Exceeding Expectations

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 93

I didn’t expect to get woken up that morning with a cup of my fave coffee next to me.

Seeing that Hamzah was already up and showered, I could hear him clearing the stuff in the kitchen almost as if he’d been cooking, made my heart sing.

I, on the other hand, felt like a slob.

I had been slacking. With everything. Housework. Cooking. Qur’ān. Even salaah had become rushed and inattentive.

But since Hamzah’s arrival, miraculously, somehow, everything had been in check. There he was, Mr Perfect, now perched on the couch next to the room, reciting Surah Yaseen softly but audibly, and I couldn’t help but feel that I needed to go to him with my Qur’ān so I could be his student and just soak up all that Barakah again. He just had that effect on me, and made me want to polish my soul.

After slipping into the pits I had been in, I knew that the only resolution was to focus on cleaning and dusting my souls.

Even though we had talked till I (mistakenly) crashed, Hamzah, like the charged proton he was, was all over everything already.

I stifled a yawn as he peeped his head around the corner of the room door, and I sat up consciously, pulling my hair into a quick pony tail.

“Assalamualaikum,” he said with a small smile. “I won’t ask if you had a good rest. You were lights out.”

I covered my face with my hands as I recalled how I had crashed on the couch. And now, I was on the bed, and I didn’t even think about how I had gotten there when I had woken up at fajr and crashed again.

”Did you have to carry me to the bed?”

It was mortifying. I couldn’t believe that I had passed our while we were in the middle of speaking. How tired was I? 

“I managed,” he said cheerfully, and I pulled the covers over my head while I heard him chuckling, right around the same time that I heard my phone vibrate next to me. “Don’t worry, you weren’t drooling. Or snoring.”

”Gee thanks,” I murmured, peeping out and catching a glimpse of Hamzah’s retreating back as I grabbed my phone and sifted through it.

There were messages from my mother, Jameela and even Muhammad Husayn. I missed my brother so much, because now that Jameela was settled and he was growing up and I had so many of my own issues, I felt like I had completely neglected him during the past few months. Lastly, Nani had tried to call – three times, and I hadn’t heard a thing.

Her message came while I held the phone on my hand.

Mohsina. Aunty Khairoon wil fetch  me early for taaleem. We will fetch u. 

And just when I was getting used to everyone not bothering about me, today, of all days, when I was planning on ignoring them all and spending time trying to figure out my feelings about my marriage, my entire family was on my case.

“Why the frown?”

It was Hamzah’s voice that rang out as I looked up at him.

”Nani,” I said softly, sitting up against the headboard and pulling the blanket up to my chin. Johannesburg was getting super cold and I couldn’t function, even though I was in my fleecy pyjamas. “You know her and taaleem. She wants to fetch me. If I tell her you’re here, she will jump to conclusions and then everyone will know that you spent the night and it will probably be posted on her WhatsApp status.”

”She’ll be thrilled,” he said blandly. “You know how she loves me.”

I didn’t want to tell him that I didn’t want everyone to know that he was here, because they loved him too much to want him with me. Also, even though he had spent the night, he had slept on the couch.

Although I didn’t want to voice it, I was sure that he too didn’t want it to be public knowledge yet and that we should rather just keep it secret for now. We had established that there were people who weren’t thrilled for us and had made it clear that our reunion, when and if it happens, will all be under wraps.

I felt like one of  those celebrity couples who the paparazzi were forever after and the strain would eventually get to their marriage. And that was exactly what happened already.

“Tell her you’re not feeling well and you’re going to the doctor-hopefully for a shot that will do some magic,” Hamzah said, stopping to pull on his jumper. “No lies there.”

I nodded and typed out a message, knowing that it may worry Nani but it was better than her turning up here and harassing me about being on top of things.

I ignored my mother’s and Jameela’s messages and snuck behind the other side of the bed to get to the bathroom, because I had actually gotten so used to being on my own that having Hamzah here was very strange indeed.

Speaking to him too, was really strange.

We spoke a lot about Rabia. About how she had gotten involved with this, and why she would do it.

And I was all for women supporting other women, but for Rabia, I just couldn’t seem to see why I should. She never had a good thing to say about people and the fact that she didn’t seem to care made me so mad.

”She really loved that necklace,” Hamzah said, remembering how it ended up at our door. There was a spare key to our apartment block at his parents house and it was obvious that she was involved. “I just don’t know what she got out of this…”

”She separated a married couple,” I said heatedly, watching Hamzah as he fiddled with the threads on the rug. “I can’t believe she would sabotage us like this. That’s so evil. She probably brought the package here after knowing thag he bought it. How she found it, I don’t know. Even if he gave it to her, why would she do this to us, knowing how much it meant to us when we were proposed?”

A lot of pieces weren’t quite fitting together but I had figured out that much. Rabia wanted us apart and would stop at nothing to have it. The fact that my son was there with her in the same house made my blood boil. I had made Hamzah call his parents to make sure that he was with them and no-one else but them. I had reached the point when I couldn’t bare the thought of her toxicity touching him.

”I think she’s really in a bad space,” Hamzah had said, and I looked at him and frowned, because it sounded like he was making excuses for her again.

The thing is, I knew that happened too. People get into bad spaces. But it wasn’t just now that it started. From inception, Rabia never made an effort to be kind.

She never made an effort to even be pleasant with me. And I know akhlaaq was when you are able to overcome those feelings and be good to that person, regardless of how the other person made you feel, but with Rabia, did she really deserve forgiveness?

“I don’t know, Hamzah,” I had said with a yawn, my eyelids feeling heavy already. “It’s hard to just forget this.”

”I know, but I’m working on forgiving her,” he said softly. “I’m angry, but I know that deep down, she’s feeling bad. I know that much and if she has to say sorry, we need to try and mend things.”

Oh my word, the man was blind.

I knew that I should have put up a fight, but I didn’t even want to start an argument. I never thought I’d say this but I just didn’t have the fight in me anymore. I was so tired.

Also, telling him about work after he left and Faadil, the confusion and heartache I felt, and watching the stony look on his face as he digested that, was really hard and exhausting.

And then when he asked me if I’d considered it, I didn’t say anything. After all, it was Hamzah who had made it clear that our marriage was one of convenience for him. We both didn’t expect to fall in love. Feelings were by the way, if he had ever felt anything he said.

And of course, he partly blamed me, for entertaining Faadil all those months, for being with him and for giving him expectations… but where I was at at that time, was somewhere he couldn’t understand. I was grieving in ways that he wouldn’t understand. I needed support and I felt that Faadil was the only one who was willing to give it to me.

I had felt deserted and abandoned in every way possible… because I had forgotten that there was a loving and caring Rabb who was always looking out for me.

And then I lost Layyanah and somehow, it returned me to Him in so many ways.

There were still many things that were left between us. We still had things to talk about. To clarify. I wasn’t sure when we would get the chance but for now I would go with him to the doctor so he could at least leave me alone to think about everything we had talked about. Nothing was happening overnight.

We still had things to speak about. He still had things he had to explain too. But the night was over and in the daytime, reality hit that much harder.

“You ready?”

I had just stepped pulled on my fancy pants, so I speedily changed and tried to ignore the unsettling in my tummy as I gulped down the rest of the coffee that Hamzah had brought me. I had lost so much of weight that most of my normal clothes didn’t even fit me. I knew that I would have been more worried if I didn’t have so much to worry about. In a way, I was glad Hamzah was forcing me into this.

I just hoped that the doctors rooms weren’t full so I wouldn’t have to wait too long there.

”Let’s get this show on the road,” I said, walking out the room after applying a tinge of make up.

And yes, I had dressed up – just a tad bit more than usual. I wanted to make Hamzah’s eyes pop slightly, the way they did when I walked past him to get my abaya. Yesterday, I may have been a frumpster, but today, I was wearing my most flattering jeans and a black top that tied up just above the buckle.

I knew that I looked good. Even slightly skinny, after losing all that weight.

By the time I pulled my cloak over and turned to look at him, I could see him deliberately turn away, and I could already feel a triumphant smile spread over my face as he did.

“Everything okay?” I asked sweetly, binning the empty coffee cup that he had brought me, and turning to the door.

Served him right for saying that we were just filling gaps with each other because we missed our best friends. Looked like he was eating his words already.

”Fine,” he said, his voice sounding slightly squeaky, as he held the door open and locked it after me. He still had his key, and I watched him put it in his pocket and avoid my gaze before he followed me to the parking lot.

Being around each other was feeling strange again, and I just wanted to get this morning over with so I could get to Zaid again. I was already thinking about the night and what it would bring, and whether he would want to talk some more, although i tried my best to stop myself from overthinking.

Instead, I knew the best thing would be to move onto neutral topics and hope that normality would shift in soon enough.

”Is Zaid still calling you ‘Hah’,” I asked with a grin, eager for news about my baby as I watched Hamzah silently reverse out the parking. He had not looked at me, or even said a word since we left the flat.

I wished I could read his thoughts.

”Yup,” he said with a shake of his head, glancing at me quickly. “And he calls my mother ‘Da’. ‘s he still calling you nothing?”

He had a small grin on his face and I whacked him on the shoulder, pouting as I remembered how Zaid refused to even acknowledge that I had a name.

At all. Zilch.

And I knew that I wasn’t his real mother, but I took comfort in the fact that at least we had got one thing right. Hamzah was hammering him with it from the time we got him.

And though I was always picked on by Nani about nurturing my phone and not my child, in those initial days of marriage and parenthood, I knew for a fact that I had tried my utmost with being a good mother. I was with Zaid every moment, went all out, breastfed and broke my sleep patterns for him. Hamzah loved him unreservedly, made sure he recited Qur’ān for him every night, and it was no wonder that at eight months, his first proper word was ‘Allah’.

And I knew that Hamzah took the credit because he had started repeating that every morning, as his morning routine when he would wake up, and Hamzah would take him to the lounge after Fajr so I could at least get a little sleep, but what mattered was that it worked.

And since then, he had said everything else beside what I was to him.

I had tried for ‘Mos’, and then for ‘Mo’ and then for ‘Na’ but he was as stubborn as Hamzah. He just looked at me blankly and pointed to everything else besides what I was asking.

Now that I was away from him, it seemed like it was going to be even harder. I didn’t need a reminder of how much of his life I was missing.

“Thanks for rubbing it in. Did you mean it when you said I can have him for a night a week?” I asked, glancing at Hamzah as he drove.

He nodded, but he was back to not meeting my eye.

I suppose being away from Zaid was hard on Hamzah too. The only solution here was if we reconciled but he didn’t bring up the topic and neither did I.

Not yet. Safer topics were best for now.

”If I say something, I usually mean it,” he said, glancing at me before turning into the parking lot for the medical centre.

I was glad that we were there because I didn’t have a pleasant retort for that. He won’t say something unless he meant it. That meant that whatever he had said in the past too, was what he meant. Or did it mean that his apology was also something that he meant more?

We were at a place where things were not yet sorted, and I felt somewhere in between with my feelings. I was recovering from a dark place, and it was scary to have to acknowledge all the work that Hamzah and I still had to in order to get better.

And I was glad that we had just reached the rooms because I didn’t want to dwell on it any more. Right then, I was just glad that Hamzah had brought me here, and even though I didn’t want to come, having some sort of reason or diagnosis to these symptoms would be a relief.

And though I was way to proud to admit it, I would have never have come on my own because I knew that doctors costed an arm and a leg. If j had to be referred to a special, I knew that I would never be able to afford the fees on my humble home industry business earnings. That was why I desperately needed the job Lesley had set up for me. Truthfully, life was damn expensive, and with every passing month, it was getting more.

But that was the grind of reality. And until we saw the way the world was, until we saw the desperation in the eyes of common folk, and realised the real trials that people go through, we never appreciate how blessed we are. Life had been easy recently, but being back in the shoes I was years ago was good for me to realise how much Allah had blessed me.

