call things off, and he had tried to make it sound like he was, but my news had kind of knocked him off course.

Nonetheless, I shoved any stray thoughts out of my head, because at long last, I had made it to the Nikah day and my heart was in my throat as I thought of what  it would all entail. Over the past few months, I had imagined different and varying scenarios in my mind, but none could really compare to how it really felt that day, right up until Faadil phoned to say he was outside my parents home.

He hadn’t come inside. I remembered telling him once that my family was pretty traditional and I was glad he respected it. It was just that now, after trying to call and message multiple times, he had now let me know that he had taken a small road trip to see me without knowing that today was my big day. There he was, standing in the open, with grassy fields as a backdrop, familiar scent of Montale Oud that I had become to accustomed to was way too familiar for comfort.

And I know. I know what you’re thinking. Another man calling me and wanting to see me while I was supposed to be getting married on that day, was probably the lowest I could go. I was stupid. Really stupid. I felt crap about it too. But this time, it wasn’t like all those months ago, when Faadil had caught me at my weakest resolve.

It wasn’t about making the most of my unmarried status. I had grown up. I knew where my loyalties lay. I had made a commitment to Hamzah, and it meant much more than anything that had ever happened with Faadil. What I did know was that rejection was barely his cup of tea, and this was his last attempt at closure, or perhaps a last attempt to change my mind…

Perhaps he expected to win in the end, like he always made sure he did. But this time, I had to just take one look at him before I knew that this wasn’t just Faadil the great, coming to blow his own horn.

What started with sin, must end in ruin. Right?

“Mos,” he started weakly, as soon as he spotted me. The relief on his face as he saw me was undeniable. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

I looked down, knowing that I owed it to Hamzah to at least be a little conservative. Maybe he thought that instead of calling, if he placed himself in front of me, it would change my mind. What Faadil didn’t know was that my attraction for him was based only on the temporary things that now meant nothing to me….

”Just hear me out,” he almost begged. “I know this is a little late, and I heard you’re getting married today. Mos, I can’t lose you…”

Dearest readers

Extra long bonus post. It was the other POV I had written so I tied it up… so will try and post again soon InshaAllah, since l I’m due for a short break after Mosee’s drama is over .. ❤️

Much love

A x

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 Quraan Tilawat…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, I it’s recommended to set a certain amount of Quran to read every day, to purify the rusted hearts.

Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said: “Stick to the reading of the Quran, as it is Noor for you in this li free and treasure in the Aakhirah.”














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When there is still Hope

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 42 


In one of the most significant events in his history, after the death of our Nabi (Sal- lallaho alaihe wasallam), people of weak Imaan, especially among wandering Arabs, began to desert their faith and become renegades.

And it was the perfect opportunity for Musailamah- the false Prophet- to take advantage of the situation and cause a large number of people to fall a prey to his seduction. It was at this point that Abu Bakr (Radhiyal- laho anho) decided to put a stop to this onslaught on Islam.

And so, a fierce battle was fought, and with the help of Allah, Musailamah was killed. Unfortunately, along with him, a good number of Sahabah, including many Huffaz, lost their lives. It was after this battle, Hadhrat Umar (Radhiyallaho anho) went to Hadhrat Abu Bakr(Radhiyal- laho anho), immensely worried, and asked him to start compiling the Qur’ān into a book.

About this task, it was said by Zaid bin Thaabit (Radiallaho Anho):

Zaid (Radhiyallaho anho) says:
“By Allah, if Abu Bakr (Radhiyallaho anbo) had asked me to shift a mountain from one place to another, it would not have been so hard for me as the compilation of the Qur’an. I said, ‘How do you both dare to take up a thing which was not done by the Prophet (Sallallaho Alaihi Wa Sallam)
They explained to me their point till Allah made the truth dawn on me, and I also was convinced of the importance of the task. I then started going to the people and collecting the Qur’an from those who had written it and from those who had learnt it by heart, till the final collection was ready.”

Just recalling that, had made my heart shudder. Not one could imagine what may have occurred, if these esteemed sahabaah had not executed this ardent task, 

And for me, I often wondered, at that point in my life, where I’d hoped to never lose the connection… how the Glorious Quráan suddenly meant so much to me. And while I stumbled across it’s amazement, the reason for my preoccupation with the beautiful words of my Creator was much more clearer. I mean, it’s well known that if those words were to be placed on a mountain, then that very mountain would crumble due to its sublime weight. Why not then, you may ask, can it not penetrate even the most dead and obstinate of hearts? 

You see, because of Quráan that Nabi (SAW) could cope with the trauma in his life. He found answers in their verses. When his patience may have worn thin, he was reminded that Allah loved the patient. When pangs of hunger struck his blessed stomach, he was reminded of the provisions of Jannah. When anxiety struck him, he was reminded of the sunrise and what is going to come after the darkness. It reminded him that there is still hope.

And for me too, it brought for me a whole new world of promise. There’s something about new beginnings, and the promise that every day brings, that speaks right to my soul. 

We can’t undo our mistakes, or take them back. 

But when you humble yourself, sometimes you really do get more than you bargained for.

And as I made my way up the stairs, silently closing my room door, there was never a moment in my life when I saw things clearer than I did.

I felt awakened. As if someone had jolted me out of slumber. As if a new beginning was awaiting me.

As I paced my room, I knew that the next best thing was to start taking steps to correct my life, and I couldn’t do it with a simple message.

And knowing that Faadil was the main reason for my reservations, I knew that I had to sort out the mess with him first. I drew in a deep breath as I dialled, my heart thudding incessantly as I waited for his familiar drawl.

It was time to end it, but I knew that I had to take it one  step at a time. Faadil didn’t take well to sudden changes in his life and schedule.

There was a bit of shuffling and I could hear low murmurs, as he answered.

I could literally picture him, in his Armani shirt and suit pants, pacing in the penthouse balcony, the bustle of city activity in the background, even at that hour. The view there was always spectacular.

Stop thinking, Mos, I commanded myself. Get to the point. 

“Just wanted to tell you that I’ll be in the Monday after Eid to fetch my stuff. I’m handing in my resignation.”

There. I said it. I was prepared for his reaction, whatever it may be, but I cut it short. 

He was upset. Convinced I was letting an innocent baby cloud my judgement. Told me that I knew that I wasn’t just his employee. 

After all, I was the front he needed to marry to appear responsible and worthy of his position, and I knew it.

“See you, Faadil,” I almost whispered, as I ended the conversation, not wanting to get into any of it that day. “Salaam.”

Speaking to him had stirred up old emotions, and I didn’t want to visit that place. 

It would probably come up at some point, but for now, I knew that I needed to close the doors to my past sins. I needed to take a step back, and I needed to break all the ties that were binding me to my old life. There was so much I needed to change, but I was finding it so hard to conjure up the strength to even move myself off my bed. All I could do right then was bury my head in my pillow and sob my heart out, my heart aching over life and losses and all the previous time I wasted, as I wondered how I had gotten it all so wrong. 

And to add insult to injury, Jameela had just made her way up the stairs to reveal that Hamzah’s sister had been in contact to say that Zaid was asleep and they didn’t want to disturb him, so they would bring him in the morning. I knew this sort of thing my happen at some point and that’s what Maulana was talking about… but I clearly wasn’t coping with the situation very well. There had to be some way to work around it. 

And just as I had positively yelled blue murder at my siblings who came to check on me, so I could wallow in my sympathy, it was at that point when Maahira’s message lit up on my phone to say she was on her way.

And in my emotional state, feeling like ten truckloads of bricks were all raining down on me, all I could say was that sometimes  you have to step back and see what Allah has prepared for you, to really appreciate his amazing plan. And yes, I had taken a step to make amends with Nani, to cut off with Faadil; and I intended to with everyone else but it’s possible that things don’t always fall into place straight away. Sometimes you have to wait it out and bear a little discomfort for a short time, to earn a greater reward…

And despite my feeling like there was no more hope, in my bulldozed state of mind, as Maahira arrived and I clapped my eyes on her, like a breeze of serenity, a huge wave of relief overcame me, as I realized just how much I had missed my oldest friend. 

I squeezed her with all my might, taking in a subtle scent of jasmine spritz on her Hijab as she held me back, unable to breathe for a minute as I clung onto her as if my life depended on it.

“My word,”she whispered. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you, dammit.”

“Ditto,” I said back quietly, not trusting myself to say more.I wanted to spill everything out and let her know how painfully heart-wrenching this past month had been for me. I wanted to bear my heart and soul once again, to relieve the weights that were burdening my shoulders.  

I was all emotional and mushy inside and I knew if I said one more thing, I would probably burst into embarrassing torrents of emotions. 

As for Maahira, her eyes were glazed over as she looked at me, and as I smiled back at her, I took in how  great she was looking. Peaceful. Content. She didn’t look like the girl smiling candidly for Insta snaps. She was most definitely altered… and it showed in her appearance.

She had also lost almost 10kgs on some Keto diet she found on the gram and her parents had set up a host of Samoosa runs for her for straight after Ramadhaan, before she went back. 

Unlike me, Maahira was actually wanting someone to keep her grounded, look after her and all the rest. Simply put, she was done with the Hashim’s and Faadils of our lives.

I just wished that I could get there…

”Don’t you feel like just sleeping in on some days?” She had said when I asked her if she was serious. “Like not doing all the macho and insane things we do every day? Getting up early at the crack of dawn even though we have, like, zero kids. Dressing up like fashion dogs and making our way to the office so we look the part the boring accountant? Going to work and doing a job that everyone hates us for?
I don’t know about you Mos, but I’m telling you, my days as an auditor are numbered.”

And I agreed with her. I really did. But man, I’d worked so hard to get where I was.

She stepped back now, giving me a once over as she plopped on my bed and gave me a questioning look. 

“So spill it,” she said, after I gave her a short low down about Ramadhaan and work. “I didn’t come here to hear about boring budgets. You know what I’m after. You gonna tell me why you were bawling your eyes out or must I squeeze it out of you?”

“Jameela told you,” I said, rolling my eyes, and she raised her un-shaped eyebrows slightly.

The bushy eyebrow look actually suited her. I supposed shaping my eyebrows was something I had to grow them out of. I made an intention to at least try.

“Why cant she just shut her mouth?” I mumbled, shaking my head. Jameela must have told Maahira all the unsightly details. Siblings are way too revealing for my liking. 

She grinned as I rolled my eyes.

”Has some bloke broke your heart?” She said with a wink. “And is he handsome? Because honestly, all I’m getting are Shrek-alikes and I’m not sure if there’s hope anymore.”

I grinned. 

“He is,” I said surreptitiously. “But I’m afraid looks count for nothing here. You were right. Faadil is a tiger on the prowl. There’s no other way to put it. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be enough for him…”

“So now you’ve come to your senses and told him to fly a kite?” She said with a hopeful face. 

“Not exactly,” I said guiltily. “I haven’t been able to prove anything. I’ve heard a few things, but nothing incriminating. Maahi, I just need to let it go and leave it behind me but I can’t seem to call it off…”

She glanced at me briefly, before cocking her head. 

“It’s a tough one,” she said, shaking her head pensively. “I’ve been there, love. I know how it is. He’s hot, handsome and he’s powerful but he’s toxic for you. That’s what made me go on so long with Hashim, and I’m so sorry that I ever let it happen…”

She looked genuinely pained as she said it, as if it had broken her, but by bit, as she recalled every poisoned part of her past relationship. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be the trigger to someone else’s marital problems. It was a time when I least admired my friend, and I was so glad that she had repented from that sin.

”I just want him to move on completely, you know?” I said quietly. “I feel like I have. I feel different. Something’s happened. I’m not sure what, but I don’t feel that insane attraction to him anymore…”

I couldn’t believe I had just said that. I was giving away more than I intended but I needed to tell her how I felt, because I didn’t quite understand it. 

Maahira looked at me, and gave me a small smile, as she placed her hand on her heart.

“It’s here, babe,” she murmured, closing her eyes momentarily as if she was savoring a heartfelt emotion, as she flashed me a gorgeous dimpled smile. “Your heart’s changed. That’s what Ramadhaan does to us. It opens your heart and your mind… and if the guy doesn’t have Allah in his heart, you’re never going to be able to be with him. Honestly, I’m not asking for Mr Perfect. I myself am far from it. An honest but flawed man, who loves his Lord… For me, that’s the real stuff.”

She had hit the nail on the head. Maahira had pulled off her Hijab and was now propped against my continental pillow, watching me from the corner of her eye, while I digested what she had said.

She was right and I could feel it. My heart had changed, my perception had been altered and I was seeing everything so differently.

I nodded, my eyes feeling moist at the corners, and I just realised why.

“I feel everything so much deeper now,” I murmured, looking up at the ceiling now as I spoke. “If this is not a sign then what is? Shouldn’t I want to change my focus because there’s a little baby involved? I want to start spomething different. To do something worthy, not in the eyes of people, but on a bigger scale. I want to start Hifdh classes. Do you think I’m mad?”

It was the first time I had said it aloud, and I wasn’t sure what the reaction would be. 

“That’s amazing,” she said softly, lying next to me, as our shoulders touched. I remembered doing this countless times in our childhood and teenage years.

The room light was dim and the men had both left for Salaah, so the house was much quieter than earlier. I could heart Maahiras breathing as I thought about what she was saying, and a deep urgency suddenly filled me as I turned to her. 

“Can you even believe that I didn’t know he was a Hafidh?”

She looked at me and blinked.

“Are we talking about ‘he who does not exist’?” she said, suddenly turning and looking at me in the eye, as she propped her head up on her hand. 

I grinned, despite my emotions. We both knew who she was talking about and my heart beat faster when she mentioned him. I wasn’t even sure how I had got to this stage, where I was suddenly on the other side of the fence.  Who ever thought that I would fall for a guy because of his Deen? It sounded like one of those cliched memes.

“Yup,“ I said, swallowing my emotion once again. It was like my heart was suddenly set alight and I wanted to change my entire life. 