The thing is, social media tricked us into believing that everyone else’s grass is greener. That the world is beautiful and fair and affordable. There aren’t many instances we see on the gram where we are actually forced to stop and reflect on how much we actually have, because it always leaves us wanting.

And the thing is, there are are often times in our life when we prayed for, visualised, and hoped to be where we currently at.  But still, it wasn’t enough.

Once we’ve received our blessings, we often get too worried about the next thing to notice it.

The cycle of chasing the next high never ends. We refuse to be grateful for the moment and stop stressing and overthinking about what’s coming next.

The Hadith speaks about the importance of being satisfied with what we have.

If there was one valley full of gold for the son of Adam, he would long for a second valley, and nothing would fill the stomach/mouth of the son of Adam but sand (of the grave).

And it was so true, because man stopped at nothing when it came to attaining worldly attractions.

And as I thought of the reality, gratitude filled my chest as I thought of how lucky I was that I had the opportunity to come to a private doctor, when others didn’t. We didn’t often think of these things as blessings, but imagining the alternative was something that called for true reflection.

Seeing the rooms weren’t that busy yet was also a huge relief. I took a seat while Hamzah went forward for me, grateful that he wasn’t that macho male type who forced me to do things for myself, trying to avoid contact with anyone who may know me.

And I knew that I was being rude, but I was really in no mood to entertain small talk. I kept my head down and minded my own business and Hamzah came to sit next to me, and when the doctor eventually called my name, I quickly got up to go in.

Hamzah remained sitting on the couch, and for some reason, I couldn’t see myself going in there without him. I looked at him, my entire stance so desperate that the receptionist turned to him and almost demanded him to go in with me.

I gave her a grateful smile, and we had moved toward the door, suddenly extremely wary about what this would all bring.

“You okay?”

It was Hamzah asking me but before I even had a chance to answer, the doctor who we had come to see was already in view so I swallowed my excuses and looked at her and smiled.

She was a middle-aged GP who I had been to once before, and as we took a seat and exchanged pleasantries, I was reminded of the last time Hamzah and I were on a doctors room together and how awkward it had been.

I didn’t know that this was going to be even more awkward, as I told her how I was feeling lately. And yes, I know it sounded dumb, but when she looked at me after the basic questions and asked me if Hamzah and I were married, I may have looked at her a bit funny.

What on earth did that matter?

”Have you done a pregnancy test?”

”Err, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I just started a new cycle, and I’ve been on the new pill since, like, 6 weeks ago. That’s probably why I had nausea. Before that I was breastfeeding and it was the mini pills so pregancy- erm, not possible.”

I said it with great confidence and the doctor was looking at me like I was deranged, but she said nothing as she got up, handed me a paper thingum and a cup to pee in and told me that she would see me in three minutes.

I was almost laughing as I thought of how ridiculous this was, and because I knew that this was probably just a waste of time. My cycle had been normal. Almost. Maybe a bit different but not entirely absent.

“But why?” I asked, looking from her to Hamzah, who was looking ten times more awkward than the last time, and I didn’t exactly blame him.

“Let’s just rule one thing out at a time, okay?” She said with a smile, as she opened the bathroom door and ushered me in.

And of course, I was thinking of just dipping the thing in water to prove to her this was ridiculous, but she would probably be able to tell and I didn’t want to waste Hamzah’s money either.

And then, the doubts started entering my mind.

People did fall pregnant on the pill right? It wasn’t like it was unheard of. I hadn’t stopped taking it, but I knew that I hadn’t always been diligent to remember every day at the same time.

I breathed out as I put the stick in the cup, washing my hands and already feeling a little more nauseous as I handed the stick to the nurse in gloved hands, and went out to where the doctor was sitting.

And it may have been my imagination, but as I looked at Hamzah with contempt, pretty sure that I had proven my point, I was certain that he was completely avoiding eye contact.

And just as I was about to ask him if he was okay,  I barely expected the doctor to come in and hand me a sheet for bloods, almost as if she already had come to a conclusion and needed a confirmed diagnosis.

“What’s this?” I asked, taking it from her as I watched Hamzah’s face change to a peculiar sort of expression. He wasn’t looking awkward anymore. Nope. Now he was just looking  petrified.

Terrified and worried and whatever other complicated and awkward emotion came with all of those.

”Congratulations,” Doctor said with a smile, looking from Hamzah to me. “The result is positive. We need to do some bloods…”

I didn’t even hear the rest. I could barely believe it.

The news had barely even digested before I felt it all consuming me, my body already reacting to the emotions that were building up, probably over all these months.

I may have expected some kind of weird reaction to something I ate. Maybe a bug that was going around and refused to leave. Maybe even malnutrition, because of the way I’d been neglecting myself and my health the past two months.

But this. This was way beyond my wildest expectations.

And because there wasn’t much else I could do, I blinked three times as she continued to speak, almost in a daze, shook my head in absolute bewilderment, and promptly burst into tears.

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

 

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When Things head South

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 88

I truly believe that everything that happens has a deep and phenomenal reason behind it.

Life can be really hard. Confusing. Difficult too. Things do head south, every now and then. At times Allah Ta’ala is appeasing us. At times, Allah Ta’ala is testing us.

At other times, what our loving and caring Rabb is doing is paving a path for us to find our way back to him, even if it means having to stumble hopelessly along the way.

You see… the harder we chase this world, the more it will escape you.

People will hurt you, more so the ones you love the most.
You will search for peace and contentment.  You attach yourself to friends thinking your happiness is there… until you lose them.
You’ll get married hoping you’ll find it in companionship… till the point when you find out you’re wrong.

You’ll look for happiness in places where you’ll never find it. You’ll search for it in your children and still… nothing. So you’ll try harder. Search deeper. Seek it more fervently. You’ll try to bury yourself in material things with the hope of satiating yourself but still, it never comes.
And if it does, it’s only just for now… just  temporary. 

Have you noticed how any gratification you feel in this Dunya is so short lived?

The people we love will return to Allah, our children grow up and have their own lives, material happiness will never bring you and peace and the people that are dearest to you will hurt you, leaving you feeling deceived and broken… leaving you wondering when this hoax that’s called Duniyaa will end and reveal its true colours.

I scanned the article that I was skimming my slightly shaky fingers again. Things were heading south. One of the pages on the business news site I had been stalking for a month was looking at me like the most treacherous traitor.
This wasn’t good.

Not a single word about Mohsina, and Zubair was basically awol the entire month to drill about it. I knew that it wasn’t intentional and he was busy with Ramadhaan, but I really wanted to throw my phone against the wall until it smashed to millions of pieces.

“Hey grumpy!” My sister cooed, walking into the lounge as I glared at her without feeling. Sans feeling because I knew that if I felt anything at all, it wouldn’t be good news for anyone in my vicinity. As usual, her phone was attached to her hand as she froze, hand stretched out, and slanted her face to take a selfie.

The whole process just got me. I had seen it before Mohsina and I had gotten proposed. Watched her, my future fiancé at the time, countless times, put on those pouty lips, play with filters, and once, even try and drag me into that crap. Once, she had a fan girl who spotted her at our coffee shop where we used to meet, who was obsessed with having a selfie with her.
It was a sick obsession.

Selfitis.  “The obsessive, compulsive urge to take photos of one’s self and upload them on social media.” For Rabia- ‘attention seekers’. This mental disorder was named ‘selfitis’ as the people who suffer from it are generally prone to having ‘inflamed egos.’

I had read somewhere that plastic surgeons reported an uptick in the number of people asking for facial reconstruction solely because they are not happy with the way they look in selfies. I wondered how Rabia felt about that.

I watched her snap herself a few times, smile to something on her phone, and then look up at me as if I should be proud of her.

Besides being annoyed with her self-obsession, something had shifted in the air between us a few weeks back and I wasn’t entirely sure of what it was. Maybe it was the fact that Mohsina had alluded to… that Rabia was involved with the downfall of my marriage. Maybe it was the mere thought that she had been pretty scarce, despite being previously crazy about Zaid, and now, she was extremely elusive. It was almost as if something (or someone) was keeping her so busy that she couldn’t even just be who she usually was.

“You talking to me?”

My voice was cutting as I said it, really now remotely interested in whether I was being rude or not. I reached for my Qur’ān, knowing that it was the only thing that was going to bring me any peace. When everyone else had left me, when the pains of the world seemed to tire me, and when life just seemed to grate on my nerves…. Qur’ān was the only thing that soothed me. Today, I was just finding it hard to get down to it.

Rabia rolled her eyes as I ignored her, unaffected.

“Duh,” she said, her face an expression of disinterest. “You can’t sit here on your butt the whole morning, just because Zaid isn’t here. Wake your case up. We’re also here you know, and we’re also family.”

I sighed, shaking my head as I realised that she may have been right. I was softening up. Blaming her because of what Mohsina had said.

It wasn’t fair that I was taking this all out on her. There was no way Rabia would have been involved in everything that went down in my marriage. I didn’t lose sight of the fact that Mohsina had lied and pretended and it didn’t mean that Rabia too, was guilty.

I sighed and sat up, propping my hands over my knees as I watched my sister walk away. She seemed carefree. A little too dressed up, for a quiet breakfast with just my parents, but it was Eid day after all.

I sighed as I sat back on the couch, putting my Qur’ān away without reading it, missing my brother than morning. He had gone to his sister-in-law for breakfast because they would be spending the rest of the day with us, and I was looking forward to his company later. I mean, I didn’t have much else to look forward to. Imraan was the closest thing I had to a best friend now, and he always made time for me, despite his work and Jamaat work.

I didn’t even realise that I had drifted off into a half-slumber, having had an early morning, and trying to catch up on some sleep before family would join us in all their glory. When the doorbell rang, I was immediately jolted awake, and without even realising what I was doing, I knew that I wanted to get to the door before anyone else did.

I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was the tiredness. Or maybe it was the yearning, after over a month of not seeing her. The last day we had spent together was still etched in my mind, as I recalled the feelings that accompanied it, wondering how we had morphed into enemies in such a short span of time.

The fact was that even though I hated what she’d done to me, I was aching to see her. She was still my wife, and some feelings were hard to change.

I was well aware that Zaid was scheduled to be back anytime now. My mother had made sure of that, knowing that I would hit the roof if I didn’t have Zaid here for lunch and supper, because as far as custody went, he was supposed to be with me.

Mohsina was obligated to fulfil my request, or she knew that she had another court battle to face. I knew that she didn’t want that, and I knew that she would do anything to avoid clashing with me in.

My legs were already pulling me toward the door, before I heard my mother coming from down the passage, and I yanked it open, barely even thinking properly before I glimpsed her grim face.

It had been a long time. A long time since I’d seen my wife, who simultaneously looked so angelic, yet completely objectionable at the same time. Seeing her felt like my heart was filled again, and then immediately cracked open in a beat.

She stood there, our son on her hip, her one hand holding him, while the other cupped over her mouth while she glanced and me with wide eyes, literally dumped Zaid into my arms, dropped the bag at the door and pushed past me as she rushed down the passage to the first door on the left.

Bathroom.

I was too stunned to speak.

Also, I felt like an obsessed freak as I savoured the brush of her shoulder against mine, wondering at what point I had gotten to this level where I craved her simple touch.

It took me a few seconds to recover. With Mohsina’s health-freak (only regarding Zaid) eating habits, his mouth was stuffed with a piece of dry mango, and I looked around outside, wondering how come she hadn’t brought the nanny/helper with her today. It had been a new development of hers, before I had moved out, because she had expected office visits to take up her time with Zaid, and she didn’t want it to upset her time with her court cases.

My mother was already at the front room, and I could already see her confused expression as she watched me standing there, at the door, probably wondering why on earth I had decided to answer it. I had been in Mujaahid mode from the beginning of Ramadhaan,

I couldn’t stop thinking about her rush to get to the bathroom, and as my ears attuned to the not-so-subtle retching behind closed doors, I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows, wondering what on earth my wife was doing, driving around by herself when she was clearly unwell.

And then, came the anger.

What on earth was wrong with her? She could have phoned for someone to fetch him at least. Why the hell did she always have to prove something, over and over again, as if she was some superwoman?

“Everything okay?”

My mothers voice was softer as she ventured closer, her eyes on the closed door next to us.

Zaid’s arms stretched out toward her as she approached, his monosyllabic expressions cuter than ever. As he grew, learned to speak and wobbble around, he was begiining to become irresistable to every woman who saw him. A simple trip to the grocery store wit him warranted way too many female interactions. I still, for the life of me, could not understand how my dear wife had just abandoned him without a fight.

I grunted in response to my mothers question, my expression showing very obviously how not okay everything was.

I wasn’t supposed to be doing this. I didn’t want to be here, worrying about Mohsina and what could possibly be wrong with her. I didn’t want to have this deep-rooted concern that made me feel as if I’d give up everything and anything to just have a normal conversation with her again.

The sound of the toilet flushing brought me back to reality as I looked at my mother walking toward the window, knowing that she wanted to give Mohsina and I time to talk.

The truth was, as much as I wanted to scratch the itch I had to see her, to engage in actual conversation with her was a little bit of a stretch. The thing with my mother was that she never took sides. She remained annoyingly neutral throughoutb the entire ordeal, and evn though I know that I didn’t tell her the full story, I still expected loyalty from her at least.

“So sorry,” Mohsina almost coughed, her breathing slightly labored as she pulled the door behind her, and I automatically took a step away, toward the lounge entrance. My mother turned from where she was at the window and smiled at her.  “I think it was the something I ate. Can I fetch him tomorrow morning. It’s been a while since he’s been home and Jameela really wanted to spend time with him…”

She was addressing my mother, but her voice was loud enough for me to hear, and I knew it was her intention.

I wanted to respond, but I knew that speaking would only make Mohsina feel like she’d won one of the the silent battles we were fighting. I was being immature and petty but I couldn’t help it.

I was already in the lounge again as they spoke, deliberately drowning out the words that they were saying, before I finally heard the two of them greet and the front door close. I breathed out a huge sigh of relief as I realized that she had finally left, wanting to get Zaid, but realizing as soon as I stepped out that he had fallen asleep on my mother’s shoulder while the two of them were chatting.

“She looked lovely,” my mother said, her expression wistful as she entered the lounge and placed Zaid on the couch there. “Lost even more weight too. I hope she is taking care of herslf.”

Why? I wanted to ask. Why must she hope for good things for Mohsina when she had made me feel like this? 

My mother was one of those rare gems who thrived through every situation. Always looked for the best. Ignored the bad. Accepted the flaws. Never read into anything. She took everything at face value and she never bothered with any of the usual gossip that went around.

Honestly, my mother was one of the few people I knew who actually had the gift of amazing character, and Ramadhaan had done wonders to her, making her the sort of person who saw no wrong in anything, and wanted to hear nothing either.

Also, my bitterness was out of control that day, after a month. It was as if Shaytaan had been injected into my veins, and was running circuits all around my blood stream. My heart was already rusting, and it was only a day after Ramadhaan.

I took a deep breath in, trying to understand that all my mother wanted fro me was the best. She wanted us to patch things up. She wanted to believe that this would all blow over. She hoped and believed that there was a way out here.

“Ma, stop emotionally blackmailing him.”

I didn’t even notice Rabia entering the room, but I immediately turned to glare at her, as my mother frowned, picking up Zaid to take him to another room. Rabia was always loud. I didn’t exactly want him to wake up right then.

Honestly, it was as if no matter what anyone said, nothing was good enough. Even I could admit it to myslef, and my twin sister was one step ahead.

“Oh, get over yourself, Hamzah,” she snapped, her voice sounding exasperated as she plopped herself on the couch next to me. “It’s no use reading all that Qur’ān and acting all pious when you can’t even treat people with dignity. I think you need to stop moping and go somewhere to calm yourself down. What about the ijtima? I’ll look after Zaid. Teach him how to walk properly.”

I wanted to tell her that he had a mother, but I didn’t want to bring Mohsina up right then. Also, I hated when people say that. It’s no use acting pious when blah blah blah.

Also,  you know… even though she may have had a point about attending the ijtima, I was bitter.

And she may have an idea. I needed to do something for myself. I felt like a mother hen who was always worrying about her child.

I scowled.

“You know,” she said, scrunching up her face and looking thoughtful. “I was watching this one documentary about a guy who was going through all these emotional issues and they couldn’t figure what on earth was wrong with him. Eventually, after doing scans, they realised that there was a worm in his brain that was eating all his happy hormones.”

”You need to stop watching junk,” I deadpanned, knowing that Rabia watched Netflix sometimes till late hours at night.

I had caught her a few times when I was trying to make Zaid sleep, because she would laugh so loud that I had to tell her to calm down. Ramadhaan was no exception for her.

I wasn’t judging. I just didn’t know what had happened to the pious, good-girl persona that she had always played the part of.

“Maybe you have a worm eating all your good stuff,” she said with a smirk. “And as for those dumb things I like to watch… your ex-wife had also been pretty obsessed with them at one point.”

My ex-wife.

She was playing dirty and I knew it. I decided to ignore her. For one, Mohsina and I were not actually divorced. We had signed a paper for business reasons, and that was it. For two, if we had to speak about our sins, I knew that I had way more than them both.

Keeping quiet here was the best solution. I knew the deal. If you desire that Allah conceals you on the day of Qiyaamah, then the tongue must be controlled.

The matter of concealing the faults of others is mentioned in numerous hadith of the Prophet, peace and blessings of Allah be upon him. In particular, we find the following:

“O gathering who believe with their tongues but faith has yet to enter into their hearts, do not backbite the Muslims. And do not search into their private matters. Whoever searches for their private matters will have Allah follow up his private matters. And whose private matters Allah follows, He will expose him even [if his act were done] in his house.” (Recorded in Ahmad and Abu Dawood)

After Ramadhaan, it was just that much easier to fall into that trap of saying something bad. Of losing control of the tongue. It was like the filter on our mouths immediately get removed.

”Did she come to leave Zaid,” Rabia pressed, not getting the message, her eyes scanning my face as she tapped on her phone intermittently. “Did you see her? Or did mummy open? Did you talk?”

I found it strange that she knew that Mohsina was here yet she always avoided her. Once again. I wondered if there was any truth in Mohsina’s statement when we had our bust up.

My mother had returned to the room, but she looked extremely deep in thought, opening the curtains and fluffing up cushions for the visitors. I took a cushion as she passed and covered my head with it. Let her answer her.

”Hey.”

She had poked me in the ribs as she said it, and I knew that I would probably snap if she didn’t go away. I needed some sleep so I could deal with the day ahead in the best possible frame of mind, and Rabia was testing my patience.

“Mum!” She almost shouted to my mother. “He’s ignoring me!  Did you open for Mohsina? What was she wearing? I see she bought Zaid his cutie outfit! Are they wearing the same colour?! Is she coming back to take him?”

Way too many questions. And way too loud. And why on earth was she so invested in my wife? 

”She came,” my mother said, sounding faint through the pillow. “She and Zaid were matching. She said she wants to take him tomorrow if Hamzah agrees. She hasn’t been taking him previously. She didn’t seem… well.”

”What do you mean?” Rabia asked, and I knew that my mother had her full attention now.

I wasn’t sure what was Rabia’s obsession with Mohsina but I really didn’t appreciate it, seeing how everything went down.

“Sick,” my mother said briefly, probably realising that mentioning that was unnecessary. “She mentioned that it was something she ate. Anyway, I think that her family really enjoyed Zaid. It’s been over a month that they saw him…”

”What do you mean it was something she ate?” Rabia asked, suddenly fixated on her condition. “Did she have like… morning sickness?!”

Trust Rabia to spot the elephant in the room.

The moment she said it, my mother cleared her throat, and I was already too intrigued not to look at her expression.

Yes. Okay. For one (hopeful) moment, I had thought the same as I heard her retching in the bathroom, but I didn’t dare say it loud.

Morning sickness.

That would mean a baby. But that would also mean that Mohsina was in a space where she wanted to fall pregnant in the first place, which was never true. Those things weren’t in our hands but in our short history of bliss, she had been pretty well prepared and made sure she did everything to prevent it.

She had always been on the pill, even before we had gotten married. Not my choice. Probably something to do with Faadil that I didn’t want to think about. I mean, the thought of littel Faadil scared me too. She was insistent on changing the type and not stopping when she started breastfeeding, but she had made me understand why we didn’t want our own kids right then.

Actually, Mohsina had pretty much forced me to agree. She said that it made sense, with Zaid and all the emotional baggage.

My mother was glancing wearily from me to Rabia, but I shook my head, saying that it wasn’t possible and dismissing the idea.

If she was, she would have known by now, and she would have used her situation to at least evoke some compassion from me, because I gave her none, which she didn’t.

“Well, if she’s trying to play some game by making you think that, then that’s really low,” Rabia scoffed, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I mean, how desperate can she be?”

I blinked. Low?

Mohsina didn’t strike me as the desperate type. Seeing her crying for the first time had made me realise how self-sufficient she had always been. Also, she had no way of knowing that I was going to answer the door before she decided to puke her guys out.

”Rabia,” my mother said in a warning tone. “She herself said it was something she ate. Can you please go and do something more productive like take out the salad things for lunch. We have five trays to make. I need to talk to Hamzah.”

Surprisingly, Rabia sighed and rolled her eyes, stalking to the kitchen while my mother hovered over me.

“You sure there’s no possibility that there’s a baby on the way?”

Her voice was soft and hopeful, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment as I heard her.

Mohsina would probably rather die than have my baby right now.

I shook my head.

No hope. At all. i didn’t want to give my mother a false sense of assurance because I was done with hope for that day.

As much as I tried to be hopeful for us all, I knew that my hope wasn’t going to pull me through. I was in a bad space, now, more than ever. I just needed to pull myself out of this situation. Be more positive. Believe that hope, really, never is a mistake.

And I wasn’t sure how it was going to happen. All I was doing was waiting for that day to be over.

And it was getting there slowly. Seeing my grandparents and aunties soothed my spirit to a certain extent. Being spoilt by them made me forget about the gaping hole in my life. When family surrounded you, it was easy to feeling a little more secure… a little less lonely… and a little more loved. Alhumdulillah.

Lunch had just been served and everyone was already tucking in, grateful for family, love and just being together on this blessed day. Zaid was with Saaliha, who was almost back to her normal self and was even more crazy about him than before, and the day was soon coming to a close.

No-one anticipated the knock on the door at that time. No-one anticipated the chain of events that would follow, because when the bell rang, no one anticipated that things would go all the way down the way they would.

There was a feeling in the air that day, and I wasn’t quite sure whether it meant that things would get better or whether they would go south. What I didn’t even think about was that things could still go south, before getting better.

Sometimes it was hard to see the light that was shining way in the distance.

When the buzzer rang, no one really knew the direction things were headed, but what unfolded was something that lit a path to a truth that was long overdue to be exposed …

---

Mission Sunnah revival: Sunnah of Duaa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

The Not so Little Things

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 84

Life is so uncertain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. I was officially obsessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are my favourite place to be. – Z

Swoon.

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

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

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

I typed back a quick reply.

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

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

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

Me: What about my opinion?

I waited a few seconds for Maahira’s reply.

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

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

My phone buzzed again.

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

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

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

Me: Wait, don’t go.

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

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

Maahira’s reply took a while.

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

But she may know this one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What on earth was going on?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The puzzle pieces were slowly fitting into place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Dearest Readers

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

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

Much Love

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

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

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

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

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

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

When we Break the Rules

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 83

Buzz.