”So much has happened, Maahi” I said, voicing my thoughts, as my voice trembled. Why did everything make me want to cry? 

A vague memory instantly filled my thoughst as I remembered:

There’s a reason why Allah subḥānahu wa ta'āla (glorified and exalted be He) loves those who have sinned and repented, for they have the softest of hearts. 

“Mos, is anything beyond repair?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at me.

“I feel like it is,” I admitted quietly, my chest feeling tighter as I though of it. “None of my family know the story with Faadil. I shut them out completely. I didn’t take their advice seriously. I’ve made bad decisions. I let the wrong man get close to me, and I feel so sick when I think about it. I don’t want to get back there. My family will forgive me. But what about everyone else, Maahi? What about everyone else I hurt?”

There were so many people who I had hurt in the process but Hamzah was the one person I never gave an explanation to.

”Mos,” she said comfortingly. “Dont despair. Just think it over, you’ll need to talk it through and maybe he’ll need some time…”

“But what if there’s no time?” I suddenly cried, cutting her off. “So many people didn’t make it here! Look at Layyanah. At Liyaket. They were lucky to have seen the light… And here I am, just trying to find my way out of my darkness, out of those gloomy pathways… but still I’m struggling to take that step? Why, Maahira? Why am I still struggling? Why can’t I just let go? I expect provisions in my life, I expect my debts to be resolved, I expect the doors of marriage to be open for me, I expect loving relationships, I expect and expect…”

My voice dropped as Maahira looked at me, tears filling her own eyes. 

“But I fail Allah, Maahi. I failed to even fulfil my obligations.”

The tears were streaming down, in all their glory, as Maahira turned away and bit her lip. She was obviously a little stumped for words.

“You’re not the only one, love,” she said, so quietly, that I barely heard her.

But it wasn’t even about anyone else. I was so off track. Instead of seeing hijab as a means to get closer to my Creator, it was a mere fashion accessory. Instead of filling my days with Ibaadat, I was dwelling on ways to make more sins. Instead of trying my utmost to be grateful to Allah for his infinite bounties, I took great pleasure in posting my entire life on social media for the whole world to gawk at. And I still wondered why I was lost?

“It’s not the end,” I heard her say, after a few seconds, almost as if she was holding onto an iota of hope that was left.

“But will he forgive me?” I asked candidly, my spirits lifted slightly. If he had to know about Faadil…

”Its not your job to worry about that, love,” she said quietly. “You take the step and apologize. Be honest. You try and set it right. Once you take a step towards Allah, He makes a way for you, even when you can never imagine. Don’t you ever despair of his mercy, it’s really far more than you can ever imagine. There’s always a way to pack your past into a suitcase and start over.”

And as I looked at Maahira’s solemn face, it just so happened that it was that very moment her phone let out a shrill ring, and I already knew that the moment had passed for now. 

I just knew that I had to take something from it if I wanted to make a change. 

And as Maahira left that evening, after our intense heart to heart, somehow, I was feeling lighter than usual. I tried to submit as much work that night as possible, knowing that since I’d resigned, I still had to pull my weight till the notice period was over. Working from home was not ideal, but it worked for now. Going into the office would be an emotional disaster right then, and I wasn’t ready to take it on yet. 

As promised, Zaid arrived with his uncle and Saaliha, early the next morning, consuming us all once again, with his cuteness and daily needs. Not a person in the house was immune to his charm, and somehow, he livened the the entire household. It wasn’t long before there came a time when I could not have imagined life any other way, especially as preparations for Eid came up, and I took a trip to the local mall to choose three different outfits to show him off in. 

He was, obviously, looking like the handsomest young guy as I dressed him in a little Kurta-romper thing my obsessed parents had found near Fordsburg, just before breakfast on Eid morning.

Ramadhaan seemed to have flew by, but I knew that the real test would be that day. Would I be able to maintain all the resolutions I had made? Would I be able to keep up the good deeds I had promised to? Would I maintain that beautiful connection with the Glorious Qur’aan, that I vowed to?

And for all that grief that Liyakets mother had felt, her grandson was a small compensation for her. When he wasn’t having tummy issues (which still happened often), he was a ball of laughter and fun.

It was for this reason that Eid was particularly spectacular that year, and it wasn’t even about that or the Matilda cakes or Nani’s famous burfee. There was a peace that surrounded me, coupled with a mixture of sadness as I realized that now that Ramadhaan was over, everything was going to come at me at full-force, while I struggled to get back into my old groove.

Having Zaid, as we agreed I would, was my cherry on the top, and everyone ooh-ed and aah-ed over him as if he was my child. I held him tight to me, for the moments that I had him with me, feeling a little aggrieved but also absolutely in awe of this gift that my beloved friend had left for me.

I didn’t want to get back into the mundanities that had consumed me. All I wanted to do was immerse myself in the beauty that I had found, but I knew that I couldn’t. While I enjoyed family around, ignored my mean girl cousins who never ceased to mention something offensive every Eid day, and sat in my own bubble of bliss where no-one could touch me, I didn’t expect that evening pan out anything like it did. 

And it was all good that day. I mean, I was in an amazing mood. I was all prepared to knock out all those bad habits for good, and as I sat on my Musallah, just after maghrib Salaah, trying to hang onto those last remnants of Ramadhaan bliss, I couldn’t help but feel jolted out of my tranquility as Muhammed Husayn tapped me from behind. 

“Mos,” he said, a slight frown on his forehead visible as I glanced at him. “Come down.”

I looked at him questioningly. Maghrib had just finished and I was immersing myself relentlessly in a short Du’aa as I hoped to hang onto the feeling that still existed within me.

“Hamzah is here,” he said, and I was little taken aback by mention of him. 

But yes, of course. They didn’t have to let me know, right? I had to be easy. He had come to see Zaid. It was Eid day, after all.

“He asked me to call you.”


Mission Sunnah Revival

The Sunnah of Quraan Tilawat…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, I it’s recommended to set a certain amount of Quran to read every day.

Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam) said: “Stick to the reading of the Quran, as it is Noor for you in this li free and treasure in the Aakhirah.” 













FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

No Filtering

Bismihi Ta’ala


In the same way that good deeds are a protection for us, and protect us from calamity… I’ve noted many times in the past that when you are submerged in sin it’s almost impossible not to openly welcome the wrath of Allah.

Often when you are drenched in darkness, the light seems very far away. Like that flicker in the distance, so evasive and unreachable, sometimes we lose hope completely of ever surfacing.

As a rule of thumb, Nani had once told me that reading my Tasbeeh every day is a foolproof hack to accomplishing even the most impossible of tasks. 33, 33, 34… and If I didn’t have enough time, even a shorter version…. Somehow, even the  unattainable gets achieved and the improbable gets accomplished, when you take out a little time for Allah in the morning and evenings.

And I knew I should have. I should have stopped with my worldly whims and fancies. I knew I should have done more of the actual cleansing. Dusting off the dirt. I would have and I usually did. But the thing was, I was busy. And I know I always use that excuse but that week, the office was buzzing with talks of the new incentive based promotion that Faadil had let out the bag on Monday when he called us to his office.

Hamzah was right. ‘Bossman’ was looking for me, but thankfully I wasn’t the only one who missed the memo. It was a whirlwind of excitement and enthusiasm after the little meeting and the office was a little more alive than usual. Everyone was giving off their best. Trying their utmost. No-one wanted to miss out on the opportunity that was opening up.

And of course, there were a few preferences, he had said, as he paced up and down, hair immaculate, clad in Hugo Boss jeans and an apple green shirt.

I wasn’t even bothering to look down and be a little decent while he spoke. It had become normal to ogle at strange men. The guilt was becoming non-existent. That was the thing with social media, Netflix addictions and spending more time on it. Once you get used to looking at whatever image your eyes fall upon, it becomes natural to forget that there was a filter on the gaze before. The dust had already settled, and it was becoming harder and harder to scrub it off.

And of course, Nthando, Mikael, Lesley and I were still sitting in a combination of frenzy and limbo after Faadil walked out after the (second) meeting he had called for, still trying to figure out what it was exactly that was going to set us apart from the others in this three month long competition for a huge incentive and permanent position at Hammond’s.

Oh yes, there were a few preferred graduates but no-one knew who they were. Some people had glanced at me, while others had muttered Hamzah, Robert and Lesley’s name… but no one really knew for sure.

Nthando was already scribbling notes in her diary, Mikael was busy with his laptop and Lesley just had this dreamy look on her face.

“The man just gets me every time,” she said, and my eyes always bulged slightly as she stretched out her long tanned legs. I wouldn’t say that they were particularly toned or anything but the girl had good genes, okay?

I’ve caught the guys literally stopping and watching her walk past, and to tell the truth, I assumed she enjoyed it. She was wearing a skirt, and though we had strict office rules about mini skirts, Lesley took it to the limit by wearing them just at the knee.

Every. Single. Day.

I couldn’t imagine what Nani would say about that if she had to ever come to my work place. And maybe I admired her confidence, but besides that, something within me told me that it wasn’t the kind of attention that I wanted to draw. It was just devalued. Objectifying. And so unnecessary.

“Did you see the way he dominates the office?” She continued, throwing up her hands dramatically. “It’s amazing.”

”Jah,” Mikael said absent-mindedly in his Cape Town accent. “When I grow up I want to be like Faadil the great.”

With Mikael I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or sarcastic but I half-laughed anyway and got up, not really wanting to sit around and listen to more Faadil-obsession, knowing I needed to get back to work after the eventful morning. Even the L-squared dramas were semi forgotten as we shifted into work zone, and I found myself getting lost in the work day and week. Never mind about them. For now Layy had sworn me to secrecy about their plans and I had agreed and forgot about it.

Other than that, I felt like I was stuck in this bubble of work, and it was all just going to burst before I even got to enjoy it. Maybe it was the mention of the incentive. Maybe it was just the worry of my future. But it had been more than once that week that I found myself wondering about things that I never did before.

Things like:

Was this what I really pictured myself doing for the rest of my life? Was this really my calling? Maybe I wasn’t cut out for an office job. Did I need an outlet? 

I couldn’t think about it too much without getting anxiety.

I sighed.

A distraction was just what the doctor ordered. A coffee and selfie time was the solution to everything. Layyanah had gone awol since from Wednesday. I wasn’t sure who or what had gone down but I figured that for now, the less I knew, the better it may be.

The thing was, there wasn’t even much time to ponder about it or even message because before I knew it, the week was over and I wasn’t even sure if I accomplished everything I needed to. Everything felt so rushed and in the moment.

And though I was feeling unaccomplished, I knew that some comments and likes would cheer me up, so I scrolled through my gallery and found an old post of a some nature reserve that Papa had gone to on the West Coast and posted it. Nature wasn’t my thing but it looked good on my feed and it was completely appropriate for weekend vibes. To tell the truth, the picture didn’t even need a filter. It was that beautiful, but that was just by the way.

Caption: Weekend vibes!

Another amazing week- productive and exhausting and definitely calling for some unwinding time…

I put in the emoji of the dancing girl, the heart eyes, and some nature and weekend hashtags before stashing my phone in my bag.

It was time to retire for the week so I packed up my stuff, shut down my computer and went for the elevator just a mere half hour after work time.

And as the elevator pinged open, I was a little annoyed to see Hamzah in the lift, coming from the top floor, work backpack in hand and looking just as annoyed to see me. Yeah okay, I could see he was rushing. Plus he was a mess. His tie was loose, his teal shirt was hanging untidily and the entire lift was stinking of cigarette. Ten floors down with him is going to make me super claustrophobic because besides having to deal with the stench of cigarette for that long, to tell the truth, I wasn’t exactly into the polite thing this evening.

“Press it closed,” I said automatically, not caring about being rude and audibly sighing in exasperation. “I’ll wait for the next one.”

Ugh. Fifteen minutes at least. He shrugged and pressed a button, looking relieved, but then suddenly jerked it open again.

“Get in,” he said, stepping out himself and gesturing to me. “You’ll wait ten minutes by the time it comes back. You have further to drive than me.”

He wasn’t happy about it and I didn’t need hand outs, but the traffic situation was stressing me out and my Choti Kala was coming home tonight and I really missed our conversations. She was the only one in the family who got my urgency to gain my corporate fame and I really needed to have a heart-to-heart with her. About life. Relationships. Family. It was away over due.

So when I heard footsteps and spun around to see Faadil pacing the office hallway, probably checking to see if he can lock up, and I figured why usually annoying Hamzah was being so polite, I jumped at the opportunity of the headstart. Of course, I thought, feeling relieved.. It wasn’t a hand out. With Hamzah there had to be some ulterior motive.

Right? That could be the only explanation.

“Trying to impress the boss, huh?” I muttered as I walked past him, raising my eyebrows judgementally. I was only half joking. I just had to have the last say. It would save me from saying thank you. “What a gentleman.”

I was being sarcastic. I mean, until I glanced at him and saw that he was looking exceptionally confused and I realised that maybe, just maybe, he had probably not even seen Faadil pass in the first place. And then of course, it got me wondering if maybe I was wrong and he was just being nice, but like, Hamzah was never just nice. Not for no reason.

“Why would I want to impress him?” He asked blandly, pulling a face as if he was disgusted at the mere thought.

“Erm, duh,” I said, as if was self explanatory. “Getting a head start for the big incentive slash promotion that everyone is dying over.”

He still had that confused look on his face, and then realization dawned, and he purposely stomped into the lift, punched the close button and turned to me.

“You think I’m that desperate?” He said, a disturbed look on his face. “Not everything’s about money, Mos. The thought of signing with Faadil for another two years is not exactly my dream job. Just FYI. Not everything’s about the big bucks.”

It was the first time I had heard him call Faadil by the name and from that I knew that he was slightly pissed off.

And with that, the lift pinged open again sooner than expected and he sashayed out onto the next floor, cigarette stench and all, before two more people came tumbling in, leaving me feeling just a little crappy as I waited to reach ground and step out, wondering if maybe I shouldn’t have been so judgmental in the first place.