What are you guys up to today?

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

And me.

Up way too early for my liking. You? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Ohmahgosh,” I sighed hopelessly.

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

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

But of course, I didn’t.

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

Buzz.

Two unread messages.

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

Barf.

You guys going far? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He touch his index fingers to my lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My word.

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

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

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

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

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

I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

”What are we doing?”

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

“What are we doing here?”

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

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

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

Be still my beating heart. Be still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smooth. Very smooth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I couldn’t help but smile at that.

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

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

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

I gaped at him. “Serious?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Euw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I didn’t want to hear him say it.

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

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

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

“I want you to come back to me.”

---

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

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

Much Love,

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

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

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

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

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

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Scars that tell Stories

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 82

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

And to yearn more for Jannah.

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

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

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

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

(Tirmizee Shareef)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tales of heroism were awe-inspiring.

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

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

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

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

Stop obsessing over Zubair in general.

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

I wriggled my toes as I stretched my arms out, trying to silently shift away to head off to the bathroom and do the whole fluffing out my hair, looking normal and brushing my teeth thing when he suddenly shifted again next to me, already awake and turning to face me, and my heart felt like it was about to burst from happiness when he looked at me and smiled.

I honestly could not believe that this was all normal and halaal and I already felt that I was drifting on some kind of elevated cloud fifty-nine.

“Hey beautiful,” he murmured, touching my nose lightly with his index finger. “Assalamualaikum.”

I could barely breathe. I mean, I knew that he was my husband and I had to get over it at some point but the ease in which he embraced everything made him feel like a dream.

“Wa alaikum salaam,” I almost whispered, like a dork, staring into his mesmerising eyes as the morning light shone through the cotton curtains.

And then of course, I covered my mouth immediately because even though we weren’t so close together I knew that morning breath could be a knock out and I didn’t want to scare him away already.

I could live with waking up to this every morning.

“You up early?” He said softly, still giving me that intense look as he spoke, half yawning it’s his own mouth covered, a slight frown forming on his face, almost as if he didn’t like the fact that I was up so early.

“I’m- err,” I started, because I didn’t want to give him the impression that I was a spoilt brat who couldn’t sleep without block-out blinds. “Just can’t sleep once I’m awake for the day. And Mohsina had messaged to let me know that she may not be contactable today. She and Hamzah are going somewhere out of range.”

Of course I couldn’t tell him that I was sitting and staring at him like a weirdo while he slept. And Mohsina had woken me up earlier with a text to say that she hoped I was okay. I wanted to ask her more about what they were up to but I also knew that things were a little fragile between her and Hamzah, and Mohsina wasn’t always eager to share feelings.

I finished my excuse weakly as he broke eye contact and turned on his back again to face the ceiling. I had a feeling he was thinking about Hamzah too. I knew that the two of them were close, and as he lifted his arm to type a quick message on his phone, the crooked mark on his arm was visible again and I instinctively touched it lightly, not expecting him to flinch as I did. He put his phone away and turned his face to look at me.

“Sorry,” I said, immediately retracting my hand as an unknown emotion suddenly flashed across his face.

It was a milliseconds before it faded, and then he suddenly smiled, as if to cover it up, reaching out for the hand that touched it, grasping it in his own, and shook his head.

His reaction was so confusing.

“No need to be sorry,” he said quietly, bringing my knuckles to his lips. “Was just sending a quick message. Scars really fascinate you, don’t they?”

I swallowed and nodded as he turned to me again, looking like he was contemplating deeply.

Yours do, I wanted to tell him, but I wisely kept silent, because I was feeling a little weird about what had just happened.

The cotton sheets were pulled up to my shoulders to cover the straps of my cute but slightly revealing pyjama set that Maahira had sent for me via express courier that week from London, and I felt weird to have them anywhere but up to my chin. The daylight was a stark contrast to the privacy that the night had presented, and I felt like we were starting all over again in some ways.

As morning came, all awkwardness was now in full force.

I was shy and conscious now, and I worried if I was being too forward and nosy by asking these questions. Zubair wasn’t an easy person to read.

Nani would probably scoff at me and say that I had no shame, asking the man about marks on his body. She was probably right, and I couldn’t believe I actually admitted that she was right about something. In actuality, she kind of redeemed herself when she behaved at the Niikah and reception, despite feeling disappointed about her darling doctorsaab.

The thing was, marrying Zubair it felt like I was unwrapping this huge present full of goodies and I didn’t want to stop until I revealed every one.

”You don’t have to tell me about it,” I added quickly, as he shook his head and sat up, placing his feet on the floor, his back to me as he pulled a blue t-shirt over his head, still not turning to face me.

”You have a right to know,” he said, not looking at me as he spoke. “But it’s nothing courageous like you think… or some mark of bravery. It was a reminder of who I was. A symbol that the people I worked for used to use when you pass your first test. It was a tattoo that I removed.“

A tattoo?

it was the first time I’d ever heard of anyone I know having a tattoo.

I didn’t know what to say. I knew that tattoos were haraam, but I knew that it was also becoming some sort of trend for young people despite that.

“So you removed it when you realised that you needed to change your life?” I asked him.

He turned to me and shrugged.

“I removed it when I found out that all my ibaadat may have been completely futile since getting it. Years went by and to think that not a thing I did might have been accepted… I was devastated- having that reminder of the very thing that tainted me would have ruined me a li. I had to remove it. The scar is there for life.”

The scar. He said it with such venom, as if he hated everything it meant to him.

This man. This man. He just got me. Every time.

Zubair had changed his life, AFTER he got the ink. Many may argue that what is in the past, has past away.

There were far greater crimes that were committed in the times of ignorance, where they use to bury their little daughters alive out of feeling ashamed of having girl after girl and no sons.

They were forgiven for such a horrendous act, and yet, he took it on him to remove that evidence.

Despite the fact that the process of tattoo removal was probably torturous and expensive, he chose to remove it because he was so intent on changing everything about his life.

Despite that fact that our Creator knows everything, inside and out.

He didn’t wait for some loophole or favourable fatwa or take a chance. He wanted to erase every bit of his sordid past.

“Was it painful?” I asked softly, watching as he slipped on his shoes emotionlessly, already switching the kettle on for coffee. Sometimes I wondered if he truly let himself feel. It was like he was surviving on autopilot.

I sat up against the wall behind the bed, knowing that I should probably stop being so lazy but still feeling like extremely self conscious about my strappy pyjamas. It wasn’t completely indecent but I wasn’t exactly ready to be so forthcoming either.

“It was more uncomfortable than painful,” he said, frowning slightly as he probably recalled the sensation of that on his skin. “But it needed to be done. And I stuck out the pain because I was stupid enough to get it.. I didn’t exactly have the guidance I needed in my teenage years to know that it wasn’t allowed. It was before Nusaybah left that my uncle started to contact me, and my father had already given up on parenting way before that. It all downhill from there. I was just sinking lower and lower and my uncle had no mercy for cowards, even though he was one himself.”

He said the last part with a certain edge to his voice, like he usually spoke about his uncle, and I desperately wanted to ask him more.

“Did he do anything bad to you?” I asked, softly, but loud enough for him to hear as he sat on the office chair and wheeled around to face me.

There was a mixture of pain and grief on his face as he looked at me, and I instantly regretted asking him. I so badly wanted to take all that pain and tuck it away; where he would never had to feel it again.

“He did enough,” he said bluntly, instantly closing up now completely, his face blank as I could see him putting up walls as I looked at him. It was like the mention of his uncle immediately shut him down. “My uncle is not a kind man.”

I noted how he spoke in present tense, sensing that emotions surged through him like never before.

I hated that I had said something that brought it back for him, and I hated that he still looked so vulnerable when I asked him. I didn’t care about slightly revealing pyjamas anymore.

Zubair had now morphed into a somewhat of a little child as he sat there, and all I wanted to do was go over and hug him fiercely, so he would know that he didn’t have to worry about his uncle and he was safe now.

Well, I hoped that was true, of course.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, shoving off the covers as I  got up and moved toward him, as the dazed look in his eyes lifted and he met my eye once again. “I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone who you could turn to, or who could protect you.”

He shook his head as I reached him, losing pluck to embrace him as I sat on the floor next to him, trying to stay as close to him as I possibly could, not knowing whether I could hols him or not.

It was weird, and Zubair wasn’t always someone who I knew how to read. Right now, he was all stiff and untouchable, and I could tell that emotion was hard for him. I instantly wondered whether not being able to touch him at times had to do with something that happened in his past.

Was it possible that this man was scarred more deeply from a pain that existed within? I didn’t want to even think of the possibilities. There was definitely a story that he didn’t want to tell.

“It’s not your fault,” he said stiffly, his body rigid now, as he pulled out two cups. “I didn’t have many people I trusted. I didn’t have the kind of upbringing where right and wrong was always clear cut. And yesterday, well, I felt like when Maulana spoke, he gave a bayaan just for me that I really wouldn’t ever forget because it really hit home.”

I looked at him as he said it, wondering what the Maulana had spoken about.

”What sterling marriage advice did Maulana give?” I asked with a smile, really curious now.

For him to remember that on his Nikah day, it must have been really quite something.

“He spoke about Tarbiyah of kids,” Zubair said simply, and my grin immediately turned into a flush that made me feel only slightly embarrassed as he said kids.

On his handsome face was a tiny smile that I could barely decipher. Kids. Okay. It’s a teeny bit too soon but I suppose it wasn’t completely off the charts to talk about.

“Don’t get alarmed,” he said, his greener eye darkening with the dry humour. “I know you guys have Zaid and it’s been a transition and to be honest, I don’t even know how I feel about kids. I just really felt it deeply when Maulana spoke about Tarbiyah, and how kids need nurturing. I know how much I lacked growing up. Now… its like as a new generation… we have so much to learn… with technology and always being so distracted, there’s so much we still need to master to ever be worthy of being parents. I know that I’m still young but it worries me that I’ve been so off track and that I’ll never reach that stage…”

His concerned expression caught me by surprise. It took me a few seconds to realise that he was scared, but not by some external factor. He was scared of himself.

“You’re not your father, Zubair,” I said softly, remembering him telling me that his father was too caught up in his own grief to really worry about Zubair after his mother passed away. Nusaybah was left as the one kid who raised the other. “Or your uncle.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said roughly, running his hands through his hair and giving me a sideways glance. “I managed somehow. I eventually realised that I had destroyed the better part of my life with sins, and when I found Allah… I realised something else so valuable that it turned my entire life around.”

I knew that his past was filled with things he wasn’t proud of. But being an orphan, and feeling like you were all alone was something that made me feel so sorry for the littel boy that he was once.

“And what was that?”

I almost whispered it as I watched him pour water from the boiled kettle, while his pretty eyes stayed fixed on the cups in front of him.

And then, he looked at me, his brown eye twinkling ever so slightly as he spoke.

أَلَيْسَ اللَّهُ بِكَافٍ عَبْدَهُ

(Surah al-Zumar, Ch.39, V. 37)

“Is Allah not sufficient for His Slave?” He said quietly, his voice so passionate when he spoke, and I realised, not for the first time, how much Zubair had taken upon himself. How much he had dealt with, all these years, on his own. How much he had truly believed and felt that verse that he had just uttered.

“And what am I, if not His ‘abd?” he continued, his gorgeous teeth now visible as he gave a small smile. “Whatever Allah wills for His slave, whatever trial He brings my way… for all the darkness within me, all those wasted years…. how can I not reform myself if Allah has said that He is enough to be by my side?”

I breathed out as he said it, tears flooding me eyes and my heart not able to hold all the emotion that seemed like his realisation was choking me with.

He was hurting in so many ways. Over his past. Over his father. Over his uncle.

I desperately wanted him to be free of if all, but I knew that I could never help him unless he let me. And I had to try.

“Zubair, you’re not who you think you are,” I said softly, touching his arm. “Maybe your father was too caught up in his grief and disappointment to know better. He should be honoured to have you as a son. He would be if he saw you now. You’ve change so much. Allah is so happy with you, you have no idea.”

”He knows the real me, Jameela,” Zubair said curtly, obviously not believing a word I had said. “And my father sees me for who I am. There’s nothing to be proud of.”

He said it as if it was common knowledge and I refused to accept it, as he promptly added a jar of sugar to the coffee tray.

”You deserve to be happy, Zubair,” I argued with him, frowning as I watched him carry the tray to the table near the window.

“And I don’t deserve you. I’m not just a black heart, Jameela. I am darkness. Disgraced by my sins and scars. You… on the other hand… are nothing but light and hope, and I still don’t deserve you.”

I couldn’t help but feel my heart clenching at his words that he was and never will be good enough. His feelings about me did nothing to douse the rising anger at his constant self-bashing.

He had settled the tray near the window and I couldn’t help but think that it was the perfect spot to sit and enjoy the scenery that the outdoors offered.

Now I know why Zubair loved this little house. Why he also holed himself up here and never came out, to grace others with his presence.

I wanted to shout to him, to let him know that he was wrong. He thought so little of himself. He didn’t realise who he was. How much he had to offer. All he saw was blackness and jagged scars deep beneath the surface, that were still bleeding in ways he didn’t know.

He was drowning in self-doubt and denial that he was worthy of so much more. Carrying on like this was not a way to live. It was difficult and hurtful, causing him so much more than was necessary.

He was convinced that he deserved no good in his life, and I had already made up my mind that I was going to save him from himself, whether he wanted me to or not.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: Thinking well of others 

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

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

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

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

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

Falling into Place

Bismihi Taala

Mohsina 

Part 81

Most definitely, the fact that everything eventually falls into place is only a sign of Allah Ta’ala’s favour upon us.

And I know people often say that nothing is perfect and can ever be perfect, but in all honesty, how everything seemed to work out for Jameela that week, I was already a firm believer in miracles.

It was beautiful, not to mention, so emotional watching it all unfold. I couldn’t help but tear up at the sentimentality of it, although I knew that the one certainty was that it had nothing to do with me.

Despite the niggling feeling something was amiss. Despite clearly knowing that Rabia was being a Karen for reasons I had no idea about. Despite knowing that this may be the last day I spent with my family as a whole. Despite the looming clouds above, because I was waiting for something to go wrong.

Some words were extremely difficult to say. Their emotions were overwhelming.

Yet when it all went down, despite what we know about Zubair and his past, what we saw when everything came together was merely a bond of human amongst human. This was such a huge step for both of them. It was such a courageous decision that would bring so much of sweetness and fulfilment and hopefully an influx of joy.

Jameela could really not wipe that gorgeous smile off her face. She was happy and bubbly and just the sight of Zubair after the Nikah had got her all psyched up.

I, on the other hand, was exhausted. I had been buzzing around, sourcing items for the supper from various places, really having no time for anything else.

Family was plentiful. My cousins were set on blocking all the hallways and huddling in the corners, giggling away, and for once, I wasn’t annoyed. All I wanted to do was embrace this moment and live for this day, because I didn’t know what tomorrow was going to hold for me, and I really didn’t even want to…

My heart was immersed in love. Full to the brim,  and for a second there I had this ridiculous idea that everything was going to be okay. I didn’t want to think about anything else. For now, I just wanted to be here. Present.

“They make such a cute couple,” my cousin Nasreen was cooing, and for a moment there, I was shocked that she could be pleasant.

I could see her eyes lingering a little too long on Zubair but hey, I didn’t judge. All I wanted to do was tell her that he was already married so she could stop checking him out.

She had already caught me looking at her watching him and quickly turned away, at least having the decency to look embarrassed about it.

I never understood the whole lowering your gaze thing until I actually got duped into Zinaa. The gaze was so powerful, and the effect that a stray glance could cause was destructive to even who we would regard as the most pious of people.

But I didn’t judge.

We all had our things. We just have to make sure that our hearts are filled with regret, and that Taubah becomes a way of life for us.

I sighed as I switched my gaze over to Nani holding up two trays of Jalebi, and I couldn’t help but smile as she shooed everyone out the way while she made my cousins pass it around. For someone who wasn’t thrilled about this wedding, she was sure acting like an obsessed grandparent, and I couldn’t have been happier to see her there.

Zubair had awkwardly greeted her when he came in with his doctor brother-in-law, and I could see her shellshocked expression as she witnessed his very modest and normal behaviour. I had a feeling that she thought that he would come striding in here with a mafia gang and AK47 and her carefully constructed image had been tarnished. Shem.

I stifled a giggle as I watched her awkwardly greet, and then came Hamzah who as usual, started with his usual busy buttering Nani up as she put her coy face on.

“Naans, the way you make these sweetmeats, next time we‘re going to get proposals for you,” Hamzah said easily, stuffing his mouth with both Jalebi and burfee, as if he was the groom in the scenario.

Ooh, but judging from Nani’s flushed face, I couldn’t deny that he was good with the swindling. Really good.

”I didn’t get time to make all this when you got married,” Nani said to him apologetically, patting his back after she recovered. “I can’t remember why…”

Nani looked genuinely confused as she tried to recall our wedding week, and though it was a blur for me, I still remember how consumed by grief everyone was at the time.

There was no talk of fancy eats or tableware. All we could think of was how much we wanted Liyaket and Layyanah to be there, and yet the fact that we had lost them was the only reason the nikah actually happened. I remember feeling awakened by the tragedy and broken by the memories of their own wedding day too, wishing for Layyanah’s comforting words or for Liyaket’s contagious laugh to fill the house.

“Things were a little different back then,” Hamzah said quietly, but loud enough for me to hear, as he swallowed back what looked like a helluva lot of emotion. I wanted to reach out and hold him, but my body seemed so rigid and frozen in place.

I stole a look at my husband’s form, in his darker coloured kurta today, and for some reason, I felt like I was already missing him.

”But if you get married, Naans, we’ll make sure it’s all sorted out,” Hamzah stated, recovering quickly as he flashed his one-dimpled smile at Nani and winked.

Nani’s face immediately flushed again as she whacked him with the wooden spoon, and the two carried on with their banter. I turned away promptly, feeling the need to escape.

Maybe I should call Saaliha. She had  said she wanted to chat to me later but didn’t want to divulge what it was about until the nikah was over. She had said if was something private and I assumed that it may have had something to do with her pregnancy. Whatever it was, I was determined to do whatever I needed to help her.

I breathed in as I backed myself against the wall in the kitchen scullery, hiding from everyone and taking a minute to breathe and settle my steady heart.

I knew that Zaid was with my Choti Kala, who was down for the week, and I couldn’t have been more thrilled to see how she and Zaid knocked it off. I literally wanted to whoop with joy when I saw her, knowing that she was the only person besides Maahira that I could actually tell about the court case. She had listened to me for a full half hour last night, and didn’t stop or interrupt me to tell me what a useless failure I was. She sympathised with Hamzah, but more importantly, she sympathised with me… and I needed that.

I needed someone to see that yes, although I had made mistakes and done stupid things, I wasn’t all bad.

I was about to reach for it when my phone pinged on the counter next to me and I reached over to see a message from Maahi.

How’s the new bride?

Maahira herself had been on a Samoosa run slash friend introduction in London and she was unsuccessfully trying to dodge a guy that seemed to be pretty invested in it, while she, however, wasn’t.

From what my cute and curvy friend told me, he was trying so hard to impress her, but all she said was that he wasn’t her type. I actullay felt quite sorry for him when she gave me her tight reply.

Stop grilling me. I only messaged to check on my baby sis. Give her all my love. Duaas always x

I shook my head while I reminded myself that I needed to go and check on my sister, and as I stashed my phone and made my way to the room door, I wasn’t sure whether to knock or just wait for the two of them to come out.

It had been almost 45 minutes, and I had planned for half an hour, so that we could get Jameela changed and ready for supper on time.  A single, small function was our main priority, and even though it was at home, with Maghreb salaah in a few minutes, I knew that as much as he probably didn’t want to, Zubair had to leave the room soon.

I could feel myself feeling slightly nervy for my sister as I walked down the passage, still looking at my phone as Maahira gave me a brief account of her encounter with Mr Chunky, as she called him.

I tried to ignore the queasy feeling in my tummy, almost certain that it was brought on by the events of the day and the array of emotions of the past few weeks. I smiled as Maahi sent funny gif with some girl falling over laughing, barely feeling the eyes on me as I approached the doorway of Jameela’s room.

“What’s so funny?”

I almost jumped as I heard his voice, looking up immediately to see Hamzah’s brown eyes gazing at me intently.

He looked almost contemplative as he watched me, and for a moment, I felt so self-conscious that I didn’t know what to say. We had been avoiding each other (more me than him) for the past two days, mainly because I didn’t want to face up to what was going to happen soon. I figured cutting myself loose would make this easier for me. I didn’t think about what it would do to him.

“Just chatting to Maahi,” I said, stashing my phone in my abaya pocket and meeting his eye. I didn’t know what else to say. Saying more about her would mean more conversation, which would mean dragging him further into my life and I didn’t want to do that.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said quietly, and I realised that this passage was seeming increasingly narrow as we stood there and stared at each other like dimwits. “Running away. And I don’t like it.”

I breathed out as I tried to figure out what to do with my hands. I felt exposed, without my phone as my fidget toy. I felt like Hamzah was reading right into my soul, as he stared at me in the poorly lit passage. The noise down the hallway continued, but the two of us were almost stuck in time.

“Can I ask you something?”

His voice was still soft, and the door next to us was still closed. I was sure that their time was running out.

I nodded slowly, scanning his facial expression, and letting my eyes drop down to his chest, which was heaving a little more intensely than usual. My own heartbeat picked up as I wondered what he would say.

“Do you ever have regrets about our wedding day?” He asked softly, an expression flashing across his face, almost as if it pained him to say it. “Do you… ever… wish it wasn’t with me?”

His chest heaved slightly as he said it, and my own eyes filled with tears as I heard the fear in his voice.

All the Nikah vibes in the air had probably got his mind working and thinking all these obscene thoughts. The past week had been crazy with preparation and putting last minute things together, and for once, I was glad to have the distraction.

But what killed me was the fact that he he even thought this. I could not believe he actually asked that. How could he ever say that?

Yes, I knew that it wasn’t how we imagined it. It was rushed and for convenience and it was barely romantic. We had Zaid as our glue that was desperately trying to glue us together, and we had him as our first priority in everything that we did.

But, it still didn’t change the fact that I would have always chosen to do it with Hamzah. There was no question about that.

I frowned as I watched my husband now, his eyes telling a story that I’d never heard before. To think of Hamzah as threatened and insecure was a completely foreign concept for me.

Also, I hated that this happened and I knew that right then would not be a good time to say that I received a text from an unsaved number that I recognised as Faadil’s. I had deleted it and blocked him, but the fact that he had messaged me still threw me completely.

I was already shaking my head before I answered. There was no way that I had ever wanted it to be anyone but him. If he was talking about Faadil, he had no idea what that man had done to me. I didn’t want to think of what the content of that message may have been.

“Never,” I said with affirmation, looking him in the eye. “I’d never been so sure of anything else in my life, when I chose to marry you.”

Hamzah’s relief was palpable, but there were still questions in his eyes.

He wanted to know why. Why then, was I still willing to throw It all away. Materialistic possessions and status meant nothing to him. The pain and hurt this was causing was more than I void stomach, but for me, it was worth all that. It was my way of protecting him… his respect, his izzat.