But also, in my defense, wasn’t everyone here for the big bucks? He couldn’t tell me that he was so in love with auditing and taxation that he dreamt about it lustfully every freakin’ night. Everyone who worked here was in it for the money. There was no other reason to work like slaves.

But then again, it was only Hamzah so there was no need to break my head over it because it didn’t really matter anyway. I wasn’t sure why he smoked if it didn’t help his chill levels. The guy needed to go for some aggro therapy or something. Yeesh.

I walked up to my car, only greeting the guard as I stepped into the parking lot, pulling down the mirror to check my appearance again. Today was a low profile kind of day. I had worn a modest bottle green blouse with a loose grey pants, since it was a Friday, wore a longer coat over. I still looked good and my make-up wasn’t completely trashed yet, in case I stopped at the garage for a coffee and there were any decent prospects around. My feet were breaking from the heels I had worn to make me appear thinner and taller, but beauty was pain and I got that.

I checked my phone before I started my car, pausing to see my last post reaching a 100 likes and then psyching myself for the trip home. The roads were surprisingly uneventful that Friday. Usually Johannesburg boasted at least 3 a highway accidents and umpteen traffic jams, but this Friday was a little easier to get to my semi-farm based home and it was a welcome record.

I had just taken the off ramp when my phone buzzed in my lap and I momentarily glanced down. I tried not to type while I drove, usually pausing to message only when I stopped at a robot but traffic was slow and it was more or less safe in this area.

What’s the plans for the rest of the eve? 

It was a message notification from Maahira on Instagram. Seemed like she even forgot that there were other ways of communication.

She had sent me a picture earlier of her standing with a friend outside the London train station. It was pretty cool to think that my friend was so independent in a distant city all on her own.

I thought for a minute about what to say.

There was no need to say that I was going back home. The truth was, even though I was looking quite forward to spending time with my aunty, I couldn’t let her know it. That wasn’t the life we always dreamt of having. For Maahira and I it was always about the corporate life. The glitz. The glamour. The functions and events and the chilling with friends after work to catch up on social time so we could have the best of both worlds.

It had always been a dream of hers to work in London and I always wanted to work at Jo’burg CBD. It was just our preferences and though we often tried to convince the other to swap aspirations, we still supported each other’s choices.

I couldn’t help though but wonder how London must be like on your own. With no family to go back home to. No home cooked meals. No soji and mutton briyani on a Friday evening even. That was the part that got me, as I finally rode down our driveway. But for Maahira, she made it look so amazing.

Her Instagram following was close to 10k because London life was a huge draw card. And she really lived the life, I could see from her page.

Plus, she shopped at all these amazing places and people were always drooling over her modest fashion-wear posts. I suppose you had to make the trade off. Family life was nothing compared to all of that, materialistic stuff. When she comes down she promised she was bringing me a whole new wardrobe and I was super psyched.

I opened her message and replied.

Just had some fun times with some work friends. The night is still young.

I put in a winking emoticon and left it at that. I didn’t expect her to reply so fast though.

What happened at work this week?

Hmmm. I wondered if I should tell her about the promotion and offer from the company that everyone was going for. It was exciting but she might tell me not to try too hard for it. She always told me that I was better than some common corporate position and should only settle for the best.

Ah yes, I knew exactly what I could tell her about.

Just the usual craziness with a dose of dramatic office romance. It’s been quite a week!

Again, her reply was quick. Like, didn’t she have anything else to do on a Friday night. Like be out with some cool work friends.

Office romance! Ooh. Do tell!

And so I did. Only, I had forgotten that it was supposed to be a secret. Maahira seemed so far away, and letting her in on what was going on here was barely going to make a difference to her awesome life.

And for all my aversion to drama, What I didn’t realise was that my lack of filtering was probably going to cause a bigger drama than ever…

A little longer post than normal. Any thoughts on Mohsina and her way of dealing with things?

Love hearing your thoughts !

Much Love

A x

On that note, Sunnah of the week:

We should remember the famous saying, “If you do not have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all.”
Imam Bukhari and Muslim reported that the Nabi (Sallalahu alaihi wa sallam) said, “Whosoever believes in Allah and the Last Day, let him say good or remain silent.”

An amazing quality to inculcate into our lives…




FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah


And the Plot Thickens Again…

Bismihi Ta’ala


Memories are a funny thing. It’s quite amazing though… how the mind works. The things you can’t seem to remember, yet the things you just can’t seem to forget. But with memories… and remnants of our somewhat illusive minds… there comes a beautiful reminder about time. About life. About loss. Just like how childhood, and beauty and new life come to evolve… a new existence, a new world in which much will be born… will also come to die. Our problem is that we become enslaved to the moments that have gone by, enslaved to old worlds that have already passed away.

But in reality, more than a thousand times a day, we are born. With a new hope. To start again, to start afresh. Yet many of us choose to just let ourselves die again and again, as each new moment fades. We forget that each birth is a new opportunity to start over, to turn around, or to keep going. To accept. To seek forgiveness, To overcome, to heal, to rise again.

Because when you’re a believer, you see things from an entirely different perspective. Every test is a blessing. Every situation is a means for reformation. For others, death is the end. For us, death is just the beginning. Just as childhood and beginnings and life come to pass… the pain and the hurt also do. Sometimes we just get a little caught up that we forget the point of our existence is to keep returning to the One who reminds us that we still have a chance at a new beginning… That every new discovery is a great opportunity to turn to Allah and start again.

Of course, right then, as I processed this turn of events, I did see it from a different perspective. It would be a new beginning. A new start. Somehow, this too would bring a new realization that I did not yet see coming.

Right then, I was a little caught up in the present. My heart soared as Nusaybah had broken the news that my cousin had gotten a post for internship with immediate effect in the city, and they were serious about settling here. Of course, I was over the moon. Astounded by Allah’s mercy. I could barely believe that I wouldn’t really have to say goodbye…

”You wouldn’t have believed me otherwise, huh?”

Nusaybah was grinning widely as she watched me,  and I could already feel the corners of my eyes dampen as I thought of how lucky I was. My friend wasn’t leaving me. She wasn’t leaving. It was something that I had been so scared about, but now all my fears were put to rest when she had shown me the two apartments that they were looking at renting.

”They’re absolutely lovely,” I said to my friend as we got into the car. Both were close to the Masjid, close to the hospital he would be working at and not a huge distance from the the Medical university she wanted to attend. It was perfect.

”Maybe you’ll use your apartment more often now,” she said, and I heeded the silent question mark as I glanced behind us at the flat that held so many memories of Aadam.

Aadam’s apartment. It would never truly be ‘mine’. I wasn’t yet sure if I could stay there. Every time I had gone there to do a speedy clean up, there were just too many memories of him. I didn’t have the heart to sell it. His presence was so felt, in every morning I woke there, at every corner I took. It was like I was just waiting for him to pop up from behind the couch with his one quirky eyebrow raised and tell me that this was all one huge hoax. Oh, how I wished.

”There’s still one more,” Faheem said, cutting into my thoughts as we drove along. “It wasn’t entirely available but the pictures looked great.. Its actually a house…”

He smiled as Nusaybah as she scrunched her face excitedly. My cousin and Nusaybah were actually such a sweet and amazing couple… and I actually could not believe that I had missed this potential before this. Yes, she was boisterous and determined.. and Faheem was reserved and a tad bit intense… but this was complete proof that opposites really did attract. I just wasn’t sure how he would fare with her constant unconfined spirit. Though not as averse to emotion as Ahmed, Faheem was pretty introverted.

“I haven’t seen it yet,” Nusaybah said excitedly. “But Faheem said I’ll lurvv it! Its a really nice neighborhood… somewhere near Ahmed’s place.”

I nodded, glancing at my wrist watch again. It would be nice for to them to stay near to Ahmed. Khadijah was gazing out the window and humming to herself while she played with a little ice-cream shaped lip gloss Rubeena had gifted her. Begrudgingly, my daughter was always being spoilt by everyone. Whether it was Rubeena, or my in laws… she just had to say the word and her every desire would be fulfilled. I just hoped that she wasn’t going to become a bratty monster. Aadam wouldn’t have been very pleased with that.

And as I remembered Aunty Radiyyah, it was just as well that we were going to Ahmed’s neighborhood, because really needed to make a stop and see them both. Ahmed had mentioned something by-the-way about Rubeena not being well, and now that I thought about it, I knew that the worst thing that could happen is Aunty Radiyyah leave for the airport later that day without Khadijah and I seeing her. My daughter would be hysterical.

”Nus,” I said tapping her on the shoulder as Faheem took an off ramp that lead to our old neighborhood. “Can we make a stop please? I just want to see Aunty Radiyyah for a few minutes.”

“Anything for you, doll,” Nusaybah nodded as I explained to my cousin where the house was.
Nusaybah was chattering away as per usual, her face bright and her cheeks were flushed with happiness. I had always wished Nusaybah to find the most amazing person, when the time was right. I was now certain that she had found her own fairy tale ending and I made a silent but fervent Du’aa that it would remain that way.

”I’ll come with you,” Nusaybah said breezily. “I barely got to speak to her on the wedding day and I have no idea when I’ll see her again…”

She trailed off as a wave of sadness hit me, realizing that she was right. The truth was, neither did I. Aunty Radiyyah didn’t give me any definite answer when I spoke to her on the phone the day before. She seemed really emotional about leaving too. She hadn’t been to see her extended family in years but she would miss everyone here immensely. My heart was somewhat in despair as I thought of her not being ‘just around the corner’ anymore. It was all kinds of sentimental..

The crunching of their driveway gravel beneath the car tyres were always a welcome sound for my daughter. She had a huge, one dimpled smile on her face as she looked ahead, her amber eyes fixed on the door as if Aunty Radiyyah would pop out any second. We were a little earlier than I thought, and as we stepped off the car I could not help but take a huge gulp of scented air, nostalgic as I remembered the fragrance of those yesterday, today, tomorrow’s that bloomed every Spring. Ah yes, today, in the spectacular morning sunlight, they were in all their glory.

How the time whizzed by. It was my favorite time of the year once again…

Wow, Mummy,” she squealed excitedly. She was pointing to the yellow-flowered tree that stood at the Centre of the garden. “Look at those! I never saw that one before!”

Of course she didn’t. And it was no wonder that she Aadam’s daughter because she never missed the magnificence of nature. She was too young to know that the yellow-flowering Tabebuia tree that bloomed did so annually, and it’s striking beauty was so intense that no one could miss how it brighten up the entire front yard.

I smiled and strolled along. Not so long ago it was around this time of the year when we were just a couple of kids, playing hop-scotch beneath blossoming jacaranda trees and scurrying around in the pelting rain. There were so many memories here. In this garden… in this yard… every time I came here, I couldn’t help but think back to how much of fun we would have as kids, as we enjoyed the very best of nature’s gifts. Of course, who could forget the tradition from August every year since I was six, to witness Mother Nature’s surprising bounties. To go out and start planting… investing… observing the wonders that the new season had for us every year.

That childhood.. with its wonder and greenery… was invaluable. Though I tried my best to show the boys and Khadijah the best of what I had had … somehow there seemed to be so many more distractions in this new age. Sometimes the beauty of it flew right over their heads. This garden was somewhat the inception of all things beautiful and hopeful. It was a soothing for my bruised soul at the time, and the place where I felt like true royalty, whilst I basked in the magic of Allah’s creation. It was where dreams came alive and where I was the conquering queen of my very own secret abode.

I couldn’t forget. Suddenly, everything just seemed so clear. The energy. The drive. The restless ambition of youthful splendor. There was so much of it. It was both exhilarating yet exhausting, and I clearly remembered those days we spent, just soaking up the blazing sun and chatting about our childish aspirations.

I turned my gaze to where Khadijah and Nusaybah were skipping hand in hand as we paused at the porch steps. The sunlight shone down on her bouncy curls and I could almost see myself, that little daring girl in her, as she swayed her dress from side to side and stopped down to pick a flower from the side of the path.

Those were unforgettable times. Beautiful moments that I could hardly define.

I breathed out as I heard footsteps come to the door, relieved that I wasn’t too early to miss Aunty Radiyyah.

I knocked and braced myself for Aunty Radiyyah’s dynamic voice, and without doubt, her warm embrace. She was always so excessively welcoming, that I hadn’t prepared myself for anything else. Of course, as the door swung open, I hadn’t expected anything less.

And like a sudden jolt to my system, my heart kind of jumped to mouth as I realized that it wasn’t my dear Aunty Radiyyah, but a strangely familiar face that looked back at me. From the striking sunshine just outside,  my eyes were still adjusting to the darkness inside, yet I still wasn’t sure if I was seeing right.

I didn’t even realize that I was staring as I relived those moments when I would pound on the door like a hooligan, awaiting the adventures that the day held. Like a screen play rolling backwards, with us as the main characters… the memories were like flashbacks through my mind.

Of course, it was so hilarious that here I was, pounding on his door once again, and could not fathom how I had forgotten that him answering would be a great possibility.

And oopsi. I didn’t mean to wake him.

Somehow, I had forgotten that Khalid lived here again. Moreso, as I found myself face-to-face with this guy who had been such a prominent part of my childhood, I could not help but feel extremely awkward in his presence. Of course, I could see that he was a little startled too.

Those childish giggles… the boisterous fun… the endless games… was it really so long ago? Were we really completely different people?

I shook my head as I tried to recover, greeting briefly as he looked down a little consciously. Of course he would be. I was quite ashamed that I hadn’t been a little more modest. I wasn’t sure what had overcome me in the moment.

And I got it. I got that we weren’t the same people we were back then. We had changed… we had grown. Goodness, we even looked different. Older  different. I had forgotten those steely eyes.. Yikes

Oh gosh, I had to lower my gaze…  Nonetheless…


I could not believe my ears as I whipped my head around. She called him like he was her friend! Her voice was ecstatic as she lunged forward, grabbing hold of Khalid’s legs as I took a step back and watched my daughter as if she was another person’s child. It was obvious that she had struck up quite a friendship with this guy and I wasn’t too sure how I felt about it. And since when did she call grown people so linguistically expertly by their first name?!