I had been involved in so much of sin, and I couldn’t bear him to come down because of it.  Seeing the look in his eyes reminded me of how off track I had been, and more than anything, I wanted to right everything that was wrong.

And I knew I shouldn’t be thinking that way, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late… was it too far gone?

Maybe it was just too much of sin. I always knew and believed that thing with zinaa was that you were punishing yourself twice. First, is the punishment that Allah promises when you do the actual act, and the sin that comes with it. Second, are the memories that haunt and punish not only you, but that person who comes to mean so much to you, for your entire life. The effect is an immense impact on marital life. Where zinaa was rife, spouses become quickly disobedient and dissatisfied with each other, which lead to more problems in day to day family life.

I just wished that it was clearer in my head at that time.

But, I knew and had to keep reminding myself that the door of repentance is wide open. I had to keep focusing on that while I grappled with desperately trying to get myself back on track.

I was about to tell Hamzah that I was sorry that he felt the way he did. I was about to tell him that it was all my fault that he felt the way he did, and that his insecurities had stemmed from on my own shortfalls. I wanted to apologise for ever getting involved with someone like Faadil, and putting him in the crap I did.

But just as I was about to open my mouth and tell him all this, the door at the end of the passage opened, and with Hamzah’s eyes still on me questioningly, my mouth had already opened and closed while I turned to watch my new brother-in-law peel his head out the door and grin at Hamzah.

”Sorry for making you late,” he said to Hamzah, and as I glimpsed my blushing sister behind him, I kind of figured that Hamzah and my conversation for the night was over. I sinking feeling formed in my gut, because I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to tell him all the things that I really needed to.

I ignored the gutted feeling, waiting for Zubair to join Hamzah down the passage, not even checking to see if he looked back at me. I was scared. Scared of what his gaze would hold if I looked too deeply. Scared that if I met his eyes,  I would catch even more feelings than I already had, if that was even possible.

I sighed as I but my lip, holding back tears, not knowing why this made me so emotional. Emotions. Feelings. It was like they were wrecking havoc with my heart as I watched my sister retreat into the room, a picture of absolute bliss as she sighed and flung herself into the pillow. If I wasn’t so overwhelmed, I probably would have done the exact same thing, except for different reasons. Me burying my head in the pillow would probably entail a series of sobbing and I wasn’t yet ready to explain all my weird thought processes to my sister. I wasn’t too good with feelings.

Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Jameela’s face peeked at me, and I could already tell that my romantic sister was already well on her way into dreamland. She had that distant look in her eyes and everything about her was screaming lovesick puppy.

“So?” I said, forcing a smile on my face and wanting to get as much as I could out of her before the function would be on its way to starting.

I needed to have a final look at the set-up. I had spent the week sourcing some beautiful rugs to borrow and set up some fancy paper plates on the floor, and on of the most gorgeously designed table cloths. The whole theme was very minimal, but it was simple but elegant, and though Jameela wasn’t really interested in the details, I felt the overwhelming need to make this special for her. It had to feel like something that was worth celebrating.

I didn’t know that all she needed was Zubair.

She was grinning as she watched me now, a deep colour filling her cheeks as she spoke.

”My heart is so full right now,” she said softly, holding her chest. “Alhumdulillah.”

“What did he say?” I asked, expecting Zubair to be the type to pull out all the perfect swoon-worthy lines.

“Erm,” Jameela said, looking away as she twiddled with her thumbs.”He greeted, made a Duaa, asked if he could take my hand… and then… the usual…”

Oh my goodness. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that there hadn’t been much talking today. She trailed off and ducked her head again, and I kind of read between the lines because, I mean, these two had being eyeing each other for months.

”Oh my gosh, Jamz,” I moaned, freaking out and covering my eye’s dramatically while she had the audacity to giggle.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, although I knew that it was all completely normal and exactly what was expected. It was just that, these small things were kind of freaking me out, and it wasn’t only about Jameela.

The fact was, everything was changing. Saaliha was having another baby. Jameela was now a real married woman. Nani was actually becoming nicer than she was usually (how long that would last, I wasn’t sure). As for Hamzah and I, it was only a matter of time before we would change as well.

And I knew that it wasn’t meant to be a punishment but as I watched my sister gushing over her new husband, her face particularly flushed as she described her first halaal encounter with him, which she had quickly decided was very unexpected but in a completely charming way that wilfully clouded their thought process, I couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of sadness.

And though I couldn’t go back and erase it… I wished, with all my heart, that my first touch, moment of intimacy and romance, had also been so beautifully pure and untainted. I couldn’t turn back the clock, but the immense regret that I felt right then, was something that I’d never experienced before. Maybe I needed to repent more. Maybe I needed to return to Allah, after straying away, time and time again.

Maybe after this was all over, Hamzah and I needed a brand new start, where everything can just be erased, and then build up again.

I breathed in as cousins realised that Zubair had left and it was time to start hounding Jameela while she slipped on her dress for the function, and I slipped out the door, trying to clear my head and check if my mother was ready for the function on time. She had been checking on the food that she had been preparing in the coffee shop kitchen, and though she had called her regular staff to assist, they still needed guidance.

She was now completely exhausted as she rushed off to change, and I made my way to check if all the pretty lighting I had installed was on. It was a gorgeous setting with fairy lights that winked at me, and I couldn’t help but feel my heart still in my chest as I thought of all the amazement this would bring for her.

I sat in the empty garage, staring at those twinkly lights, under the starry night, praying for an eternity of happiness for them.

Jameela was married. At nineteen. I wasn’t sure whether to freak out or be ecstatic. I was beyond emotions, and no words could describe the feelings that wrecked havoc in my mind.

My heart ached for her every desire to be fulfilled. I yearned for her heart to be overflowing with happiness, knowing that she chosen one of the best. I prayed for her spouse to be the most soothing coolness of her eyes. How I desperately wished for her marriage to be a one of innumerable blessings, more than she had ever envisioned before…

My achy chest felt like it was going to burst with emotion, but I steadied myself hastily and sucked in my breath as I heard footsteps behind me, not even realising that my eyes were wet with tears as the person approached.

It only took me a few more seconds to realise that it was Hamzah, who was probably looking for me with Zaid in his arms, and I hastily wiped my eyes as I turned to watch my two favourite boys come toward me,  feeling completely disarmed as they did. Emotions were coursing through my veins as everything seemed to come into focus again, remembering everything that this day had held and everything that was to come after.

I gave them a shaky smile as they came toward me, thinking that I had hid my emotions very well until Hamzah’s thumb swiped against my cheek tenderly, a gesture that struck me so deeply that I didn’t know what else to say.

His questioning gaze was more than I could handle at that point, and hastily putting out my hands to take Zaid and distract myself, I knew that I had to avoid his questions at all costs.

And I was fully prepared with an answer, if he had to ask what was going on. I could tell him that some dust got in my eyes or that the lights were a bit too bright for my eyes. I could tell him that i was a little more tired than I realised, and this week has been more than I bargained for (at least that wasn’t a lie).

But he didn’t ask. As Zaid grabbed a fistful of my hijab and tugged on it, Hamzah’s gaze remained steadily on me, saying the words that none of us could.

His hands were stuffed in his pockets, as he took our surroundings in briefly, giving me a nod of approval to signal that it looked good.

“The hard work paid off,” he said simply, and I nodded back at him as I glanced at the settings appreciatively.

“Thanks for being so helpful,” I said softly, knowing that I had pushed him to the limit the day before while he fetched stuff for me from about 6 different places after work. “I owe you one.”

The last part was by the way. I wasn’t sure if I really meant it. I mean, I knew that it only made sense to pay a person back for what they did for you, some way or the other. And I would have bought him some pyjama pants or something else masculine as a usual payback, but things were a little too awkward to get personal.

“You do,” he said briefly, and I looked at Zaid as he wriggled around, begging to be let loose so he could crawl all over and destroy all my gorgeous settings.

I didn’t meet Hamzah’s eye. I had a feeling that doing so would be asking for a lot more than I anticipated. But he wasn’t deterred, as he continued to speak.

“I need a favour.”

I sucked in a breath and looked at him, but what I saw in his eyes wasn’t what I expected. What was in his eyes was pure desperation. What he needed from me was something very different to what I expected.

“Can we have the day to ourselves tomorrow?” He asked, glancing at Zaid briefly as he said it. “Maybe we can leave Zaid with Imraan and Saaliha? If you are okay with it, that is. I just want to spend some time with you. There’s something I want to show you.”

The last part was said in a rush and it took me a few seconds to realise that the swanky cool dude Hamzah that I had always known to be so smooth and easy-going, was actually very, very nervous.

His breathing had heightened as he watched me, and I really did not have the heart to say no to his request. More than anything else, I knew that I couldn’t just let our entire foundation… the crux of what we were, just collapse to the ground, without any regard for sentimentality. As much as the said feeling scared me, sentimentality is the thing that in retrospect, made the strife a little more worthwhile…

“I don’t know,” I said softly, looking at him as I could visibly see him stiffening at a possible rejection.

Zaid, almost on cue, instantly stuck his hand out to pinch the area between my eye and cheek, and I couldn’t help but swat his hand away, while looking at Hamzah accusingly.

“What was that for?” I mumbled, rubbing my eye. Zaid looked as contrite as ever. Little traitor.

Hamzah was grinning knowingly as I sighed and finally relented. Zaid wasn’t too happy with my answer.

“Okay,” I said finally, swallowing as I tried to imagine what my husband had planned, but knowing that I was probably going to regret giving into him.

He let out a giant breath, and it was almost as if he had mustered all the courage he could to bear his soul, and it had actually paid off.

I just hoped that this was just a little something harmless and bland that he wanted to do on the spur of the moment. All I was hoping for was for things to fall into place, the way we had discussed it. All I wanted was for his to be an easy transition, more for Hamzah’s than for anyone else.

He deserved so much more than I could give him. As much as I hated how this was all going, and as much I was falling apart over this, I knew very well that letting him go was the only way it could all fall into place…

 

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Dear readers, I’m so sorry if the post is not up to scratch. I will probably do some edits in the morning when my brain is working. Just didn’t want to delay further

I’ll try and post again by the weekend InshaAllah.

Duaas

Much love

A x

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

 

When Money doesn’t Matter

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

part 78

Who gets to determine when the old ends and the new begins. It’s not a day on a calendar, not a birthday, not a new year. It’s an event, big or small, something that changes us.

You know how they sometimes say that the whole lead up to the entire event is so much more nerve wrecking and overrated than the actual thing?

Well, let me tell you, when I spoke to Zubair for the first time, it was the complete opposite.

I mean, you would think that after all that obsessing over him from afar and conjuring up what my knight in shining weapons and armour (literally) was really like in person from figments of my imagination, I may have been a teeny bit…. extra.

But even so… all I could say was that the actual meeting with Zubair was something that I really did not expect to be so… ground-breaking. And I mean ground breaking in the sense that my entire world is now spinning on a different axis kind of ground breaking.

You see, an insaan, there’s very little that we do understand. We may think that we are wise and we are smart and that we have knowledge. But the vastness of Allah Ta’ala is something that our minds cannot fathom. We think that we know value and we know wealth, but Allahs wealth is something beyond all comprehension.

The intricacies of every creation, the anatomy of the human body, the unique patterns on every single leaf is a reminder to us that we truly know nothing of Allah and his magnificence. Nothing at all.

But we strive to learn. We go to lengths of constructing space ships, of drilling into the crust of the earth and of breaking all kinds of boundaries just to find out a little more than we already know. But still. Even the Jannati has no inkling if what Allah Ta’ala has prepared for him. Even the Jannati will get far beyond his expectations.

And sometimes on this earth, Allah Ta’ala blesses us with little pieces of Jannah, even if they are only for a short while.

And of course, my heart was only endowed with love because of the actuality of how Allah Ta’ala comes through for us.

It had been one of those exceptionally gorgeous days of the year, where the flowers were popping with colour and the sun was shining brightly. Despite it being January, there was a coolness in the air that brought little comfort. My eyes had been fixated on the roses that were coincidentally the happiest that they’ve ever been, despite being a little overgrown, but in all their colourful glory, they reminded me of happiness and joy and all things that made my heart swoon.

The fact that I knew Zubair tended to and made them even more gorgeous than they were, did something to my insides. A man who appreciated nature for me was already Mr Right.

But today, there was no time or reason for daydreams. Today, I was actually going to be meeting Zubair in the flesh, but of course, the ever present theatrics in our household that never ceased to exist made the day a little more interesting.

“Mohsina!” Nani screeched as my sister crept up behind her, trying to spy silently on what she was doing in the kitchen with about five hundred different utensils out. Nani had spun around, wooden spoon in hand and held her hand to her heart dramatically. “You gave me the frights!”

The Frights? Like, why do people even say that?

Oh my goodness, I was broken. I was holding my tummy and laughing the hardest ever as I watched Nani give Mohsina the mafia look, letting her know that she was not to be trifled with.

If there was anything to kill my nerves, it was Nani and her eccentric dramatics.

“But Nani, you gave us the frights,” Mohsina said, hiding her smile and placing her hands on her hips, while Hamzah grinned behind her. “You said you weren’t going to be here. Did Muneer and Nadeema already make their Nikah? So fast fast, Masha Allah.”

Mos had a sarcastic grin on her face and Nanis gaze faltered. I could see that for once, she was actually stumped.

“Muneer had emergency,” Nani said stiffly, adjusting her dupatta after a few long seconds, and I could tell that she was doubting something as she said it. “They came early also. Poor boy only got to talk five minutes and the message came. So hard he works, Allah, shame. But he is so rich so it’s okay.”

Mhhhmm. Shame, indeeed. She was holding out her free hand dramatically, looking as though her entire world had been shifted with the news. Only Nani will say things like that. Like money is the ultimate saviour and intervention no matter what the problem.

“But Nani,” Mohsina said evenly, raising an eyebrow. “Money doesn’t matter. You think money is going to make him a better person? He could have at least told someone else to take his place at the hospital so you wouldn’t have to rush all over the place.”

Wait.

I mean, I knew that my cousin wasn’t horrible in looks but she was was no diva I also knew that Muneer was a shallow guy. From the biceps incident, I got the feeling that a little extra cushioning here and there may have been a game-changer.

Mohsina’s eyes bulged slightly before she glanced at me with interest.

If I didn’t try my very hardest and think the best of every situation it would have definitely been an ‘aha’ moment. I didn’t want to believe the possibility that Muneer was that shallow. Surely he had to see beyond the superficial. Right?

”Don’t think I came because I’m happy with you people,” she said grumpily when she saw me. “I only came because I don’t want you to embarrass the family.”

Haai, Nani.

“Wrong granddaughter, Nani,” Mos said with an awkward laugh. “I’m the one who usually embarrasses the family. Not Jamz.”

There was something about the way she said it, that made me feel a pang of torment in my gut. Mos was dealing with so much more than I knew.

I waited for Nani to move away whilst grumbling something incoherent (probably about her useless granddaughters) and then turning into conversation to a sympathetic Hamzah before I went up behind my sister and draped my arms around her from the back. Resting my head on her shoulder, taking in her calming scent of Dove body wash and some designer shampoo, I could feel a slight tremble in her as she breathed in, and I realised that as she busied herself at the kitchen sink, she had been sniffling away.

Ah man. This day was way more emotional than I had bargained for.

”Mos, stop being so hard on yourself,” I said softly, feeling like for the first time in my life, I wanted to protect my sister. She had always been the one to protect me. To take care of me. And I knew that she had Hamzah to look after her for now but she was pushing him away and I didn’t know why she seemed so fragile all of a sudden. I wanted to wrap her up and save her from the world.

“I’m destroying someone’s life,” she said miserably, her voice breaking again. “Breaking so many hearts. I spoke to my in-laws yesterday. Spoilt the entire mood after Saaliha told us about the baby.”

My heart broke for her. She turned around and I looked at her teary face, unable to process what that meant.

“You told them?!” I asked incredulously. “I thought you were going to wait until Hamzah leaves…”

It wasn’t ideal but it made more sense.

“It was all Rabia’s fault, Jamz,” she said, shaking her head. “Honestly, I feel that she’s up to something. She mentioned that she saw Hamzah leaving work early the one day when he was coming to meet the lawyer with me.I think she was going to gym or something. She forced him to speak about it. It seemed so… plotted and vindictive. Like she wants me to fail… and I don’t even know why she hates me so much.”

She sounded miserable. And I’d never seen my sister so concerned about what someone thought about her. I guessed that perhaps because this was really affecting every aspect of her and Hamzah’s life.

I raised my eyebrows, wondering if Hamzah’s sister really was like that. She was probably just adding fuel to the fire because she enjoyed the show that came out of it.

“I can’t help feel like this is not going to end well,” she said softly, an evident panic in her eyes. “Do you know Zubair is putting himself into so much of danger trying to help Hamzah? Hamzah is still being so stubborn about everything, fighting to find a loophole. As for Rabia… she seems so thrilled, and then there’s still the instagram post…”

I wanted to ask what instagram post but it was at that moment that my attention had been diverted due to the doorbell and the swarming of butterflies in my tummy immediately turned to dragons.

”We’ll continue this later,” I said, squeezing her hand before she shook her head and smiled at me, as if she was back to being the unaffected and rigid version of herself that we were all so used to.

Zubair and family had just arrived and without even seeing him, as always, there was a heaviness in the room that made me immediately feel like I could barely breathe.

His presence was stifling.

And of course, even with all those thoughts racing through my mind, it didn’t take long after all the emotional greetings with Nusaybah and her winning Nani over with her beautiful ways before Zubair caught my eye as we walked to the small lounge, and I watched his face break out into a smile.

Honestly, after hating him for a few weeks and wanting to ring his neck, somehow, seeing him smile made me want to ring his neck even more. The way his entire demeanour had changed after Hamzah had somehow changed his mind was completely unexpected. Instead of being aloof and unapproachable, somehow it felt like I knew him so much longer than just a few months.

And there it was again, that feeling that he was not only just watching me, but he knew me without me sharing a thing.

Papa trusted Zubair, for some reason, despite his history  and rocky past.

Papa had stayed in the next room to talk to his brother-in-law, the doctor, while the two of us had made our way to the little sitting area just next to it.

And though I was so used to seeing him, it still didn’t conquer the nerves that were dampening my hands every few seconds. There I was, avoiding eye contact with this roguishly handsome guy, trying to at least pretend like I was used to this. Honestly, I was actually a little afraid of meeting his gaze, because I knew what it would do to me. Turn me to putty. Having spoken very briefly, mostly about Mohsina while Papa and Zubair were at the coffee shop a few days back, I would have thought that this meeting would have been a little less nerve wrecking.

Well, I was completely wrong.

I could feel the perspiration even under my hijab as soon as his gaze landed on me. I felt hot and cold all at the same time. My heart rate had picked up and I already felt like I was close to having some kind of panic attack due to the intensity of him looking like he could see right down to my soul.

My goodness, my heart.

”Hey. Assalamu-Alaykum…”

He looked up, and his tone was casual as he said it, and I almost did a double take when I saw him in the kind of clothes that were something other than his normal work slacks. Perhaps I was just being dramatic.

Zubair wore a blue-grey kurta with no collar, hitched up slightly as he sat down again, with a simple jeans underneath. His hair was brushed back under his topee and I had to focus on looking down so I didn’t start being all forward and staring at this man who was aesthetically quite something that I shouldn’t be looking at.

Sue me if I was attracted to the guy. It had been months of me seeing this dusty and ruffled up guy and I honestly couldn’t believe he cleaned up so well. Call me corny, but his bronzey skin almost looked like it was sparkling.

I almost giggled to myself, wanting to silence my thoughts, and then internally slapped myself instead.

I was so immature. Maybe I was just too used to virtual meetings. The meetings were showing up meant that you didn’t actually have to be present. Social media didn’t help with all of that and being a gen Z had made me socially awkward. Of course. That was it.

A weird feeling in my tummy made me a little giddy. This was so intense.

Meeting the week before had definitely made things less formal. Easier. But the swarm of butterflies were still there, in the pit of my gut. In fact, I think the butterflies were there from the minute he darkened our doorway, and never left.

“Hey,” I said back, looking at the carpet and smiling shyly. “Wa’alaikum salaam.”

I couldn’t look up. I just couldn’t.

I tried not to think of the flowing, pretty aqua dress that Mohsina had bought a few weeks ago and insisted I had to wear so he could actually see a better version of me. I kept my feet planted firmly on the ground, trying hard not to do any knee shaking that may make me seem unstable.

“How was your day?”

It was such an elementary question but the way he said it wasn’t.

”Erm,” I said softly, my lack of vocabulary a little embarrassing. “Alhumdulillah.”

Indeed. Alhumdulillah in every situation. I didn’t want to say much. Whatever the day had brought. However many emotions had been packed into it.

I breathed out while he looked at me briefly, and then placed a pink rose with a beautiful perfume on the table next to us, and my just kind of dissolved to putty. Roses were my absolute weakness and this guy knew just how to play his cards.

He brought an single rose- a colour I hadn’t seen in a long time- and while staring at it wasn’t ideal, I was working on avoiding eye contact as I sat on the couch furtherest from him, feeling all shy and out of my element, adjusting my scarf as I settled into a seat about a meter from him.

”That’s beautiful,” I said, blinking as I picked it up, noticing that he had shaved all the thorns off perfectly.

”Okay, I need to confess.”

It was him again and my heart raced again. A confession kind of scared me.

He had told Papa a lot about his past and though was good to know, I had so many more questions.

“Ive been wanting to ask you that forever,” he said with a shy smile, making me wonder what he was talking about.

I looked up, a little confused, rose in my hand, just a little speechless.

“What?” I breathed out. It smelt divine.

And okay, besides rendering me speechless every time he so much as moved, he had the most amazing teeth.

Like honestly, it was like a Colgate commercial.

”How was your day?” He said again, pearly whites all visible and … dang. “You have no idea … and you haven’t given me enough of an answer now because it looks like there’s so much more on your mind right now…”

The way this guy read me was like a book.

I looked down and I could feel my cheeks flushing a bit with the intensity of his gaze. Like, did the guy have any other way to look at people please? Everything about him was so intense and deep and completely disarming.

It made me realise that although I had been taking in by him and how criminally handsome he was, I had also been majorly attracted to the part of his personality that connected with people and made him so much more human than he realised. Yes, Zubair didn’t have money and rich parents but he was one of those few who had been blessed with integrity and amazing qualities.

From Nusaybah, I knew that he didn’t think much of himself, wanted to be better and felt that he had so much to work on… but to me, his consideration, his humility, him never overstepping the line with me even thought there was plenty of opportunity and always approaching everything with so much of thought and caution was goals.

He respected my father and in turn, he had earned my fathers respect.

”So?” He said expectantly, still giving me a small smile that knocked me for a six.

My mind needed to be sanitised. I was glancing at his mouth way too much.

“It was fine,” I managed to say, quite certain I was making a fool of myself. My hands were trembling and I sat on them to get them to stop. “Eventful. Mos is… emotional. Nani gave us quite the surprise and now you’re here…”

My words were fast and my voice had been a bit shaky but the sentence was coherent and true. It had been pretty eventful. I mean, I barely expected Nani to come.

I wasn’t sure what had happened and who had said what but her being here was something that actually consoled me. Like her presence meant that maybe things weren’t going to be so bad after all.

“I have a question.”

Questions. Right. That’s what we were supposed to be doing. I mean, I already knew so much about  Zubair but I also had questions. Questions about him that no one knew. Questions about his life that made me want to get right down to the bottom of his story. About his father. About why they never reconciled. About what really happened with his uncle and his past life.