This definitely called for a twisted ear when we were in the car!

”Is Aunty Radiyyah not here?” Nusaybah said it loudly, to no-one in particular, but I could see that she was trying to ease the awkwardness.

I could not bring myself to look up again as she asked the question. And I knew I shouldn’t. The one glance that had strayed had been a little too dangerous. All I could remember was the thudding in my chest as I realized who it was. It was something that caught me completely off-guard.

And as he put my daughter down and briefly explained that Aunty Radiyyah had popped out to the shop and would be back soon, it was just in time that the car hooter from down the driveway sounded. I said I’d be back to see her later, grabbed my daughter and literally made a run for it. Of course, I had to ignore my hammering chest and the snicker from Nusaybah behind me as I did so.

”And once again, the plot thickens,” Nusaybah said mysteriously, cackling away like a witch as I slowed down and we made our way to the car. “I can read you like a book, my friend…”

”Read what?” I said innocently, holding my head high and ignoring her. So what if I was a little flustered? It didn’t mean anything.

”He’s dreamy, isn’t he?”

I rolled my eyes at her, nudging her in the ribs.

Shurrup,” I snapped, giving her wide eyes and retying my niqab as I reached for the door handle. “You’re married, remember? And he’s a Maulana. Give him a break…”

“I know, I know,” she said begrudgingly, but with a cheeky smile. “But he’s human too. Like some kind of super- transcendent human with a-“

Nusaybah! ” I scolded, feeling embarrassed for Khalid. Nusaybah was way too descriptive for my liking.

I recalled her habit of giving guys super-freaky extra-terrestrial qualities. From vampires to aliens, I wasn’t sure what would be next and I didn’t want to find out.

“Sorry, sorry!” She said apologetically. “That evil arrow of Shaytaan is at it again. I promise, no more weird attributes. I’m trying, okay?”

I chuckled as she smacked her hand to her forehead and got into the car. I didn’t expect her to, but she actually told Faheem the whole story about what had just transpired. I could see that he found her amusing. At least he took it with a pinch of salt and I didn’t blame him. Honestly, Nusaybah was really something else.

And yes. That evil gaze that’s like the arrow of an arrow of Shaytaan. Yes, it had befallen us at one point and I knew that my friend knew it too.

Rasūlullah (S.A.W) said: “Evil glance is one of the poisoned arrows of Shaytān, (whoever indulges in casting furtive evil glances) on him be Allāh’s curse. Whoever forsakes it for the fear of Allāh Ta’ālā will receive from Allāh Ta’ālā the sweetness of Īmān which he will find within his heart.”

I wouldn’t have ever admitted it, but for those few moments as I stood there, like dejavu, the memories of our inherently magical childhood were as clear as ever before. Just the other day it seemed, we would compete to get to the highest branch of the infamous oak tree. Just the other day, we’d let our imaginations run wild as we contemplated vivid dreams for the oh-so-distant future. Just the other day, I could speak my heart with no reservations. I could relate to him what I wanted from a life that seemed so far away. I could reveal my hopes and dreams for the future… and not only would he listen, but he would make me believe that it all would come true.
And of course, then, as if it was just the other day, was moment when everything had changed completely.

Somehow, we had gotten a little caught up in a sin that was waiting to overcome. It was the day when I saw something different in his eyes. It was when the plot of our story had taken a completely different turn. It was a point of no return… when I knew there was no going back. It was when something had stirred within, when innocence had been ripped away and our entire youth had evolved…

And at that point… though we were just a pair of kids on the brink of adolescence… And I knew how much we meant to each other… I just didn’t know how much it could change. Things were different. I didn’t want to accept it… but after that day… I had felt it too. Now I believed him… and that was when I knew that even though he didn’t want to, Khalid needed to leave.

And that’s where I was stuck. I had forgotten the solution. The antidote. Tawbah. It was always the answer. Though we didn’t quite know what we had been saved from, Tawbah was the way that I could move forward. I sought refuge from every avenue I had strayed. Tawbah was the way to save myself then… and to save myself now…

See, we all make mistakes. Aadam (AS) made a mistake, but so did Iblees. The difference was in their response to the error they made. Tawbah is always the answer. When we see our mistake and turn to him… realizing our need for His forgiveness and mercy, we actually become more beloved to Him. It was actually after he had made a mistake, realized his need for Allah, and repented, that Adam (AS) was sent to earth as a prophet.

In fact Allah, in His infinite mercy, does not just accept our repentance—He loves to forgive. The Prophet (SAW) says: “If you were not to commit sins, Allah would remove you and replace you with a people who would commit sins and then seek Allah’s forgiveness, so Allah could forgive them” [Sahih Muslim (2749)].

I smiled at my friend as she joked about something, trying to shove off the insinuations that Nusaybah had suggested as we jumped into the car, my heart rate slowing down as we started moving again. Of course, I was all caught up in my childhood thoughts, despite how much I didn’t want to be. I was still a bit lost in my own world, that I barely even noticed the house that we pulled up to.

All I knew was as I glimpsed it was that I didn’t recall this house from my childhood. It hosted a simple driveway and what looked like a new white picket fencing at the front. At first glance, it was pretty and neat, but far from the contrasting natural beauty of Aunty Radiyyah’s entrance garden. It didn’t click with me immediately exactly which house this was..

No one would have thought that this was the very house that we had all been freaked out about as kids. Of course, Nusaybah had no clue and I didn’t want to be the one to tell her that this wretched one was the infamous Purple House…

What on earth was going on today? Was it ‘re-living childhood with Khalid’ day?

I scowled are my friend as she turned to look at me, but it was obvious that Nusaybah knew nothing about the history of the Purple House… or even Khalid’s connection thereof.

”So here’s the thing,” she said quickly, turning around to look at me. “Faheem says this house is not really for sale. But the agent did recommend we look at it. Apparently the owner is not around and wants to give it away for some noble cause or something of the sort. He says that it’s got so much of potential for a home. Since Faheem will be qualified soon… we thought maybe we could suggest something along the medical lines if the owner agrees…”

I nodded, getting her drift but not really interested in all the technicalities. I so badly wanted to tell my friend that this house was haunted, but I tightened my jaw to ensure that I kept my mouth zipped because I knew that I had no real proof except Khalid’s weird escapades. All I knew that it was probably going to take some real convincing to get me in there.

And just as I was about to make some excuse and  tell her that she could carry on without me…  the buzzing in my pocket as Ahmed’s name came up on the caller ID was obviously Divinely sent.

Only Allah knew how terrified I was of that house. I frowned slightly as I answered, not wanting to give away my true elation that I had an excuse, but also thinking it was probably him just checking on where I was. I had been taking a little longer than expected. I had mentioned to him that I’d be with Nusaybah and probably visit him later that day. He was probably just wondering where I was.

”Wa-alaikum Salaam,” his stiff voice said methodically. The thing with Ahmed was that you could never quite figure what kind of mood he was in.  Ahmed always sounded the same, whether he was over the moon or down in the dumps… his voice was always lifeless and monotonous. ”Are you close?”

”I’m just down the road,” I said, my voice a teeny bit more shaky than it should have been. I was just a little flustered about the house. I walked away, just out of earshot.

“You won’t believe where I am, Ahmed,” I muttered into the speaker. “Remember that house? The purple one that-“

”Listen Khawlah,” he said cutting me off. “Sorry, but this is kind of urgent. I need your help. I need you to see to the boys. We’re going to the hospital. Rubeena’s really not well…”

Dearest Readers,

Hope everyone is well and in the best states of health and Imaan. I’m going to try and post again soon…

Just a thought on the note of repentance.. as we live through these crazy and extraordinary times… a post I read brought to light a really interesting point. The only way that the situation will turn around for us, and our lives can continue without fear of this new and strange disease us if we truly turn to Allah and ask for His forgiveness. Allah make it easy.. as we hope for a miracle. Allah is the only Doer. We just have to keep on with the istighfaar and ask Allah for His mercy. really the only way things will turn around… it is in the Hadith that it’s shamelessness and immorality that leads to sicknesses that we’ve never heard of before. Let’s make intention too turn to Allah through Tawbah..

Much Love.

A xx

Revive the Sunnah of Du’aa

Having good Expectations and certain faith that Allaah will respond
Al-Tirmidhi (3476) narrated that Fadaalah ibn ‘Ubayd (may Allaah be pleased with him) said: Whilst the Messenger of Allaah ﷺ was sitting, a man came in and prayed and said, “O Allaah, forgive me and have mercy on me.” The Messenger of Allaah ﷺ said, “You have been too hasty, O worshipper. When you have prayed and are sitting, praise Allaah as He deserves to be praised, and send blessings upon me, then call upon Him.” (Authenticated by Albani)
According to another version (3477): “When one of you prays, let him start with praise of Allaah, then let him send blessings upon the Prophet ﷺ, then let him ask whatever he likes after that.”Then another man prayed after that, and he praised Allaah and sent blessings upon the Prophet ﷺ. The Prophet ﷺ said: “O worshipper, ask and you will be answered.”

Therefore, whenever a worshipper asks Allah with sincerity, hoping for Allah’s mercy, and fulfilling the etiquette and manners of dua, he should be certain that his Du’aa will be responded to.

Lots and lots of Duaas. Let’s focus on trying to bring Du’aa into our daily lives...

How easy to practice …











Twitter: @ajourneyjournal





Perfect Patch Up

Bismihi Ta’ala


Can you imagine a world where everyone just got along? Where peace reigned… where politics were non-existent… where no leader was corrupt?

Imagine a world free from war… famine… from the atrocities that are a part of day-to-day life.

And speaking of atrocities, let me just enlighten you. I’m not really a political kind of guy, but just so you can educate yourself, hear me out.

Basically, a few years ago in Tunisia, the rural town of Sidi Bouzid, a 26-year-old Mohamed Bouazizi, was preparing his stall of fruit and vegetables. He was the sole bread winner of his family.

Struggling to make ends meet and lead a regular life, Bouazizi was caught off guard when the police requested a permit for his business. He was then asked to hand over his wooden cart, and upon his refusal, a policewoman allegedly slapped him.

Long story short, the heart wrenching tale goes on to where Mohamed set himself on fire outside the governor’s office, despondent at being unable to earn money and provide for his family. And yes, it was heartbreaking. For everyone.

And we often wonder where all this turmoil began, where all the heartbreak and uprising started. At this advent, came the initiation of what we now know as the ‘Arab spring’. A despondent tale of an innocent man who, when tried to plead his case thereafter, felt let down by the system… then positioned himself in front of a government building… and set himself alight.

His act of desperation resonated immediately with others in the town, and shortly, throughout the Arab world. Protests began that day in Sidi Bouzid, captured by cellphone cameras and shared on the Internet. Within days, campaigns started popping up across the country and the entire Middle East.

The momentum in Tunisia set off uprisings across the Middle East… and of course, as I stepped out into Cairo that night, I couldn’t help but see it’s effects all over.

You see, this tale broke my heart, because in my perfect world, everyone deserves a chance. A fair shot. No one should have to wonder where their next meal will come from or wonder where they will end up sleeping each night. Everyone should have a home to go to… even if it’s a place with people just like them. They should have people who care for them and a space to call their own. Everyone should have a chance to be the best they can be and to reach their fullest potential.

That kind of world… well, although it sounds like the most amazing thing… it simply can’t exist. Because we don’t live in Utopia. We have to do our own patching up, because we don’t live in a perfect world.

And we have to understand this. The fact is that this striving… struggle… this toil… that is part of our existence is not really our life. It is merely our worldly existence. Beyond this world… beyond here… believe it or not, there is a perfect world. One that we have to work towards. Beyond our pain and tests and trials, there is a blissful, beautiful and peaceful world that awaits. It is and everlasting abode and it’s what we are placed in this world to prepare for. Sometimes we need to understand this, before we give in to the pressures that this life brings for us. Sometimes we need to stop and just wonder if we always are doing the right thing.

And yes, sometimes the world scares me. When I went to Egypt, I was a little shaken by the dynamics that existed there. Seeing Khalid there made it all the more real for me, because he was living with in it. I wanted to get to know more.

“Ahmed, it’s great to see you,” he had said as I stepped back, giving him a once over to assess how different he looked.

He had grown up. He was slightly taller and broader than me. He was rough around the edges, but I could see beyond that. He still possessed that childish charm that I had known back then… as if he was always up to some amazing adventure, and of course, I could tell that he hadn’t stopped when he came here.

I could see a few guys coming up to him and asking him things… almost as if they relied on him for everything.

“Listen,” he said, after introducing himself easily to Molvi and chatting a bit to us about the general happenings there. “We have somewhere we have to be now, but will you guys join us later?”

He had directed the question at Molvi as well, telling them that one of his family members had a restaurant in central Cairo and they would be honoured for us to join them later. Molvi assessed the situation for a few minutes, and because he seemed to take to Khalid, he agreed to meet for a late supper, so we could rest first.

And of course, everything about that night was awesome. The food was amazing, the hospitality was superb, and they were so thrilled that a Jamaat had come to their humble restaurant. We could hear the chatter of Arabic to and fro as Khalid kept calling for more and more exquisite dishes. I can’t even describe how delicious it was. I felt like my stomach was bursting, but Khalid was still calling for the famous Egyptian desserts, despite our protests. Molvi had taken a liking to Khalid and the two of them chatted for a while while we sat inside. Khalid was thrilled to see me after all these years, making small talk about the family and everything that he missed about South Africa. Molvi and Imraan had called it a night by around 10, but I stuck around for a bit… wanting to be a little adventurous.

I took a pull of the pipe as I sat opposite him just outside the shop, letting the tobacco settle in my throat for a few minutes before I let it out. I already loved this place.

I loved the boisterous atmosphere outside. For now, it was safe and everything was calm. Now I could see why Khalid was here. The night life was amazing.

“How’s the family?”

I looked at him for a second, knowing that he wasn’t asking just for small talk. He genuinely wanted to know, and I knew who in particular he was asking about. He was just too modest to say it.

”They’re good,” I said, meeting his eye. “Khawlah’s happy. You know she’s married?”

And that’s when I saw it. That look in his eyes, like I had punched him. He kind of just froze, as I said it.

“Really?” He finally said, still looking shocked, but attempting to recover. “Wow, that’s great. I thought … She’s still in school right?”

I shrugged, taking another pull of the pipe. Khalid had halted the smoking on his side. Actually, I wasn’t even sure if he had taken a pull. He was probably sick of this thing by now… they probably did this every night. There wasn’t much else to do if you’re staying out of trouble. It was great, though.

“They made Nikah,” I said, looking around me at the night life here. “She’ll stay with Adam after her finals.”

I wasn’t big on details and I could tell it left Khalid a little puzzled. I was too taken in by the atmosphere here to care.

And I suppose it was just as well that a guy suddenly came up to our table and stuck out his hand. I shook it, a little surprised at the hospitality, and Khalids infectious smile returned as he got up and embraced him, introducing me to his cousin. The guy chatted a while in Arabic to Khalid, and then an older woman came and hugged him. I assumed it was his aunty.

“This your brother-in-law?”

Khalid said something in Arabic and the woman nodded and looked at me, before giving me a wave and then going away.

“Sorry, that was weird,” he said, looking apologetic. “When I came here all my aunties wanted to do was marry me to their daughters. I told them I already had a girl back home… of course, I was joking…”

Ah. That explained the brother-in-law thing.

“Whenever I mention someone from SA, well… you can see what happens. They think my in-laws are here.”

”You didn’t know about Khawlah?” I asked, wondering why his mother wouldn’t tell him. “From your ma?”

He shrugged.

“She didn’t say anything,” Khalid said, and looked away. “I’m happy for her.”

The topic was closed and we spoke about a few other things that he was pursuing at the moment. Although he was normal and  went into great detail about his ambitions and what he planned to do here, I could see that something was on his mind after I mentioned Khawlah’s marriage.

And it wasn’t exactly me to sit and dwell over these things so I let it go. I kind of got the picture, in my mind. I had a feeling that Khalid had meant more than he had let on that night. What I didn’t know was that I had still gotten the picture wrong. There were some things that Khalid’s mother had hidden from Khawlah for a reason, and it was a little too late before I found out. Some things that no-one was supposed to know.

And of course, coming back home after that with a skewed train of thought, I couldn’t help but assume that Khawlah had been in touch with Khalid. That something had gone on and she had left him in the lurch. I didn’t try and find out the truth. Shortly after, the news about Khalid’s death came… and it was a shock to my system. It was no use trying to figure the truth at that point anyway. I felt like I had just seen the guy, with so many promises and in all his glory… and now he was gone.

But such was life. Khalid was so young and alive and free… even when I had seen him.. but one thing I remembered about him was what a remarkable and thoughtful human being he was. So responsible. He had grown up into an ambitious guy too. He was crazy about politics and about keeping close to Deen, but only because he was so protective over his family. He had spoken about getting out there and doing the right thing. About showing the people how to live, despite their conditions. He saw a better life, beyond war and famine and everything else that existed. All that was cut short, because of an idiot who didn’t like his optimistic ideas… but he had already inspired me. He had done good.

And that time of the year was a bit rough for me, as I dealt with emotions, work and admissions for the course I was doing… along with my fathers pressure on what to do with my life. Sometimes I really felt that my father needed to get married again, so he could get off my back… but then I remembered the last time he did it and I agreed that we were better off.

It was just that whenever someone close to me passed away, it was like I felt it a million times more than the last time.

And it was around that time of the year when a lady had called me one night, saying she got my number from someone who said I could help her. I didn’t know who she was at first, but we soon figured it out. It was barely rocket science.

Now, as I drove back home, roughly three months from that night, I couldn’t help but curse the day that she had called.

I pulled my phone out from my side console as I unlocked it, keeping my eye on the road as I searched her number. It had been a while since I dialed it, and I was glad. Now that the situation had come to this… I knew that I had to do it one last time. I had to sort this out.

And yes, the voices in my head were screaming at me not to press that little symbol to initiate the call, but against my better judgement, the ringing tone sounded and there was already no going back. I knew I had to do this one last time.


It was her. She had answered.

“Salaam,” I said, as steadily as I could. I didn’t say anymore.

“How are you?”  It was her who asked first. She sounded worried and out of breath. Like she had been rushing to get the phone. Or maybe she was rushing around behind her four kids. Four kids. That’s a lot.

“I’m fine. I need to-“

”Sorry, these kids are making a din,” she cut me off, and I could hear shutting a few doors as she spoke again.

”Sorry,” she said again. “What were you saying?”

I had to cut to the chase. No small talk.

“Ruby, what’s going on?” I said stiffly, hating the uncertainty that speaking to her brought. Not speaking to her was worse. I was confused. “Can I get some clarity here?”

She was silent.

“Rubeena, can you answer me?” I said, raising my voice slightly. “Everyone is on my case and I’ve had convince your brother and mother that it’s not what they think. My sisters are breathing down my back. What the hell is going on?”

I knew it wasn’t fair to put this all on her, but I couldn’t help but think that she had caused this. To me, I did nothing wrong. All I did was speak to her. Feelings were by the way.

“I don’t know!” She said softly, and I could tell that she was crying.

And then of course, without even expecting it, I felt terrible. I couldn’t even deal with my sisters crying, which they hardly did. Now I had to deal with this.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, sounding a bit steadier. “My mother phoned. She said you came to talk to her. You know she likes you more than she likes me? She said everything is my fault and I caused problems for everyone. For you too. She said I must get back together with Shabeer and it will all be okay. She said his problems are just a small things… that women go through so much worse.”

”You know it’s not like that,” I said, getting angry. I wasn’t sure at who. I didn’t even know why.

Meeting Aadam and Rubeena’s mother was an event that I couldn’t forget. She was so loud. Loud and extremely nerve-wrecking. But it went off better than expected. She actually made me sit for tea. It was a little awkward. She was so enthusiastic. Zuleikha was a little shocked at her behaviour, but I knew how women like her were. They loved attention and needed buttering up. Although I didn’t have the time and energy for that, I had to come out with a clean slate.

And it was at that point, as I awaited Rubeena’s answer, that I remembered Zuleikha’s words. What if there was some guy, talking to my sister? Ruby was someone’s sister and daughter too. Someone’s mother. I couldn’t carry on like this. I needed to stop this. Right now. I was panicking. What did I even call her for?

Rubeena sighed, and I waited a few more seconds, knowing where this was headed. I now knew that whatever she said, I had to do the right thing.

“Shabeer is threatening to fight for custody,” she said, sounding exhausted. “I know we never spoke about it but we both knew what thoughts crossed our minds. I shouldn’t have phoned you to complain about him. I shouldn’t have dragged you into all my problems. I shouldn’t have told you half the things I did. Now look what it’s caused. I did it all and I know it’s too late and we can’t take it back… but this is it. If he hears anything else about you… I’m in for it. I’ll be roasted, Ahmed. He knows what will break me. He’ll turn everyone against me. He’ll hire the best lawyers and he’ll finish me. I can’t deal with this. I don’t have the energy and I can’t lose my kids. I’m sorry. Let’s just forget we spoke and go on with our lives. I’m sorry for everything this had caused for you. I’m so sorry, Ahmed. I have to go.”

The phone line cut just as I opened my mouth. That was it. What was there to even say? Maybe it was better this way? There was no use even venturing down that lane. I didn’t even know what to feel. Feelings were just by the way. I just needed to know where to focus now, and right now, it was more clear than ever.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have thought anything could happen. I had to repent for those feelings. I had to. I hastily deleted her number from my phone, annoyed that I was upset. I had to move past this and there was just one way.

There was about 10 minutes in peak traffic till I got home. It was just enough time to make that one more call and sort it all out. The more I thought about it, the more it just made sense. This was the only way to get past all this. This was the only way that I was going to ever get this all behind me and move on.

The ring tone was sounding again, and this time, I was all ready for what I needed to say.

“Ahmed! Assalamualaikum Wa Rahmatullah! How are you keeping, Bhai?” He said, sounding ecstatic at my call. “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the go ahead… are you ready for another trip?! We’re forming a Jamaat for Europe.”

I actually missed him a lot. I really needed to see him. He was just so far away. I wished he stayed closer.

“Jhee, always, Maulana,” I said, the thought of going away already sounding exciting. Just what I needed. “But that isn’t why I called.”

”Jhee, Jhee,” Molvi said, obviously knowing that I had another reason. “What can I do for you, my brother?”

”I remembered that Maulana once asked about marriage,” I said steadily. “That there were a few girls who were available. I wanted to check if the offer still… stands.”

”Jhee, of course,” Molvi said, sounding elated. “There are always girls looking for good guys like you. You coming down to Durban. Want me to organise it?”

“Please,” I said, knowing that I had to move past all this. Good guys like me? Despite feeling like I was being crushed by a ton of bricks, I knew that this had to be the only way. I had to take responsibility and patch things up for everyone.

“I’m ready to make Nikah.”

Authors note: Disclaimer: With regard to what happens in this post, it is crossing the boundaries of what’s allowed but I have briefly gone into the problems it caused to stress on its’s abstinence. In many of our dealings, whether it be at home or work, our Ulema have constantly stressed on the importance of maintaining a respectful relationship with non-Mahrams, if we have to converse with them. The ideal is to let a male or someone else represent oneself, if there is a need. Whether it be the guy who is working for you or a distant family member, chatting about our lives and problems and getting into detail in conversation is completely forbidden and always leads to problems. Our voice should also be altered so we don’t sound attractive. Hijaab and Pardah is of great importance. May Allah guide us all. 

I’m sure many readers may not think Ahmed is doing the right thing.. Any thoughts? 

Much Love,

A 🌸

Sunnah of maintaining ties: 

Beloved Nabi (SAW) has said:

“The person who perfectly maintains the ties of kinship is not the one who does it because he gets recompensed by his relatives (for being kind and good to them), but the one who truly maintains the bonds of kinship is the one who persists in doing so even though the latter has severed the ties of kinship with him“. [Al-Bukhari].

May Allah Ta’ala enable us to rekindle any ties of kingship that may have been severed. It is truly a great reward and Sunnah.

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Escape to Nowhere

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem


“Where were you?”

My words were acid-like as I saw my sister stroll in at nearly 5-o-clock that afternoon. What on earth was she doing out till so late? I’m sure Abba will let her have it if he knew.

“Um, I,” she stumbled over her words relentlessly and I narrowed my eyes at her suspiciously. “I had something to sort out.”

I wasn’t going to let it go. Later on I would pursue this, but as Khawlah turned away from me and made her way to her room, I just felt so drained. So indifferent to everything else.

She wasn’t looking at me properly, and I understood why. Even looking at myself was a task, and everytime I caught sight of my battered face, I literally wanted to tear it off.

Today, instead of it looking better… it looked ten times much worse. It felt like I had been hit like a ten ton truck… although that could very likely be due to the lack of sleep too.

I touched my face for the umpteenth time that day, wincing again as I pressed the tender contours of my bruised eye.

The blood that had been fresh yesterday had formed a soft but painful scab on the inside of the wound, but I knew that it was just a matter of time before it would start to heal properly.

My new phone that jameel had bought for me buzzed as I sat on the front couch, turning my face slightly so I could see the recipient of its vibrations.

“Please answer.”

The words stared at me as I looked at my phone, already annoyed at the sender. Jameel was pestering since the morning, and all I wanted to do was be left alone. I was still reeling from yesterday… I hated the way he made me feel, and he needed to know it. My phone buzzed again, and although I tried so hard to fight the urge, I could not help but look down.

“I won’t do it again. I promise. I love you.”

The screen was almost pleading with me, taunting me to respond to its appeals.

I thought of Jameel’s handsome face. How I loved him. Moreso, I loved the life he was giving me. The luxuries. My husband was my weakness, and he knew just how to get me.

I just couldn’t forget his look of utter indifference as I had cried out in pain.

My mind played back the memories from that fateful afternoon, and I couldn’t help but remember the series that all started with the visit to Aupnty Romana. It was the third time I had stepped foot in the mansion-like home, and as usual, they were all gushing over Jameel like he was some kind of god.

Of course, he loved the attention he was getting. I did too. The fact that he was my husband, and came home with me every night would make it all okay. It didn’t matter that he would be looking at every woman around… he was still mine.

“You two look more and more gorgeous every time I see you guys!” Aunty Romana gushed, squealing in delight as Jameel leant forward to hug her lightly. I couldn’t help but feel flattered at her comment, because I knew I had made an extra effort that day.

I reached forward to hold his other hand, a little insecure. It was one of those big cousin get togethers and I wanted to stay as close to my husband as I could.

“You know Uncle G will be so proud of you, when he hears the good news about the contract,” she winked at us, and then tossed her hair back as she screamed for her husband.

“I’ll go find him,” Jameel said a bit too eagerly, and I knew it was because he was itching to escape her penetrating gaze. Jameel didn’t deny it when I had mentioned that ahe was obsessed with my him, and I knew that he wasn’t sure how to react to it. She was so much older, and of course, like a mother-figure to him. She was so obvious about her sugar-Mummy crush that it made me feel sick.

Of course, anything to do with money, or earning more money of which there was already too much, was a huge achievement. I didn’t deny it because of course, I benefited immensely too. All the good stuff I could ever dream of was at my disposal. I lived the life of a queen, loved it, and Jameel never said no to anything. Besides that, he would spoil me relentlessly, and I couldn’t complain.

I could see Jameel swiftly casting his gaze around the room, and I followed him as he went forward, my six inch heels just a little wobbly on my unsturdy feet.

I knew I had no reason to feel insecure. Today I had made an extra effort… and I knew, to him, I was looking great. Jameel had put his stamp of approval on my royal blue skinny pants and white zipper shirt. Casual and carefree was the look I was going for, and I let my hair down for the first time, loving the feeling of being free and fitting in.

All his cousins were around, and I didn’t want to look backward. I greeted them enthusiastically, spotting his cousin who I remembered meeting the last time. Her name was Layya and today she wore a stunning gold dress, that again sat above her knee. She had the most perfect and toned legs, and she knew it. Her hair was up in a bun, and it was no doubt that this cousin of Jameel’s was his favourite, and probably the most attractive too. The familiar green monster was brewing within me, although I told myself not to be ridiculous.

Couldnt she dress a little less openly? I thought to myself, hating the way Jameel went forward and greeted her affectionately.

Even though I still didn’t like her, I understood now what my mother-in-law was talking about. Jameel had his father’s habit. With Jameel’s wondering eyes, I had to keep him interested. I just wished that he could focus on me now too, that we were in public. As I caught sight of myself in the surrounding mirrors, I could see my own reflection behind my husband.

I looked gorgeous. I knew it. He had told me so too. So what the hell was his problem?!

“Jameel, can we go outside?” I whispered to him as he greeted his uncle, wanting to get away from the crowd for a bit.

I could see he was annoyed by my suggestion by the slight frown on his face, and he ignored me as he spoke to his uncle about the new contract he had gotten, which was the highlight of the year and why we had been invited here in the first place. I felt even more awkward.

There were a few of his female cousins around, and even though I had met them before, I wasn’t sure how to strike up a conversation. I sauntered off to the outside area, eager to be out of the spotlight for a bit.

The function was fully catered and I joined the other younger girls who were there while they ate whilst standing, listening to their conversation and saying as less as I could manage. There was no way I could be the odd one out and find a place to sit. I would look like a real eyeball if I had to worry about the Sunnah of eating right now, even though Mama had always been so strict about it. Mama didn’t know about these kind of functions back then. She didn’t know how these people would judge me.

They weren’t unfriendly. They just spoke on another wavelength to me. It took me a while to realize that KUWTK was a programme on television, and that the sisters they were talking about were actually celebrities.

I blushed as they spoke about baby daddy’s and some other stuff I found a little x-rated. Most of those girls were younger than me… I couldn’t believe they even knew about those things.

I hastily made an excuse to leave the crowd, eager to find my husband again. I didn’t want to smother him, but I was actually missing his voice.

I sauntered off to the sitting lounge, knowing I could get some peace there. It was just as I entered, that I saw Jameel sitting there, and he looked in deep conversation as he spoke. I took a step back and watched him, not wanting to be rude either. He wouldn’t like it if I interrupted him, so I moved slightly more out of view, not expecting to see his cousin sitting so close next to him, that I almost missed her completely.

I jerked back in shock… just catching sight of my husband’s hand on her bare thigh.

I could not believe it. Why on earth were the two of them alone? What exactly was going on?

My senses were sent into shock as I literally ran out of the room. I wasn’t sure what was happening. I wasn’t sure if Jameel saw me. Tears blurred my vision as I ran… not even knowing where I was going. All I could think of was Jameel and his hand on his cousin’s thigh. It played on my mind, over and over, until I literally wanted to puke.

I ran outside, far from everyone, reeling over on the side of the driveway, trying to balance on my heels and compose myself at the same time. My stomach was churning. My eyes were burning. The bile was collecting in my mouth as I tried to keep my vomit inside.

I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to vomit here.

“Are you okay?”

The voice was dripping with concern as I looked up, with great difficulty, to see one of Jameel’s male cousins, looking at me with worry. He was as tall as Jameel, and his eyes were slightly lighter than usual. They reminded me of my own.

I quickly looked away, not knowing what to say. Hoping to control the nausea. It was the first time I had been confronted by a strange male, and now was not exactly an ideal time.

My stomach churned once again, and this time, I opened my mouth and I couldn’t keep it in any longer.

With desperation, I clung to the shrub next to me, and retched with all my might. It was only then that I felt strong hands hold me back from falling into my own vomit, and although I could not stand the thought of a strange man touching me, there was nothing I could do but let him merely hold me up as I felt like my entire stomach was emptied.

I shook myself free as I felt the nausea subside, not knowing how to explain to him that he shouldn’t be touching me. I couldn’t even look up, and hearing his soothing words, asking me politely if he could call some help, I managed to look up at him again.

“What the hell?!”

It wasn’t him speaking and he didn’t say hell. He used a more abrupt version.

It was Jameel. That was Jameel’s voice. It seemed like he was looking for me, and he rushed up to us, pushing the other guy away as he lifted me off the ground, trying to balance my unsteady legs.

“Leikha, what the shit is going on?!” He said, not only addressing me, but also the guy who was trying to help me. “And why the hell are you touching my wife, bru?! Piss off!”

I couldn’t see straight. I couldn’t think. I just let him guide me to the car, letting him jump in and drive me away. It all happened so fast. I wasn’t sure how to ask him.

I could only think of that Hadith that Mama used to read to us. The one just stood out to me so clearly…. About everything bad that happens to us was because of our own sins… our own mishaps.

I was sorry. I was bad. I was sorry that I had been bad. I could only think about how I violated my own principles. How I had let myself down. How I had let my Allah down. Now it was too late. Now my husband was a cheater. A cheater.

“I hate you,” I spat, not knowing what else to tell him. Him and Layya. I could  not swallow it. What would he say? Should I ask?

He looked at me, and then, all of a sudden, he stopped the car. Dead. We were on a side road near our home, and I couldn’t even muster up the courage to tell him more or to ask him… because I was still feeling so weak.

You hate me?!” He said, his voice slightly raised. His eyes were thunderous with anger, and I flinched as he spoke, his voice booming again.

You dress like a whore… you act like a whore…  and you hate me?!

Jameel’s eyes were flashing angrily as he watched me, waiting for my reaction. I was scared. So so scared.

I had never seen him like this. I had never heard him say things like this. Why was he being like this?

It wasn’t  him.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t.

Okay. It was him. It was. But why?

He was just angry. Maybe he thought I had asked that guy for help. Maybe he thought something else. And as I sat there, making excuses for him, I knew that something bad was coming.

And then it happened.

The voice was screaming out to me in my head as he lashed out, and I couldn’t believe that it was my Jameel who was doing this to me. I couldn’t believe that he was destroying me like this.

The shooting pain wasn’t immediate. At first I was numb, as he issued not one, not two, but three pulsating lashes… then… then I felt the burn. Then I felt the stinging on the side of my face.

I reached up to my cheek and looked at him in disbelief, and almost immediately, the anger in his eyes had dissipated. Instead, now, all that was in his eyes was fear. Fear and desperation.

“Leikha…” he breathed, and I could see that he wanted to talk. Talk. That’s what Jameel was good at. Talk his way through business. Talk his way to charm… talk his way out of an accusation he knew I had against him.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I wasn’t sure how to act. All I knew was that I had to get out for now.

Without even thinking, I reached for the door handle, and I opened it, knowing that all I could do was run. It didn’t matter how far. It didn’t matter how safe. It didn’t matter that I would go back.

I had to go. For now, I had to escape.

Dear readers

A bonus post and change in theme again as we start to highlight some important aspects that I wanted to bring in. ✨

There is a Hadith that mentions that our ruin will sometimes also come in the form of Duniyaa luxuries, and if we persist on disobeying Allah, these comforts are actually a punishment for us.

May Allah Ta’ala save us all…

Much love

A 🌸


A Little Bit of Sin

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem


Within ourselves, there’s a drive that was created for our nafs. What makes us run… after anything…. is attraction. The desire. Love. The need to give and receive love.

And this need is inherent. It has been put in us by the Creator. The creator of Love… for a purpose. The need to give and receive love was created as a driver. A driver that pushes us back to Him. You see, what we don’t realize is…  we begin with Allah, and Our Rabb wants us to come back to Him in this life – to return even before we come back to Him in the next. So He puts inside us, drivers intended to bring us back.

The problem is, sometimes we make a little bit of sin. We get a little shaky… and then, just get a little lost along the way.

And yes, at first I did feel lost, as I walked with my husband, trying to appear as composed as I could.

Today was a bit different. I was going to meet his family, without any of mine around. A casual braai at his uncles house. I was feeling scared too.

Everything had been beautiful the day before. The reception, a small function that I always wanted, had been perfect. All the people closest to me had been there, and my heart had felt content, knowing that everything was going according to plan. Jameel had spoken to a few people about Abba, and he assured me that there will be news by the end of the week.

My mind felt rested, and my worries were put at bay. Jameel was true to his word, and I wanted to prove to my family that he wasn’t what they always thought. I wasnt sure why, but there was an overwhemlng need to prove that Jameel was actually a good guy.

I pulled down my top slightly as I walked, finding  it just a little too short. Through Jameel’s guidance, I probably looked the most attractive that I had ever looked in my entire life. Instead of the summery dress I wanted to wear, he had insisted that I wear a tight-fitting jeans and lace top. For the first time ever, I slipped on a pair of stiletto jelly sandals that he had bought. Being naturally tall, I never felt the need for them… but he had insisted that they were the ‘in thing’.

I sucked in my breath as we passed an indoor water feature, awestruck by the interior of the house.

It was quite spectacular.

“Here comes the gorgeous couple!”

The voice was loud and striking.

“That’s Aunty Romana,” Jameel half whispered to me, reaching for my hand as we walked closer. I was glad that he did. Meeting new people would be completely daunting at this point. I felt so vulnerable.

Aunty Romana was wearing a bright yellow and purple dress that opened up like an umbrella as she walked, making her look all elegant and elite… although she did look like she could lose a few kilos.

She had sparkly diamanté’s on her neckline and her glittery made-up eyes flashed rapidly as she spoke, with a wide smile on her face. Her teeth were whiter than white.

“I love your shoes!” She said, literally looking at me up and down as she said it. I wasn’t sure if she was being serious or if she was just looking for something to say. Her eyes were darting all over. Then she turned to Jameel.

Daaaaarling!” She cooed, squeezing his defined shoulder and air kissing him as her cheek barely touched his. Jameel put his arm around her, half hugging her back.

I frowned. I thought this was his uncle’s wife. She was being so touch-feely… for me, and my conservative background, it was so strange.

But it was okay, right? She was like older than his mother, so she probably looked at him like a son. This was her house anyway.

I shrugged the nagging thought away, my mind diverted by more and more people coming into view, and coming up to us. I was feeling a little overwhelmed. They were all hugging Jameel and then stopping to scrutinize me, and I understood why Jameel wanted me to dress the way I did. These people were super-modern, and I could see that for them, an outfit defines a person. I supposed that you would really have to have an amazing personality to get away with looking drab at this party.

“Hey cuz.”

It was Jameel who said it, as a pretty girl I remembered vaguely from yesterday’s function came up to him. She gave him a wink and a brief hug and then looked at me. Again, I ignored the feeling that plagued me. All this touching and hugging was a bit much.

“My new sister in law,” she said, genuinely looking excited. She wore a sleeveless dress that sat just above her knee. She started talking nineteen-to-the-dozen about how excited she was that she could finally meet the girl who stole her cousin’s heart, and how we need to do a coffee date. I nodded, not wanting to come across as rude.

I supposed a coffee date wouldn’t be that bad either. Although I didn’t do very well talking about make up and heels.

Don’t be so judgmental, I reminded myself.

I had learnt that even seeing people who seemed unislamic shouldn’t change our thoughts of them. Hate the dress. Hate the action. Don’t hate the person.

I sighed. This was probably going to be a long afternoon. I felt strange, all surrounded by white, glass and semi-naked people.

Jameel began to talk to his cousins, and I zoned out, wanting to rest my feet. They were sore from the heels and I needed to give them a break. There was a sleek white leather couch I was eyeing, and I quietly left my post next to Jameel and idled up to it, getting ready to collapse.


I got alarmed as I heard the voice, and I looked up to see Aunty Romana suddenly next to me. This woman was like a bullet.

I wasn’t sure where she had come from but she was such a erratic personality that I didn’t expect less from her.

“Darling,” she said sympathetically, reaching out to hold my hand and practically lifting me off the couch. She was gesturing me towards somewhere else. “Let me take you to the sitting lounge.”

I froze, completely embarrassed.

Goodness. She was feeling sorry for me.

I mean, I completely got the point. The couch there was not meant for sitting on. I just wasn’t sure what on earth it was for then.

Gosh. I must have looked so stupid.

I glanced back one last time at Jameel as Aunty Romana pulled me along. I wished that he was looking. He was so engrossed in conversation with at least half a dozen of his cousins that he didn’t even notice me leaving the room.

Of course, it didn’t help that Jameel was super attractive and a smooth talker too. He was relating some story about the hotel yesterday and I could tell that every listener was hooked. We had a bit of a drama in the waiting area as we checked in, with some unruly guests. In retrospect, it was quite funny, and he was narrating it expertly.

My heart flip-flopped. A certain warmth filled my gut when I was reminded that he was my husband. It was obvious that he was really popular. I knew that all along, and it was one of the things that drew me to him… Made him so attractive. He was super busy too… with business and in between countless friends and acquaintances. Getting his undiverted attention made me feel special.

She clip-clapped with her kitten heels and I silently followed Aunty Romana through a passage, as we entered another area of the house.

If I thought that the entrance of the house was extravagant, this was… well, just over the top. It was a super modern kitchen, fitted with the best stainless steel appliances, and finished off with white high gloss cupboards and doors. Touches of lime green added a slightly quirky vibe to the place, and my eyes widened as I saw the crystal chandelier.

Yes. A chandelier. In the kitchen.

“How lovely,” I murmured, knowing that I was expected to say something. I could feel the penetrating gaze and from the way Aunty Romana was looking at me and smiling, I knew I had to comment.

She clapped her hands excitedly, nodding.

“It is, huh?!” She agreed eagerly. “You won’t believe how much it cost, doll… this is just the dummy version. I suppose you don’t know much about these things. The real kitchen is at the back of the house. Where the visitors can’t see the chef’s mess!”

I don’t know much about these things?

I wasn’t sure if she was having a go at me or not.

She clapped her hands again and beamed at me innocently, hustling along again and gesturing for me to follow her. We entered another room just around the corner, leading out to a huge tiled entertainment area and an AstroTurf play zone. There were already quite a few people there, and kids as well.

I swallowed, wondering if I had heard right.

A dummy kitchen? I was speechless.

I tried to ignore the unfamiliar feeling of despair as I sat in the ‘sitting lounge’, which was also fancy, but less high maintenance. I gazed out at the pool and the people around it, kind of lost in this material world.

This was no doubt the fanciest house I had ever been to. Abba had been doing well in business, but he had never splashed out like this. This was extreme.

Wasn’t this just wrong? Sheer extravagance? I mean, people were  starving in Kenya. They had no homes. What on earth was wrong with us that we have such an indifferent attitude to the plight of others?

But maybe they had already given money to good causes. Maybe it was justified. My mind was trying to convince me that it was okay.  Maybe it was. I shouldn’t let it bother me now, anyway. It was supposed to be my day.

Why must the thought of starving children bother me now?

I sat back now, clearing my mind, determined to ignore any guilt. Though Jameel was probably still entertaining his cousins, I made my way outside, feasting my eyes on the glam decor and millions of starters that were at my disposal.

They actually had waiters, walking around and serving various things on trays. Fancy things. Drinks in stemmed glasses. It was like something out of a movie, and as everyone came to greet me, being the new bride, I couldn’t help but feel a little excited. Like a VIP.

So this was what it was going to be like, married to Jameel. I could live like this.

I spotted my mother-in-law and sister-in-law in the distance. They had come forward to speak to me for a while, and I tried to ignore the little comments I got about my hijab. They both wore no scarves, and I sat in the crowd, I kind of felt strange in mine.

I forgot about my own family for a little while, as I sat there. I forgot about the things that had made me feel uncomfortable when I first arrived. And then, I even forgot about feeling strange as I started to enjoy myself.

That was how it was with matters of this world. Sometimes it just takes one sin, and everything you had build so far is lost. For a single piece of paradise in his wretched world, you sometimes trade an eternity of bliss.

I sat there, oblivious to everything besides  the attention and happiness of what I was feeling. I was besotted by the superficialities that surround me. For a little aesthetic pleasure, I had ignored my own values.

Jameel sauntered in, followed by some of his friends now. It was full of younger girls and boys. The older adults had found there way to the other sitting lounge, and I stayed put.

As I sat and looked on, I could tell that Jameel was obviously the most influential person in the room, and I watched him silently, wondering if he would notice me with all the attention he was getting. The girls were now huddled together, talking amongst themselves, and the guys were talking loudly on the other side.

My new husband caught site of me and gave me a wide smile, and I felt like the most important girl in the world. No-one else mattered. It didn’t matter if he had ignored me for almost an hour. It didn’t matter what the environment was like. When he sat next to me for a few minutes, giving me his full attention, my heart soared.

I was so absorbed in the moment, that I had forgotten about everything else. Jameel reached out for my hand and I looked at him. I could see him looking around. Everything was mixed and although it felt awkward to me, I guess I couldn’t blame my husband. It wasn’t his fault.

Later I would tell him that I didn’t like it. Tomorrow, it would all be back to normal.

Don’t worry, the voice said.

It was only a little bit of sin…


A respected Aalim mentions that even a little bit of sin will open the door to discontentment. Once one engages in what may seem like a small wrong, it immediately opens a door to discontentment and the peace or Sukoon is lost. Hence, there is no such thing as a ‘small’ sin. 

The change in theme of the posts are hoping to bring in many important lessons. No matter how much of money one may give for good causes, extravagance to such a degree in Islam is unacceptable.

May Allah guide us all. 

Much love, 

A 🌸


Eliminating Love

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

People are complicated. I knew that.

But to put it scientifically, the human being is an extremely complex creature, and many a time, our erratic behaviour is quite disconcerting. We have this innate desire to have everything and make the most of the moment, even though in actual reality, we don’t own even that moment we think we are living to the fullest.

We often crave excitement, although we know that it’s bad news. We rely on people, even though we are well aware that they will probably let us down.

But the thing that evades us most, is what inspires us to chase. To crave. To desire.
Why do we run after other people? Why do we run after money? Why do we run after status, or power?

I wasn’t sure what made people tick, but the thing is, we all want love and respect, and we think that these materialistic things are the only things that can get us that.

Love. The best thing that can happen to you, when circumstances are right, or the worst curse that you could have ever imagined, when you are caught in a rut.

I took a deep pull of my pipe, trying to just figure it all out. What if we had to just remove that entire concept? Eliminate it. I mean, who even knows if it really exists? The oneness of two souls. Your soul mate, your other half. The fairy tale… Or where the story ends. The finding, joining, the wedding. The oneness of two souls. Being ‘complete’.

Why do we even do that to ourselves?

“You just sit around here?” My eldest brother asked, frowning deeply as he sat opposite me on the balcony chair. “And smoke pipe?”

He was so cynical.

Yeah. That was what love did to you. It made you even hate just innocent fun.

I took another pull of my new contraption. I had given up on the E-Cig. It was like an anti climax on the vaping scene. I had no time for living healthy. This was the real thing.

“Duh not,” I said, taking another pull and looking at Mo seriously.  “Sometimes I smoke cigars.”

“Just kidding, bru,” I grinned, noting his annoyed  glance. “I eat too. And go to work usually at Dad’s place. You know he can’t do much these days.”

I was trying to put on the whole responsible and organised persona but I wasn’t sure if Mo was buying it. He knew Waseem was sorting out most of Dad’s stuff. Dad was actually trying to retire. It was amazing what a change he was undergoing, and I almost didn’t believe it.

Besides, Muhammed knew me too well to believe I could commit myself to anything that required actual work.

“I’m not as lazy as you think, boss,” I said to him, pretending to be offended. “Marriage has been good for me.”

Well, certain parts of it. I didn’t want to dwell to deep. There were other parts that still haunted me every night. Parts that I wished I could forget but knew I never would.

“And your vrou?” He asked, still frowning. His permanent frown was starting to get to me.

Yoh, this was getting tiring to deal with. The guy needed to lighten up. It was like every time I saw the guy he was in a moody mix of some sort. I really wanted to just smack him out of it.

“She’s around,” I said vaguely. “Sometimes. Now she’s out.”

I didn’t want to mention that she left in a huff because I didn’t want to come with her to see her parents.


Ey, I mean, c’mon. We go there for a meal at least twice a week. That was more than enough in-law time. Besides, I didn’t feel like sitting around and making business talk with her father and brother. They were different to me, and she just didn’t get that.

“You’ll do your own stuff?” Mo asked, and I shrugged.

I could see him shaking his head, almost as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Don’t do that to you’ll,” he said, now looking seriously at me. “Don’t live separate lives.”

“We don’t,” I said, immediately getting defensive, even though I was a bit unsure of my stance. “We’re just a modern day couple. Life happens. We both have different aspirations. It’s normal.”

“No,” Mo said firmly, shaking his head. “That’s where you wrong. I thought it was normal too… Until I got caught up.”

I didn’t meet his eye.

I knew how it was. He was right. I knew how a simple man gets carried away when chics are around.  That’s why I sat at home nowadays, and cooled off. A lot had changed me, and a lot had happened to make me change.  I just needed to work more on Farah and mending our actual marriage. We got along fine, but it wasn’t good enough. I mean, I was no saint. My eyes wandered to the moist inappropriate places at times, but I knew I had a problem.

Bad company was the worst, and when you go to places where there is mixing and heedlessness, you are sure to be poisoned by what is there. When a man wasn’t getting his ‘physical service’ at home, it definitely meant that he was going to look elsewhere.

I wondered if this was what it was going to take for Mo to eventually do something to get his life on track.

“Thanks for speaking to me,” Mo said now,the frown from his face slightly fading. “Sometimes I need to feel like there’s hope for me. Waseem acts like I have some kind of contagious disease, and some of those heavy people at the Mosque give me dirty looks.”

I shrugged, and took another pull, just because I had nothing to say. The guy had messed up. Big time.

I too, couldn’t believe that my ordinary brother actually risked his marriage like that. I just didn’t expect it from him. To tell the truth, I was pretty disappointed with him. I had avoided him at the beginning, but I didn’t want to push him away completely.

“Zee, this thing is no fun,” he continued morbidly. “I wish I could turn back the clock and just erase the whole thing. I don’t want to even be anywhere any more. I just…”

He trailed off, shaking his head again. I got that feeling of wanting to be nowhere. I knew it was a level of maturity, but I had a feeling that Mo was becoming despondent.

“I just want her back,” he said suddenly, sounding even more miserable.

I looked at him sympathetically.

If only. If only we could turn back that clock. If only we could relive that moment of betrayal, where we not only sabotaged our relationship with people, but with our Creator as well. I wonder if he got that most important part.

“It’s not about people, Mo,” I said, feeling like I was endowed with age-old wisdom, all of a sudden. “It’s about what you are doing to make up for it. You don’t look for that hope in people. You keep on trying and you keep on begging. You keep on trying to make it right only for the sake of the One who never desserts you. You just never lose hope in your Lord.”

It was the only thing that had kept me going, and I knew that Mo needed to know it.

Of course people would hate what he did. People like me were rotten, so I had bounced back quite quickly compared to others.

But people of real calibre took it as a real offence, and made sure he knew it. People who took Allah as their own, took it even worse, just because of how badly he had messed up with His Creator. People of piety knew how serious the whole thing was.

Such people are truly racing towards good deeds, and to know the difference, you really had to understand what Imaan entailed.

A person asked Allah’s Rasul (SAW): What is faith? He (SAW) said: When a good deed becomes a source of pleasure for you and an evil deed becomes a source of disgust for you, then you are a believer.

He again said to Nabi (SAW): What is a sin? Whereupon He (SAW) said: When something pricks your conscience, give it up. (Ahmad)

The thing was, when you possessed real Imaan, anything that went against the law of Allah Ta’ala was completely ejected. There was zero tolerance when it came to breaking the laws of Allah.

It wasn’t a major thing, but when you somehow realise this, and try and get your life back on track, the opportunities are limitless. The impossible becomes possible and what you thought could never be, is just a stone’s throw away.

So instead of sitting and dwelling over the wrong, there was only one way to move forward, and get on with life. And as the Adhaan for Asr sounded, I put off the pipe and grabbed my keys, gesturing to my brother.

I could see him hesitant, but I knew if he cut himself off from the One who created him, he would never heal completely. He could never get what he truly wanted, or redeem himself in anyone’s eyes.

“Let’s go,” I said, not waiting for an answer. Sometimes I had to take the lead, when my older brother was acting like a child. He followed almost robotically, and I felt myself getting a little hopeful for him.

Baby steps, I said to myself. One at a time.

I headed to the older local mosque, just because I hadn’t seen Waseem the whole week, and I was kind of missing my brother. I knew he would be there.

We read the prayer in congregation, and since I thought I had missed Waseem before, I hurried to the back before he could leave. Before long the Mosque was virtually emptying out, and he was still nowhere to be seen.

I looked at Mo, a tiny bit confused, because I knew Waseem usually would never miss a Salaah at the local Mosque.

I had an idea that he might be out of town, but I didn’t think that it was like him to make a spontaneous trip, and he had said that he would see me at Asr time.

Well, I didn’t dwell on it too deep, until I got into the car and took out my phone. Maybe I should just kill the pride and ask him what the deal was. He said he would see me, and he had just gone AWOL. I was definitely wondering what was up.

And of course, as drama would have it, his phone went to voice mail three times before it finally rang. I was starting to think that someone had kidnapped my brother, when an extremely panicked and strange voice finally answered.

“Who’s this?” I said, not really caring if I was being rude.

“It’s Riyaadh,” the voice said, and I immediately remembered Waseem’s brother-in-law. What was that guy doing with his phone?

“Waseem is busy here at the hospital,” he said vaguely.

Hospital? What the…? 

“Which hospital?!” I snapped, immediately on high alert and already panicking.

Was it my parents? My father? But why would Waseem’s brother-in-law be there, in that case? Why didn’t he just call me?

I immediately swung the steering wheel, heading in the right direction, ignoring Mo’s penetrating gaze as he ask me various annoying questions.

“Bru. If I knew, I would say,” I snapped, finally pulling up at the street where the hospital was.

Like really, did he think that I just liked to keep him in suspense? It was killing me too.

I parked in the closest available parking, and raced in, with Mo right behind me. I didn’t even pause to look at any chics going past, because my mind was only on one thing.

Obviously, since I had initially thought that Waseem was probably the one who was checked in, it was the biggest relief to see him taking a seat on a bench, immediately lifting his hands to his head as he rested his head in them. His frame was looking unusually defeated, and I could practically see that something major was on his mind.

It looked as though the entire universe was on his slightly slumped shoulders, and he had the world’s troubles on his head.

Relief flooded through me, glad that it wasn’t my brother who was the patient. The catastrophic part was that I knew that it probably could only do with one other person.

Love. The thought came back to me, like it hadn’t left.

And now, I realised, that it wasn’t only about the happy ending. It’s not only about your soul mate or your other half. Not only the fairy tale… Or where the story ends, and everything that was once broken is fixed.

The thing is, that’s not where the story ends. That’s where it begins. That’s where everything begins, and your path to Jannah starts. It’s the building of a life, the building of your character, the building of patience, commitment, and sacrifice. It was what I saw here. It was what I had always imagined when I looked at them.

I knew that they were different. Waseem and his wife were like the only hope I had for this messed up family, and I couldn’t stand the thought of that ever being sabotaged. I didn’t want to kill it.

I almost held my breath as we went up to him, watching Mo slowly approach him, waiting for some kind of response.  Waseem looked up at him, hesitant at first, and then glanced at me. He didn’t say a word. It was like he was shocked into silence, for some reason.

“What’s happening?” I blurted out. I couldn’t stand not knowing. This whole thing was just so sudden and unexpected. And I hated to be in suspense.

“Zaynah,” was all he said.

I wasn’t sure if he thought we had some kind of Kashf  or what, but he didn’t continue until Mo asked him again. I was already feeling like my own world was crumbling, because I could see that this was probably a disaster of major sorts. I felt like the mirage I had been living was broken in the most vicious way.

“Is she okay?” Mo couldn’t help but ask.

Waseem looked up finally, shaking his head, and then looking down. My heart was already plummeting to somewhere beneath my feet.

“I don’t know,” he almost whispered, and I immediately held my breath. Maybe there was hope. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe it will all be okay.

He breathed in, and then exhaled, looking a bit more composed.

“She had a fall,” he said, sounding like he couldn’t believe it himself. “And now…”

He paused, and I really could not take the suspense any longer. The broken pieces were just not fitting together.

“Now what?” I pressed sharply, stepping forward almost threateningly.

He looked up at me, and shook his head.

“Now…” he said softly, as I strained my ears to hear his next words.

I almost wish I heard wrong.

“Now… She’s brain dead.”

Maaf for delay in posting. Exam time, but I will try and post more often after two weeks, InshaAllah. 

Please don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

Beautiful Sunnah 👐🏻 Wash both hands up to the wrist before eating.

Hadhrat Salmaan Farsi (Radhiallahu Anhu) narrates: “I read in the Taurah that the blessings of food lie in washing the hands after meals. I mentioned this to Rasulullah (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam). Rasulullah (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam) replied: “The blessings of food lies in washing the hands before eating and after eating.” 

Hadhrat Abdullah ibn Abbaas (Radhiallahu Anhu) reports that Rasulullah (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam) said: “Washing the hands before and after meals repels poverty, and it is from the sunnah of all the Ambiyaa. A pious man narrated that he once had a debt of three hundred Rupees, and due to straitened circumstances, he could not imagine how he could ever be relieved of this burden. Sitting one day in the discourse of an Aalim, he heard him say that whoever washes his hands before and after eating, in view of it being a sunnah of Rasulullah (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam), will Insha Allah be relieved of his debts in a short span of time. The pious man adopted the above procedure, and through the grace of Allah Ta’ala, he was absolved of all his debts in a few days time.  (The Sublime Conduct of Nabi (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam) vol.1)

We will be doing more eating and drinking Sunnahs Insha Allah.



#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood




Tweet: @ajourneyjournal

Castles and Caves

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem


I almost jumped as I heard the voice, immediately zoning out of my shocked senses and back into reality.


This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, I was telling myself.

Wasn’t there some sort of future in the horizon? Even though at that point, my priorities might have been changing, I didn’t want to be thrown out the picture completely. I still wanted a chance, even if it was only 50-50.

I still couldn’t believe it. And she didnt even have the decency to tell me. It was just… Wrong. So wrong.

“What are you doing?” My father’s booming voice was slightly accusing, but I couldn’t care less at that moment.

“You going for this?” I said, tossing the card over to the table where he was sitting.

He picked up the card and squinted his eyes, and recalling what it was, he looked at me again.

“I’ll see,” he said, not really concerned. The invite was for 3 months away. Too early for my father to make commitments for so far ahead.

I nodded, still processing everything. I was just about heading out, when my father spoke again.

“Listen, do me a favour,” he said, not even looking up as he spoke. “Go drop this off with Muhammed. Tell him to sort it out.”

He tossed the envelope to me, still busy with his Mac computer with the other hand. He didn’t even notice my frown or ask me if there was anything wrong. For the first time in my life, a certain hostility surged through me, as my father’s true nature became apparent. It was undeniable.

Oh well. I supposed that was why I had two brothers who never had hit it off with my Dad. He had his good points, as I had always admired, but to tell the truth, he wasn’t a very easy person to get along with.

It was undeniable that his work and endless pursuits of business were clearly the most important things to him. It was a bit disappointing, because in his own pursuit, he had lost so much more than valuable time. For the first time in my life, I began to actually think that I didn’t want to actually end up like him.

I needed some clarity on the matter. On Dad. On Life. On priorities. On the chic that I had supposedly had my hopes up for.

I was never a committed kind of guy, but at that moment, maybe due to novelty, becoming a more serious version of myself was actually looking awesome. Maybe this change I was trying to make in my life couldn’t have come at a better time.

With lack of anything better to do, I decided to go to hand over the envelope to Muhammed, since I would have to at some point. Maybe he would have some insight for me, since I felt like I was in a more influential mood that night. Maybe it would be good for me to listen to someone else’s advices for once.

I drove slowly, for a change, window open, just to let the breeze in. It was one of those amazing nights, where the feeling in the air was a different kind. It was like I was so in synch with myself, I couldn’t believe how clearly I was seeing things. I was still coming to terms with every thing as it was, without being influenced by any kind of intoxicant, but for that moment it was great to just… Be.

I cruised into Muhammed’s neighborhood, and realised at that moment that I was passing Farah’s house. It was a sudden realization, and it hit me just then.

I actually didn’t miss those days. I just felt slightly disappointed at myself, because I knew now that I could have been so much more than I was.

I passed the house quickly, not wanting to dwell on it, turning into Muhammed’s road and then into his driveway.

Once again, I was faced head on with the ‘perks’ of this world. My eldest brothers house was just awesome. Like a castle, with obviously, a more modern finish. I always wanted to end up as well-off as Muhammed, but with all the mentoring from Waseem, I kind of realised that there was a bigger picture out there. Building golden castles in my mind would have to change it’s perspective from now on.

I pressed the buzzer, and though it was kind of late, I knew Muhammed wouldn’t really mind me coming. As expected, the gate opened with no hassles and I drove in, parking next to a decent, but unfamiliar car.

“Ziyaad!” Mo exclaimed, his iPhone in his other hand. “Lost your way?”

I grinned sheepishly, knowing that he was secretly glad to see me. Before I got a chance to reply, a familiar voice came from inside.

“Mo, what’s all that stuff on the table?”

Waseem. I was never so glad to hear him. Was he staying here?!

“What stuff?” Muhammed replied, looking confused and putting his phone back in his pocket. “I dunno.”

He walked back inside, following Waseem into the lounge. Of course, being the Zee, I had to follow to see what Waseem was going on about.

“This!” Waseem said, pointing to the dining room table.

It was cluttered with expensive looking dishes, serviettes and some other decorative stuff I knew my Mum also kept in her dining drawers. Aasiya, being Aasiya, just loved to make everything a fancy ordeal. It was typical. But what exactly was the occasion?

“What the heck is going on here?” I asked, thinking I was missing out on some major event. Was Waseem having his wedding event here or something? When did all of this stuff take place?

“That’s exactly what I’m wondering!” Waseem said, putting my fears to rest and looking accusingly at Mo.

Muhammed put up his hands in self defense, but Waseem wasn’t paying attention. I knew I had to say something, just to stop Waseem from rattling off about extravagance or spmething. I could already see that bayaan kind of look in his eyes.

“I agree!” I piped up, out of nowhere.

Both brothers looked at me weirdly, but I kept my composure, knowing that now was the chance to put in a bit of useful input. Maybe I could actually say something that sounded like I really knew what I was talking about.

“You agree with what, bru?” Mo asked, still looking at me strangely.

“With Waseem,” I said, in an obvious kind of way. “His… Err…”

I couldn’t find the right words to say what I needed to. I wanted to show them that this time, I was proving my self worth. That I was really changing. I needed my brothers to believe it. I needed them believe in me.

“Ziyaad is saying what I was thinking,” Waseem started, looking from me to Mo.

He stroked his full beard, watching me carefully through cynical eyes. I could tell that he was reading part of what I was trying to convey. He sensed my desperation.

Just his assuring look made me feel that much more comforted. Beside giving me the solace I needed, it made me think of what he had told me earlier that day, before I had gone home.

I had needed that reminder, because there always comes a time, every once in a while, where we forget the important parts. Where we forget what our aim should be. We aim for the peak, but we forget to get our essentials in check. We aim too high, and sometimes lose focus on the basics.

Because when it came to getting Deen right, it wasn’t about reaching the milestones that people show or boast about. It doesn’t mean you have to constantly talk about Allah, and be doing Dawah at all times. It wasn’t only about extra actions of Ibaadat or the quantity you do, with regard to even the simplest worship.

What was most important was two things… Two fundamentals.

To be in obedience to our Lord’s command, and to stay away from sin.

Two major, seemingly simple things, that are yet so difficult to obtain. When you are constantly aware of Him, then automatically, you adopt this need to always please, and never disobey Him.

Because when I heard about this only recently, having no knowledge of it previously, I was in awe. Just a few youth, maybe six or seven, who made a difference to the world, so long ago.

Allah (SWT) says what can be translated as, “Surely they were young men who believed in their Lord, and We increased them in guidance.” (18:13).

A story that was amazing, captured most beautifully in Surah Kahf. When the trials and sins were too much for those few youth who were mentioned, they didn’t resort to something beyond any of us today. What was obvious here was that the youth who had escaped to the cave, and thereafter were protected by Allah, were not sitting in worship for those 300 or so years. All they had done was evaded the wrong-doing in their society by going away. They simply went to seek refuge in a cave, and fell off to sleep.

And He protected them because Allah allowed them to sleep for 309 years, by muting their hearing.

Allah says, “Then We struck upon their ears for a (great) number of years in the cave,” (TMQ, 18:11)

And He kept their bodies alive, as He says:

And We turned them about towards the right and towards the left,” (18:18).

One of the very miraculous signs in this story was just that. Allah changed the characters of sleep to accommodate 7 sixteen year olds because they trusted in Him.

And that’s what our Lord loves. They were raised to such a rank because they simply stayed away from sin. They removed themselves from the ugliness of society, and kept themselves pure.

So Allah covered them with His shade, and raised them in status because they protected themselves from the effect of evil. Because even if it means doing the most basic acts of worship, staying away from any type of sin was a miracle in itself.

And to bring that into my life, I knew what it entailed. When we ask for Allah’s help and forgiveness, sincerely, Allah will make it such that your soul is cleansed. Your heart purified. Your sins erased. So the angels won’t be any sort of witness to your sins, not because they won’t agree to, but simply because they will have no ability to. That was how merciful Allah Almighty was. Despite our indifference, He still sorts us out at the end of the day.

I turned to my brothers now, knowing that whatever I had to say would be good enough. I didn’t have to prove myself to anyone. I just needed to stay away from what had always dragged me down.

“I was just saying that we need to cool off,” I said, just wanting to take it easy. I wasn’t about to run away to a cave, but I needed to keep myself away from sins at least. Baby steps.

Waseem nodded. He got me.

“I also reckon we need to cool off a bit with the laa-di-daa stuff,” Waseem expanded, using my statement as an opening. “You know the type of guy Molvi is, right? He won’t even sit at this table. Put a sheet on the floor, Mo… We can hit it Sunnah style.”

Aah. Now I got it. Waseem had invited Maulana Dude here for some reason, (I didn’t know what it was), and Aasiya made it all hectic.

I grinned to myself, thinking how my plain and ordinary brother ended up with her. It was strange, but indeed, a greater plan that we were about to witness soon was unfolding at that moment when Muhammed had first met Aasiya, all those years ago.

As the intercom buzzed, and Mo called for her to remove the ‘big deal’ stuff, and make it simple, I watched them fuss around. Waseem went out to fetch Maulana Dude, and I just loitered around, taking a ‘supervisor’ role. I sampled a bit of the Strawberry twist juice that Aasiya had made, instantly loving the kick. It was potent, but just what I needed.

Well, for me, supervising was a required task.

I could hear voices coming, and Muhammed started frantically gesturing to Aasiya to go out.

It was an unpredictable moment, because they unexpectedly entered through the garage door, and for some reason, Aasiya was using that door to go out from. My sister-in-law was taken aback for a few seconds as she realised that she would have to back-track, and involuntarily froze, just as they came into the entrance hall, talking animatedly. Both men, looking down, continued with their talking while they patiently waited for Aasiya to leave the room.

But the funniest part at that moment was that it looked like Aasiya was going nowhere. She just stood, as if she was stuck, rooted to the spot.

I wanted to laugh, but I knew no-one would be impressed. The whole thing was just a bit hilarious, because the awkwardness intensified, and for the first time in his life, Muhammed’s face actually turned color. I think he was probably wondering what was wrong with his wife, but didn’t realise that she was probably just completely shocked out of her senses.

There was a good minute of unending silence, until she finally broke the silence.

“Umar?!” She said, almost disbelievingly.

It took me a good few seconds to realise that she was talking to Maulana Dude. He finally actually looked at her, after what seemed like forever. As she addressed him, something of his own expression seemed to alter.

All awkwardness and discomfort disappeared, and a tiny crack of a smile, despite his obvious shock, appeared. He seemed like he was at a loss for words, and we all just watched silently, as he edged toward her. He shook his head, then looked at her again, in complete bewilderment.

“Aasiya?” He asked, moving closer.

She nodded, and I even though I couldn’t see her face, I could tell that the water-works were on, from her loud sniffles. Typical woman.

I would have laughed at her if that moment wasn’t so action packed. All this stuff was just so intense. How did they know each other?

The questions were soon to be answered, but there would be a lot more to be unveiled before we ever did find out. Muhammed was already moving forward to comfort his wife, and Maulana Dude looked like he was going to do the same, but Aasiya, being who she was, was having none of it.

She promptly turned, as if in a sudden rush, finally exiting the room through the revolving door. Both men were just as quick to follow, leaving both Waseem and I in utter confusion. We looked at each other, not sure whether to laugh or not. This was all just so weird.

In total discomposure, we both took seats on the couch, not knowing what to say. Not like we needed it, but everything just seemed to get that much complicated at that very moment.

What exactly was going on?