But I wanted to believe that we had enough time. I opened my mouth and closed it again, because he was already speaking.

”Im sure you have questions too,” he said, shifting in his seat and looking at me as he did it again. He read my mind. I finally met his gaze as he watched me, feeling completely exposed as his expression turned to one of compassion. “I just needed to check… are you sure about this…?”

I could barely even nod. I wanted to ask him if he was sure about me. After so many months of my silly crushing on him, I couldn’t quite believe that he was actually here. Wanting to marry me. And liking me enough to do it.

Maybe when he knew the real me, things would change.

I looked up and it was the most intense thing, his gaze when it was on me, waiting for my answer to this very important question.

It was the first time I had seen him so up close, and though I did notice his unnatural eyes before, I didn’t quite notice how stunningly haunting they were in the daylight. Two different colours that made him seem like someone supernatural. The right one was a brown with yellow specks and the left one was a green with golden specks.

It was the first time I had ever seen anything like that in my life.

“I wanted to see you and explain this to you in person,” he said softly, not realising that I was staring into his eyes like a kuku case. “You know about my past. I’m far from perfect and I don’t even want to ever bring you into the kind of life that I was in. With a history like mine, I’m sure you realise that I’ve had quite the reputation…”

I didn’t realise that I was staring at a spot on the carpet blankly until he shifted slightly, realising that I was actually being a little weird.

”Jameela?”

His voice was soft when he said my name. And oh my word, I was a goner.

Get a grip of yourself, Jameela, I chided myself.

Zubair was worried, and it made sense. He didn’t want to drag me into a life where he had earned so many enemies along the way. Coming here to the farm had been his hide out, his safe place and I had to understand that going through with this would also bring its fair share of challenges.

And of course, being who I was, feeling the way I felt right then, and truly feeling that love could conquer everything.

I wanted what I wanted, and that was that. I wanted to truly know Zubair. I wanted to spend more time with him. To be more than just someone who he would pass by and never talk to.

I didn’t think of what could happen after.

”I’m sure,” I said firmly, with not even an ounce of hesitancy in my voice, letting myself meet his alluring gaze once more.

”I’m afraid that you may change your mind if anything has to happen. And it’s not impossible. People can find me. They can threaten me. It’s why I never wanted to marry before, but I realised that at some point I have to also let go of the past.”

”And build a better future,” I said quietly. I almost added ‘with me’ like a creep but luckily my mouth wasn’t my worst enemy that day. Only my stupid brain.

Zubair’s eyebrows were raised quizzically but I could see something in his eyes as he said it.

His words too, were laced with fear. Fear for what, I wasn’t quite sure.

“Are you afraid of something?” I asked, looking up at him now and meeting his gaze. I wished that I didn’t.

I had to look away.

He was silent for a while, before he clasped his hands together.

“I have a weakness, Jameela,” he said, after a few seconds. “Maybe it’s a strength, because it’s for people who I care about. It’s just that in the past, the people I cared about didn’t really care about me. I would do anything to protect them. Even if it goes against my natural disposition. Even if it’s risky. Even if it exposes me. Sometimes I lose myself when those people are threatened. That day in the shop…”

He stopped mid sentence, and I already knew which day he was talking about. In the coffee shop when the horrid customer threw his weight around and made me feel like the scum of the earth.

There was a side of Zubair I had never witnessed or heard my father speak about. An angry, unhinged side that made me wonder who he really was.

But now I knew who he was. I knew that he had been on the wrong path once. I knew that he was fiercely protective. I also knew that although he told my father that things could get dangerous, he would never let anyone hurt me. There was something so right in the way that felt.

“I almost lost control of myself ,” he said in a low tone.

He may have been right. He had been angry. But people aren’t always the greatest, and anger is a normal emotion and natural response.

It’s how we control it that makes the difference, and he did.
I didn’t even think what it meant for me. I didn’t even want to ponder about Zubair actually noticing me at that time, like I actually meant something. He never showed it.

”It wasn’t like you beat the man up or anything,” I said, my voice sounding slightly squeaky as I tried to make light of the situation.

“But I wanted to,” he said seriously, his voice hard and full of dark emotion. “And that’s not what I was taught after I changed my life. That’s not what the Sunnah teaches. I wanted to be better. I wanted to be able to never hurt someone else in my life. I didn’t want to go back to the man who I was. To that cold-blooded monster who didn’t think or feel, and just do what he was being controlled to do. I wanted to change.”

He was so passionate and urgent in what he was saying. A huge knot of tension had formed in my stomach. Did this mean that it scared him to get close to someone? It explained why he was always here… alone, with nowhere that he really went to and no one he met.

“I’ve undergone so much of training,” he said softly. “I’ve been trying to reverse everything that had made me the person I used to be. I wanted to be able to overlook faults. To lower my gaze from people’s wrong. I’m trying to become type of character that can emulate the Sahabah. They had to experience so much for their Jannah, and we get overcome by emotion and give up at the slightest test…”

How he said it reminded me of the beauty of the ways of the Sahabah. I knew that many of them wanted to atone for their deeds by doing something amazing to make up for all the wrong they had done.

“But I’m failing. And it feels like the entire world has fallen into a drunken state and Islam is the only lifeline to sober us up. While everyone else sees blurred coincidences of chaos, we see the signs and we see the beginning of the end of times. I’ve seen so much of rot and ugliness, and it took me so long to change. Sometimes I don’t know if we even know that we have all the answers and solutions right in our midst…”

He placed his hand on his chest and I saw it, in the top pocket of his kurta. His lifeline.

The Qur’ān. It was the only lifeline here. When we hold fast to it, that’s the only time we see light within the darkness.

I widened my eyes as his long fingers grasped the edge of the pages and held them back in place.

“I know that this is a lot to take in but I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know that being who I was may be something that may make you feel uncomfortable. There are parts of it that were horrible. Terrifying. Painful. I don’t ever want you to suffer or start to hate me because of that…”

I shook my head, indicating that I wouldn’t ever do that. He came here to see me but all he was doing was trying to get me to change my mind.

I could feel myself getting angry as he looked down now, almost as if he had defeated himself.

“Are you done?” I asked roughly, feeling irritable that he had done that. Why did he have to be so hard on himself? 
“Do you only have bad things to say about yourself?”

He looked shocked that I said it. I mean, even I was shocked at myself. Shy, dreamy Jameela actually had a mouth that spat out some vicious venom now and then.

And then, as I glared at him, with much resolve I must admit, slowly but surely, an amused smile crept onto his face, almost as if what I had said was the most hilarious thing in the entire conversation.

“No, I’m not done,” he said with a grin, his amazing teeth visible again.

The audacity. I still wanted to ring his neck and the need was more intense with every second his alluring grin widened.

I narrowed my eyes as he continued.

“I actually wanted to also tell you that I know Nani doesn’t like me,” he said, still grinning. I could feel myself flushing at that. How did he know that? 

The walls had ears, for sure.

“And I don’t blame her at all. In fact, I think she’s right.”

”What?!” I scoffed incredulously. No. He wasn’t actually saying all this.

Telling me Nani was right was way below the belt. I mean, on the one hand I had Ken, I mean Muneer, who kept inflating his own ego… and now there was Zubair who kept hating on himself.

I didn’t understand it. What was it with this guy? 

”I think she is right,” he said again, more calmly.

”Why would you say that?” I asked, shaking my head at him.

How on earth could he say that Nani’s outdated thinking could be right?

I was about to tell him so, but he was looking at me now, and his face was suddenly all serious, as if he hadn’t just been all full off nonsense and humour a few seconds ago. His jaw was set firmly and his entire body seemed to suddenly morph into something completely different. Honestly, this guy reminded me of some sort of shape-shifter.

“I know I don’t have much,” he said softly, his voice serious and foreboding. “Nani is right with that. But from what I’ve seen in life, from all the people I’ve met… I’ve learnt that these things, that everyone cares about so much, don’t really matter. I’ve seen men in mansions who are so unhappy that they are wanting to end their lives, and I’ve seen a man in a shack living life as if it’s his kingdom. Money doesn’t matter.”

He was right. It didn’t matter to me and it was obvious that it didn’t matter to him. What I knew was that pure contentment was based not on how much of money we had, but based on the richness of the heart. I’ve always heard that if you can make shukar, you will be like royalty, because everything you have will feel like it’s much more than you deserve.

The thing was, when I looked at Zubair, even in the past, I’ve noticed that whatever situation he was in, he was never wanting for something more. He was happy with his lot and he was grateful even with his little.

“I know it doesn’t,” I said, knowing that what he said was beyond true. “But yet, you still think what Nani says is right?”

Like, was she actually taking Nani’s side here after everything? Did he even know her?

“I think whatever is best for you, Jameela,” he said, sounding tired. He looked away now, and my heart couldn’t help but just sink dreadingly to my toes.

Was he really just switching me off here? Turning me away because he was afraid? Trying to change the way I felt because he really didn’t believe that he was good enough?

“I guess the point here is that I don’t want to be the one to tell you what you should do. I know that I want you to  still have a choice to have a normal life. Consider this your freedom to choose,” he said as he got up to leave. “It’s all up to you, Jameela. I don’t want to drag you into my world but the thought of not seeing you in it…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence, and why on earth did that warning just make me want it more? It was like something had been flipped on in me. Like some kind of magnetic force was drawing me to this, and nothing could deter me. No wealth, no status no worldly attribute could ever sway my decision.

His humility and his integrity was something that I could match to no one. His character had already drawn me to him from day one.

I knew what I wanted. All this time, even when I was forcing my mind to battle with my heart, I hadn’t stopped wanting it.

Yes, he had told me that I have the freedom to choose, but he had also indicated what he thought would be the best. He had, in many words, said that this wasn’t the best thing for me, but that I still had the freedom to choose…

And now, despite all that, I realised that being free isn’t ruining every good thing in your life because you have to prove you have the choice to do so. Its choosing good things because you can. Because it’s beautiful and it’s Halaal and it can do amazing things for your soul. It’s choosing to be in control of your destiny by being open to possibility.

Choosing to be happy because it makes you happy is the sometimes the only way to be happy….

Even if it was only for a fleeting moment in time…

---

Dearest readers:  extra long post to make up. My sincerest apologies for the delay. Beginning of the term was exceptionally busy for me. Please keep me in your esteemed Duaas especially this week, as these great days  dawn upon us.

Much love 

A x 

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

More than a Heartbreak

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 74

Pain can be beautiful too.

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

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

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

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

Remember that nothing happens without a reason.

Purpose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just wanted it to go away.

”How can she be so fussy?”

I knew that she was talking about me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mohsina said not to get out hopes up…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And to yearn more for Jannah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll check. x 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you coping?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She sighed, avoiding my gaze.

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my heart.

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

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

“So what are you going to do next?”

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

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

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

“Next, we sign divorce papers.”

---

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Thinking Good about others  

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Burning the Bridges

Bismihi Ta’ala

Zubair

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.

Buzz.

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…

Aameen!

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

Breaking Down

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 72

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

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

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

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

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

”She said no.”

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

”She said no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course I did (not).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was weird. Not to mention, completely awkward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”What’s wrong?”

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

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

”Jameela, you’re not stupid.”

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

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

”Y-you don’t want to know.”

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

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

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

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

Okay what on earth was up with her?

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

“You remember Nusaybah?”

Nusaybah.

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

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

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

“Zubair’s sister?”

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

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

She took a deep breath.

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

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

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

Oh no. Oh no oh no.

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

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

And now I understood. It was all crystal clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

رَبِّ إِنِّي لِمَا أَنْزَلْتَ إِلَيَّ مِنْ خَيْرٍ فَقِيرٌ

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

I heard of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poor Jameela.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But maybe not quite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah