When we Hold On

Bismihi Ta’ala

Hamzah

Part 92

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s talk in the lounge.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was as if something within her had been altered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She replied ‘No, I killed them all.’

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

This world. An empty promise, a great lie.

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

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

“How are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, that’s what it looked like.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had messed up. Badly.

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

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

And damn, it was working well.

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

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

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

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

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

Immediately, her blank, flippant facade faded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mos, can you be reasonable please?”

“STOP FOLLOWING ME.”

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

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

We needed to talk.

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

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

“Mos, just listen, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was still no reply.

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

”No.”

Her response was unwavering, despite her probable state.

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

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

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

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

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

Now, it made sense.

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

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

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

She said it like I was stinking.

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

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

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

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

I figured that she was probably sitting against it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Mohsina.”

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

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

“You don’t owe me anything.”

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

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

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

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

I missed that part of her.

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

A peace offering? I hoped so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it took the whole night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hold on, my eyes were telling hers.

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

Hope.

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

A beautiful analogy.

H.O.P.E.

Hold on.

Pain ends.

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

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

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

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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When 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

Falling into Place

Bismihi Taala

Mohsina 

Part 81

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I didn’t judge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How’s the new bride?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s so funny?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask you something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need a favour.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

---

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

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

Duaas

Much love

A x

Sunnah of the month of Rajab 

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

اَللّٰهُمَّ  بَارِكْ لَناَ فِيْ رَجَبٍ وَشَعْبانَ وَبَلّغْنَا رَمَضَانْ

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

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

 

When things get a little Intense

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 75

We’ve all had intense moments. Moments of extreme emotion. Moments that came with so much weakness, human frailty, and pain. Moments that may have become filled with exhilaration and exhaustion, and sometimes, maybe even extreme ecstasy.

Every moment is different. Fleeting. A quiet morning walk after the rain. A heartbreak in the midst of a storm. A damp wind that smells like home. A fleeting burst of emotion.

Even when the odds are against us, when our back is against the wall…

We remind ourselves to hold onto hope. Tawakkul.

This moment will never last. Every moment, will slip away.

And that moment too, had slipped, but my mind was still replaying it, the way I remembered my entire world being rocked with the revelation that Mohsina had broken to me just a day before.

It had taken me a day to finally approach Maahira and ask her all the questions I wanted to. I just couldn’t face Mohsina as yet. I didn’t have the words to say what I really wanted to.

Not until I knew exactly how I was going to help her.
How I could or what I would do… I had no idea. I just knew that I had to do something.

“I can’t believe that she was going to marry him.”

It was the first thing that I had said to Maahira when she picked up the call.

I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, overlooking the endless view of the farm greenery, taking a little comfort in the beauty of the horizon on that clear summers day, still feeling the same way I had felt the day before- like I had lost a limb.

The background noise faded as I imagined her walking away from the area where she was.

It was after five in London but I knew better than to assume that Maahira worked a nine to five. She hadn’t gotten where she was because she pulled the basics. Both Mos and Maahi had pushed and stretched themselves so thin that I sometimes wondered how they even had energy for their demanding social lives.

“How did you find out?”

Her tone was flat. Tired and weary.

”She did,” I said simply, not even bothered to sound apologetic about getting straight into the ugly business. “Yesterday when she told me everything else. About the fraud case. And about her plan to off her marriage, which is why I’m calling you. First, tell me: Did she really know that he was involved in fraud?”

It had been on my mind the entire night. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything Mohsina had told me. The divorce. Faadil. About how she knew he was up to something.

About how this would ruin her and kick up old dust. It looked like it already did.

“She just thought that he was cheating,” Maahira said softly, and I heard her exhausted sigh after. “I told her that she needed to keep an eye on him. She insisted it was business, and they had an ‘arrangement’. She didn’t seem to believe it when she’d heard the rumours that he was up to something else too. He’d done a lot for her. Supported her emotionally too. She had been desperate for cash at the time and had a lot on her mind, other than his womanising tricks.”

I raised my eyebrows, looking at myself in the dresser mirror, as I backed up against my wooden headboard. I had pulled my hair up into a bun but a few stray strands blew around as the breeze sashayed in through the hallway window. I couldn’t help but flinch at Maahira’s words.

He had been there for her when none of us were in the picture. We had bailed on her, and Mohsina felt alone.

It wasn’t our fault, I reminded myself. She had pushed us away.

“And she didn’t care?” I pressed, my eyes narrowing at myself as I leaned back. ”Like… cheating was okay for her?”

Cheating. Faadil was cheating on her and she didn’t even bat an eyelid.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, shocked at what Maahira had just revealed. What kind of sick relationship was she even setting herself up for?

And all for money. For the promise of a good life.

It comes in the Hadith that this world would dupe us so much that we would do anything for it. We would become fools, reduced to something so low, in its pursuit.

It fools us into believing that if we barter everything for this Duniyaa, we will get contentment. The truth is that only Allah… only the knowledge of Deen and the actions that bring us closer to Allah can bring that.

One of the most beautiful traditions of the Prophet (Sallahu Alaihi wa Sallam) captures this concept perfectly. He said: “Whoever makes the Hereafter his preoccupation, then Allah places freedom from want in his heart, gathers his affairs, and Dunya (worldly life) comes to him despite being reluctant to do so. And whoever makes Dunya his preoccupation, then Allah places his poverty in front of his eyes, make his affairs scattered, and nothing of the Dunya comes to him except that which has been decreed for him.” [At- Tirmidhi]

As expected, Maahira already had answers for me.

“Jamz,” she said seriously. “The corporate world is a brutal chase for pomp and pleasure, filled with trails of deceit and manipulation. The big guys do what they want, without consequence. They do what they need to just to get to the top. This is a classic case of the big guy using the little guy.. well, girl in this case. He had wealth and status, and he promised her the same. That’s all that mattered to her.”

”That’s disgusting,” I said, feeling hot with anger and annoyance.

How could she? How could she do that to herself? She betrayed us. She betrayed herself. How could she lower herself to that kind of level… just for money? Money.

”Don’t judge her,” Maahira said, and I could hear her shifting her approach, like she wanted to prove a point to me.

”How can I not judge her?” I scoffed, shaking my head again. “Would you do that, Maahi? Would you?!”

She laughed, but it was a humourless one.

I couldn’t help but feel like I was so naive. Maybe there was way more out there about the world that I had to learn about.

“You don’t want to know that answer.”

I breathed in and glanced at my bookshelf, itching for a distraction.

The rapid beating in my chest increased significantly. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. It sounded like Maahira had a story to tell and the silence already spoke volumes.

“I was so caught up, that no one could have saved me,” she said, her voice dropping even lower. “It was a pure miracle that Allah Ta’ala put guidance into my heart before I did one of the worst things anyone could do. Before I broke up someone’s marriage, and compromised my own respect.”

”Alhumdulillah,” I replied softly, remembering the fall out that Mos and Maahi had a few months back. It was coming back to me now.

How she had suddenly changed her life had made me realise that whilst Mos had been plunged headfirst into a situation, Maahira had really done an amazing job slowly morphing into someone who I looked at with something close to admiration. Even her social media vibe had changed, where she stopped taking selfies and flashy posts and now documented interesting places, food and goods she loved in London.

I sighed. It was all I could manage before she spoke again.

“There comes a time when you realise that everyone will leave you,” she continued. “And when everyone leaves you, and you’re all alone… it’s only Allah that can come through for you. I had to see the light before I was destroyed by the darkness.”

On point. She was so right. Sometimes we forget that Allah can forgive all our sins, even when we’re not willing to forgive  others. Sometimes we forget how merciful Allah is, when we refuse to show mercy to others.

I understood but I still couldn’t say anything.

”Tell me what you thinking. Tell me you’re not thinking the worst,” she said, and I could hear the concern in her voice now.

I sighed. Again.

“I’m thinking that I can’t believe that she was prepared to accept anything just for that idiot. Who knows what else went on.”

“Jameela, listen,” she said quietly. “That’s life. We get involved with bad people. We make the wrong choices. We cherish someone who turned their back on us. Who hurt us. Who broke us. That’s life. It happens. We move past it, we make Tawbah and we get up again.”

“But Hamzah doesn’t deserve all this,” I argued, the anger igniting once again as I thought of all the opportunities she had to come clean. “I also think my parents should know what she’s planning to do and why.”

“You cant be making these decisions for her,” Maahira said firmly. “It’s her past and you cant tell anyone about this. They may know some stuff but not all of it. This is stepping directly into a problem you have nothing to do with.”

Maahira’s voice was serious, and tears burning the back of my eyes as she said it. It was a warning and I wasn’t sure why but I was so upset.

Sometimes we’re so quick to put our hurt and feelings above everyone else’s. Sometimes all logic flies out the window when emotions get involved.

Sometimes we forget the simple rule of leaving alone that which does not concern us. Maybe this was something that I had to just let her get though on her own.

”But why?” I said as I regained my composure. I couldn’t understand why I should.

I didn’t want to listen. I was angry with her. My sense was clouded. I was angry that she had been with Faadil. Angry that she had let this happen. Angry that she had abandoned us as her family for that period of her life, without even giving us a heads up. Angry that everything was coming back to break everything else apart.

“Mos was doing what was best for the family,” she said softly in a pleading voice. “She wanted to help your father and keep you guys out of the mess. She felt… responsible. You know your sister. She thinks that it’s her job to take care of everyone. Except herself.”

I breathed in and sat down, closing my eyes momentarily, a little overwhelmed by what Maahi had just told me. Once again.

Here i was thinking it was Mohsina that was bad, but in fact, I too was so messed up.

I breathed in, feeling the anger dissipating.

She wasn’t the bad person here. Yes, she had sinned but she had tried to fix it.

She did it all for my father. I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t know but I didn’t think that she would want to marry someone to secure my fathers safety. I didn’t know that everything that happened was because of him.

“I just don’t like how this is all turning out,” I said, pulling at the hem on my top. “Im angry in some ways but I still wish that I could just help her somehow. Maahira, they can’t get divorced. It’s ridiculous and so horrible.”

”I know,” she said softly, sounding hopeless. “Those two have been through the worst and they’re so good together. They can’t just… die…”

I nodded.

“What can we do?”

There was silence for a bit before she spoke again.

”I think we just have to support them,” she said softly. “In what they choose, together. Apparently he’s got contacts who can work on this. I’m hoping that this will prevent them from… you know. She mentioned that there’s a Zubair guy that he’s been friendly with and who can help… you know him, right?”

My heart did a little leap as she said his name. It wasn’t a question.

Of course I knew. And I know that she knew too. Mohsina had probably told her that she didn’t want me involved with him.

She had gotten her wish. There was no way that Zubair would ever look at me again. And no way I would look at him.

Ever. Again.

“I know.”

Of course he had contacts.

I knew that him and Hamzah spoke. So did he and my brother, and the stories that M Husayn had first told me were quite something. At first I had thought that it was all fantastic, until I found the weapon stash.

My brother was fascinated by his past, but with everything we knew now, it kind of confirmed that Zubair was, in fact, some kind of  undercover mafia member in the past.

And as much as I tried to off my feelings for him, I still couldn’t imagine him being that kind of violent person. He kept the weapons because it all belonged to him, but the operative part was that it was his past and no one could find out about it.

That’s said, at least we didn’t have to worry about him murdering us in our sleep.

”I know it’s a lot to digest,” Maahi said, her voice kind now, as I heard some noises in the background. She sounded like she was back in the office now. “I know you’re worried about Mos, but I truly believe that her and Hamzah have the real thing. He’s going to make it work, whatever it takes. If anyone can get through to her, he can. Just make Du’aa, Jamz. Truly, you don’t know what it can change.”

My resolve was already strengthened because I knew that she was right.

They did have the real thing. And above everyone here, she did value him.

Through it all, I found myself wishing that Layyanah was around. She would know just the right words to say. The right kind of comfort to give.

What do you do in situations where there seems to be no way out… where every path looks the same? What do you do when it feels like you’re in a never ending maze that has no end?

My heart felt like it sunk to the ground, and while Maahi ended the call, I couldn’t help but still feel a little overwhelmed.

Seemed like Hamzah and Mohsina only had one hope, and wasn’t it just so ironic that it came down to Zubair? The whole thing was just so bizarre…

And despite my newly implemented disinterested stance, I knew that Zubair had been a little scarce and the low down that Maahi had given me explained why I hadn’t seen him around recently. It was weird that he was actually involved with helping my sister, and yet he was so averse to me.

I had been tracking him solely for the motive of avoidance. And of course, that would mean that he had probably consulted Papa about it too, and yet my father had barely mentioned it.

It wasn’t that I minded. It was just that I was hoping it would help Mohsina and set everything right again. I wished that it was all that easy. I wished that it could go away.

And with that hope, I found some peace. It wasn’t that I didn’t ask. I couldn’t not ask. I was worried and stressed and I really needed to know what was going on, but the dread of knowing the final verdict here was killing me.

It helped that the coffee shop had been a little busier and getting everything sorted out with Ma in the kitchen that week was keeping me busier than usual.

I tried to shove Zubair’s whereabouts and Mohsina’s problems out of my head for periods of time until the evenings came and it overwhelmed me all over again.

My parents were as unaware as ever. I mean, they knew that something was going on, and Mohsina had a ‘situation’, but they barely knew what drastic measures she was going to take.

She had sworn me to secrecy until she met with the lawyers and all I could do in the meantime was make a fervent Du’aa that everything was going to work out for her. It’s and that her marriage would be saved through it all.

My heart had taken enough of an emotional rollercoaster, and making sure the coast was clear on Friday as I stacked new boxes for take aways and filled up on coffee cups as my father cashed up, I couldn’t help but feel an emptiness that lurked within me. It felt like I was waiting for something to go off, or some kind of bomb to explode.

I wasn’t the paranoid type, but I still wasn’t sure which would happen first.

”I know it’s much less than it’s worth, but how’s about a coin for your thoughts?”

My father was smiling at me as he watched me, a wad of cash in one hand and a coin in his other. He had probably been watching me for quite a while, and I had barely even noticed.

I grinned back.

”It’s supposed to be a penny, Papa,” I said, winking at him.

He smiled and tossed me the coin.

The last time we had spoken properly was after I came back from London.

We had agreed that everything happens for a reason and Allah Ta’ala most definitely has a plan that is better. We had agreed that we wouldn’t bring the subject up again and that Zubair’s times and tasks would be allocated differently so I wouldn’t have to see him much.

I knew that Papa blamed himself, but I really didn’t. I just believed that this was the way it should be.

“Im just thinking of Mos, Pops,” I said with a small smile, letting him know that my thoughts were not on Zubair like he thought. “I miss her.”

There was a flash of a frown before he smiled, and for a minute, I thought Papa actually knew more than he was supposed to.

I loved my father. A lot. I was always the one to seek comfort in him, and turn to him if I was ever in a fix. He had been my support and my comfort, and I knew at any given time, he would come through for me.

But for Mohsina, I understood that it wasn’t ever like that. Papa and her had a different kind of bond. Mohsina relied on no one and confided in no one. They would have conversations, sure, but I knew that the forever fiercely independent Mohsina barely bore her heart to anyone.

To think that Papa knew something would be ludicrous. Right?

“You should talk to her,” he said again, a certain concern in his voice as he said it. “Does she know about, erm, the thing…”

My father cleared his throat and my cheeks reddened just at the way he raised his eyebrows and nudged his head toward the door.

This was so awkward. Having the conversation about a boy I had lost my sense over with your father was way more embarrassing than I thought. I wanted my money back.

“She knows,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. Never mind we’ve been skirting around it awkwardly too.

“And errr,” my father continued, digging in the back of the till and pulling out more money, probably concentrating on avoiding eye contact. “After, erm… You been okay?”

Oh my word, this was so mortifying. Also, the way Zubair had become ‘erm’ was quite original too.

“I’m fine,” I said, clearing my throat too and checking on the serviettes.

This conversation was becoming a little too intense for my liking, but the truth was, I was fine. I wasn’t as heartbroken as I had been… nor was I feeling as bulldozed as I had been a week ago.

Things might still be a little uncertain but I knew that all the duaa I had been making would come through for us. The Duaa of Musaa (AS) was definitely the reason why my faith had been unwavering. The reason why my heartbreak no longer felt so raw. Even if it wasn’t exactly looking up yet, I knew that soon there would be a little light.

“As long as you’re okay,” Papa said quietly. “Can’t upset the coffee cart again and change all of that.”

I frowned, a little perplexed by his words. I got his message, despite him stopping the apple for coffee. Clever trick.

But still.

My father was quite confusing. He had such a roundabout way of saying things, and at times it felt awkward to even ask him what he was talking about.

Now was precisely one of those times.

“I was talking to him, erm, last night,” he said hastily. “He came back quite late. With Hamzah.”

It didn’t take a brainiac by now to figure out who ‘erm’ was. And I had to pretend to be at least a little shocked that he was with Hamzah.

“Ah, I see,” I said, raising my eyebrows slightly. Papa’s brow was still furrowed as he turned to me.

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” he said, looking as guilty as the lion that ate the mouse. “He said he’s just helping with Mohsina’s case.”

It was no sweat. I wasn’t affected. Despite the racing heart, it’s as all cool.

I nodded meekly.

My father knew that Hammonds had kicked up old dirt. He knew about the money Mohsina had borrowed too. What my father didn’t know was the extent of Mohsina’s involvement with the main perpetrator.

Perpetrator. It felt good calling that good-for-nothing that.

”I’m glad he can help,” I said, trying my best to talk without emotion.

Never mind the turbulence brewing within.

”There’s one more thing he asked,” Papa said, now looking at me, as if trying to read me. “And I think Hamzah has something to do with it.”

”What’s that?” I asked, now slightly confused.

I mean, I knew that Hamzah and Zubair spoke before this too. I had seen them a conversing a few times outside, while Hamzah went out for a cigarette.

What I didn’t know was that while my sisters marriage was on the brink of collapse, my own marriage would be so tactfully arranged.

It was one of those intensely unexpected moments that would bring so much more than any of us expected. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was too surreal. Maybe I just felt everything so intensely.

I didn’t know that it may just be the solution to everything.

Well; almost everything.

“He changed his mind,” Papa said, almost as if he was holding his breath, waiting for the final verdict here. “Of course I will have to ask your mother, but I thought I’d let you know first. See if you okay with it after, you know, erm….”

Yes, I knew ‘erm’. And I was still highly embarrassed but now I was also almost holding my own breath, while I waited for Papa to finish this moment that was bringing on the most intense kind of anxiety.

And as expected, he didn’t fail to deliver.

“He asked if you would be okay with meeting him.”

---

Dearest Readers 

I’m so sorry for the delays. Been a busy holiday, but still trying to keep posts going. Please keep this weak author in your Duaas. As the new year comes upon us, let us spend the night in abundant istighfaar and Duaa. 
Though most of the work is on break, keep in mind that we are Muslim first.

Remember, keep safe, and keep it Halaal peeps. Peace y’all. Till next year.

❤️ 

Much Love, A x 

Mission Sunnah Revival

Sunnah of Thinking Good about others  

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

When Reality Checks

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 71

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

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, open your eyes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shrugged.

We got poor.

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

Oops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That wasn’t what it was about.

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

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

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

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

Psssshht.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hamzah looked positively startled by it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”You missed Taaleem?”

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

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

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

I just couldn’t do it.

I told Nani that and she wasn’t happy.

She said she was going to convince me otherwise.

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

He’s not the one for me.

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

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

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

“Babe, you okay?”

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

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

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

The realist in me told me so.

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

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

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

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

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

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

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

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

And the Plot Thickens Again…

Bismihi Ta’ala

Khawlah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And oopsi. I didn’t mean to wake him.

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

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

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

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

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

”Khawwwleed…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”He’s dreamy, isn’t he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Dearest Readers,

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

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

Much Love.

A xx

Revive the Sunnah of Du’aa

Having good Expectations and certain faith that Allaah will respond

Al-Tirmidhi (3476) narrated that Fadaalah ibn ‘Ubayd (may Allaah be pleased with him) said: Whilst the Messenger of Allaah ﷺ was sitting, a man came in and prayed and said, “O Allaah, forgive me and have mercy on me.” The Messenger of Allaah ﷺ said, “You have been too hasty, O worshipper. When you have prayed and are sitting, praise Allaah as He deserves to be praised, and send blessings upon me, then call upon Him.” (Authenticated by Albani)

According to another version (3477): “When one of you prays, let him start with praise of Allaah, then let him send blessings upon the Prophet ﷺ, then let him ask whatever he likes after that.”Then another man prayed after that, and he praised Allaah and sent blessings upon the Prophet ﷺ. The Prophet ﷺ said: “O worshipper, ask and you will be answered.”

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

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

How easy to practice …

#revivetheSunnahofHonouringElders

#revivetheSunnahofGiving

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak 

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq 

#revivetheSunnahofKinship

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

#revivetheSunnahofdrinkingwater 

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahDuaas

#revivetheSunnahDuaa

Twitter: @ajourneyjournal

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

#revivetheSunnahofdrinkingwater 

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahDuaas

Out of Darkness

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

Waseem: The finer things of life...

There are two beautiful things that remain with you after this life has taken it’s course.
To say it more effectively, till Jannah, we are given the privilege of carrying two things of this world, and treasuring it with us.

But the most amazing thing about these two concepts, is that they are intrinsically related. The one, most definitely, is dependant on the other. Without the one, the other could never be completely in tact.

And the way I see it, it’s either all or nothing. There was no middle line. If you were compromising on one, the other will definitely take the toll.

That’s why it is said that there is nothing better in this world than a pious spouse. For a man, a pious wife effortlessly brings these two ideals together, from this temporary world into our final abode. Imaan and Nikah are combined to give us that one way ticket straight into the garden of Paradise.

And that was why, when my elder brother’s marriage starting really crumbling, I couldn’t ever understand how anyone could ever underestimate the sanctity of Nikah. It was completely beyond me that anyone could ever disregard it’s importance. How my own brother, who I had once admired for landing someone way beyond his expectations, could ever kill the entire meaning of commitment, as I knew it.

I honestly did not get it.

For a few days or weeks of ‘temporary satisfaction’, he had just thrown away what was probably supposed to be the best thing in his life.

I just knew that I wasn’t ready to face him. I knew that I couldn’t trust myself to speak to him without it getting extremely heated.

And of course, I knew about temptation. I knew that a woman on the prowl could have easily got him doubting his own loyalty. I knew that he had his excuses, and that he had been going through a rough patch in his marriage. I also knew that Aasiya might have not been the easiest woman to live with.

But like Mo, I too had said the words that bound me till Jannah and eternity. I knew that ‘Qabiltun Nikahaha linafsi bi dhalik’ didn’t only just make you a married man with status and responsibility, but it also meant that you are wholly committing yourself to accepting the obligations as a husband. It meant that you are certain that you, and no-one else, can carry out whatever you need to do to keep your wife safe and happy and under your refuge.

I just couldn’t understand how everyone didn’t see it the same way.

“Waseem,” my mother’s voice shouted from outside the room door. “Muhammed Zaheer is here.”

I opened my one eye, seeing Zaynah waking up from her side of the bed. She was usually up and about way before me on a Sunday morning, so I got slightly worried at her lethargy this morning.

She sat on the side of the bed, looking slightly worn out.

“Are you okay, love?” I mumbled to her, as I slowly lifted my head to watch her.

She looked at me with tired eyes and a tiny smile. She still looked like my gorgeous wife, of course, but something about her wasn’t the same. She looked… Worn. Weary. Maybe she needed a break.

“Didn’t you hear your mother?” she whispered as she pulled on her gown. “Muhammed is here. You can’t be rude. You need to get up.”

My mother was the only one who called Mo by his full name. A double-barrelled name was always a schlep, and so when Mo was in his teens he had ditched his second name, just keeping the first, to make his life easier.

“Don’t mention him to me,” I scoffed. “I can’t even look at him… What must I go out for?”

Zaynah didn’t say anything. She just stepped into the bathroom without another word. I waited patiently for her to come out, wanting to talk to her.

“Zaynah. Don’t go,” I pleaded sulkily, sitting up to watch my wife getting ready to leave the room. “Chill. Take it easy. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m just feeling a bit odd for the past few days,” she said, looking at me with a confused  frown. “I don’t know what it is. But Mummy will need help… She invited Ziyaad and Farah for lunch today.”

She pulled on her Abaya, and glanced in the mirror to pin her scarf.

For once, I couldn’t help but think how difficult living here must be for her. I felt bad that she could barely step out of the room without being fully covered. There was never any privacy here with my brothers always around.

“Maybe you should go to the doctor,” I suggested, getting a bit worried. She even looked like she had lost weight, and it wasn’t like Zaynah needed to.

“I have stuff to do, Waseem,” she said, sounding tired.

I knew that. I just didn’t understand why Zaynah had to always go the ten extra miles for everyone else. She was always busy. She took on too much of responsibility, and I could see my brothers taking advantage.

Now that Aasiya was gone, I knew that Mo came here for at least two meals every day, and that Ziyaad was always expecting the fridges to be full of his favourite dishes. I noticed that he seemed to particularly enjoy my wife’s food, and being Zee, he didn’t feel awkward to make requests. I knew I was being moody and petty, but it made me just a little bit frustrated.

I made a mental note to ask her if she wanted to go to her uncle’s place two hours away for a short break next week. I would miss her, but maybe she just needed some time away from everything that was going on here. Helping with Dad also wasn’t that easy, though she never complained.

“C’mon Wassi,” Zaynah said, now putting her hands on her hips and grinning, despite everything she was going through.  “Stop being so sulky. You need a jelly baby?”

I looked back at her and I couldn’t help but smile back. She  was a beam of sunshine amidst the darkness I was feeling.

She had already started her jelly baby operation at this hour, and it always humoured me.

“Okay,” I said, jumping off the bed and taking up her offer on the jelly babies. “But don’t force me to talk to that scum-”

“Waseem!” she said, looking just slightly angry. “Don’t. He might have messed up but you still can’t judge him.”

I sighed, pulling in my kurtah.

“He just makes me feel…”

I trailed off and shrugged, as Zaynah left the room.

Disgusted. Enraged. Disturbed.

I had been fighting with controlling the emotions every time he came home, just so I could appear civil for my mother’s sake. And so that there would be no physical exchanges due to our difference.

Mothers were mothers. She was, of course, angry when Mo told her about Aasiya leaving, but she still worried. I knew she probably phoned him to check if he had eaten, and she probably still felt sorry for the idiot, regardless of how messed up he was.

I took the spiral staircase to the dining room, immediately hearing my eldest brother’s morbid voice as he spoke to my mother.

“I’m trying, Ma,” he was saying as I walked into the room. “But you know Aasiya. She won’t talk. She’s still upset. What more can I do?”

I wanted to klap him. What more can he do?

Now, after he probably broke her to pieces, he wanted to patch everything up as if it never happened? Completely typical male chauvinist behaviour.

I shook my head, moving on to the kitchen before they saw me.

Zaynah was already downstairs, busy at the oven.

“Did you talk to him?” She asked softly, glancing at me as she placed a tray down.

“Him and Mum were talking,” I said morbidly. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

Zaynah shook her head at me and half smiled. She knew that I was avoiding him, and though of course, she wasn’t in favour of what he had done, Zaynah always had hope. She had this insane idea that everyone in this world is still looking to find themselves. For her, no one is as bad as they seem.

Zaynah started to say something else, but stopped suddenly as Mo stepped in. She quickly put down her pardah and left the room, and I knew that it was one situation that I couldn’t avoid him.

It looked like he was waiting for an opportunity to talk to me, and I shifted uncomfortably on the stool, not really knowing what to say.

He too looked uncomfortable as he leaned against the cabinet, crossing his legs in front of him, and I studied him momentarily.

Guess jeans. Hugo Boss shirt. Versace sunglasses.

Mo’s life was on another level entirely, and, wife or no wife, he was still living it.

Given, he was looking a bit down, but I wasn’t sure when he would ever touch-down with the reality that all that crap was just an illusion. I thought that now, of all times, he would get some kind of wake up call. I just hoped that the girl that had messed things up hadn’t appeared in the picture again.

“Waseem,” he said, breaking the ice, and trying to start a conversation.

“Zaheer,” I said looking up at him, raising my eyebrows.

He frowned at me, looking annoyed.

“Why are you calling me that?”

“Boss,” I said, my voice getting slightly louder. “Why do you think? You don’t even deserve the name you have. You’re the only one in this family named after the Best of Mankind (SAW), and nothing about you even depicts the Sunnah. It’s sad, boet. Sad.”

Mo said nothing back. I mean, what could he say?

It was the first time we were actually having a one-on-one conversation like this, and I had to let him know exactly what I thought of him, even if I felt slightly bad about it. Anger was slowly dissipating, and I felt myself calm down again.

“How could you, bru?” I said now, shaking my head at him.

I wanted to ask him what kind of man does something like that, but I knew I would probably just add more guilt to his already disturbed conscience. I wanted to ask him what was so bad about his marriage that he let another chic come in the way, but I didn’t want to go down that avenue unless he volunteered the information.

“Things were tough,” he said simply, not meeting my eye. “She made the move, and it was a weak moment. You won’t understand.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, immediately seeing red. I understood. I understood very well.

“So tough that you’ll couldn’t get help and sort it out?!” I bellowed. “So tough that you had to resort to Haraam?!

I must have been shouting a bit too loudly, because I could see Mo looking beyond me, as if someone came in. I immediately shifted my focus away from Mo, and looked back.

Zaynah stood there, looking just slightly uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to my slightly erratic and bed-tempered behaviour. I had never really shown her that side of me, until now.

“Waseem,” Zaynah said softly, and I could see that she was waiting for my response. She was probably just waiting for me to calm down.

I nodded at her, waiting for her to continue. I was still raging inside.

“Ziyaad is here, love,” she said, even more softly, that I had to strain my ears to hear her.

I looked back at her, still a bit confused.

“It’s time for reading,” she finished off, and I could see a book in her hand.

Calmness descended almost immediately. In my state of mind, it was quite something.

A pious wife. SubhaanAllah.

I was probably going to blow my top with Mo, but she knew exactly when to step in and what to do. Any other woman coming into a family like mine, where darkness was literally consuming us, would probably feel awkward to bring in weekly Taaleem as a routine.

Not Zaynah. Besides her own daily kitaab reading, at every lunch or family supper, she would never hesitate to fill our table with the words of Allah and his Nabi (SAW). And what better light can be as a guidance for us, other than the noor of His (SAW) words.

It really was the most peaceful and calming time in our house, when all the gloom and doom of our sins seemed to lift, and tranquillity just seemed to shower over us. And yes, it may sound fairytale-like, but even Mo and I put our differences aside for that time, because it just had that kind of effect.

The thing was, before the Sahabah had become who they were, Radhiallahu Anhum wah Radhu anh (Allah is pleased with them and they with Him) it was these gatherings of Dhikr that made them the greatest people of Imaan. It was through effort, constant dhikr and through the love and barakah of the words of our Nabi (SAW).

And of course, I couldn’t fully digest this. I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. As I sat there, looking at my family, I was amazed that I could actually see this today. A day where we would be gathered for something that wasn’t going to benefit us materialistically. The day where we would actually put everything aside, for a few minutes, for the sake of Allah.

And I could sense that maybe Mo didn’t want to be here, and maybe Ziyaad’s wife found it a bit strange, but the fact was that, against the odds, they were here, and it was an opportunity that I we couldn’t let go off.

Only Dad was missing, but I knew that Zaynah went in now and then to share something with him, and surprisingly, since he was completely besotted with Zaynah, he just listened with no arguments.

I opened to the marker of the Kitaab that Zaynah had placed, looking at the Hadith briefly before saying it aloud.

You could trust Zaynah to choose something that we needed to hear, because she, of all people, knew exactly what it was.

The narration was an amazing one about Musaa (AS). It was one that inspired hope and love, and made me look beyond everything I had seen all this time. I knew that was exactly what Zaynah had intended.

On one particular account, the paternal cousin of Musaa (AS), Qaaroon, had called him to preach to the people, of course, with an ulterior motive in mind. As Musaa (AS) started preaching, among other verses, he then came to a verse about adultery, and the people then accused him there of. A woman who was paid to slander his name came forward.

They asked her what she had to say about Musaa (AS). Musaa (AS) then asked her to speak on oath.

She replied, “Since you have asked me to speak on oath, the truth of the matter is that they promised to give me such and such amount as a reward and induced me to accuse you in public. You are quite innocent of the crime.”

He immediately fell prostrate to Allah (SWT), Who had cleared his name. Upon Sujood, Revelation came from Allah (SWT).

“O Musaa, do not weep. We give you power over the earth in order that you may punish these people as you like. Command and it shall obey you!” 

And though he was a Nabi, one who was placed among the cream of the crop of creation, he was hurt and wanted these people, who had continuously humiliated him, to be destroyed.

Musaa (AS) raised up his head and commanded the earth to swallow them up. When they were sunk into the earth up to their ankles, they began to implore Musaa (AS) in humility to grant them pardon, but he commanded the earth to swallow them further, and they were swallowed up to their necks. They cried louder and importuned him to forgive their sins, but Musaa (AS) again ordered the earth to swallow them and so each one of the slandered was swallowed up by the earth.

But that wasn’t the entire point of the narration. The crux of it was what our Allah had said, in response to this.

The revelation then came from Allah Ta’ala to Musaa (AS).

“The people were beseeching you for pardon and crying unto you in humility.

By My Honour, had they cried unto Me and begged My pardon, I would have accepted their prayer”. 

SubhaanAllah. My heart literally ached in my chest, and I looked up at Zaynah, already seeing tears in her eyes. I knew her heart must have been crying too. And why shouldn’t it?

It even stirred something deep within the depths of my soul.

That is our Allah. That is Him. That is our Merciful Creator. And that was true love.

After every sin and every wrong that we do, He never turns us away. Even after the worst of Baatil, His mercy never wavers. It never depletes.

I closed the book, remembering the countless Ahadith I had read, when it was the darkest days of my doom, and I had been immersed in despair. I would look for anything to hold onto, or anything just to give me that slightest hope that maybe, just maybe, I could actually be forgiven.

I had forgotten how deep I was buried, when my life was so misguided. I had forgotten where I had come from before I found Zaynah. I had forgotten that no matter what we do, as Insaan, Allah’s ability to forgive is never nullified.

In a Hadith-e-Qudsi, Allah the Exalted says:

“O son of Adam, if you call upon me and place your hope in me, I will forgive you without any reservation. O son of Adam, if you have sins piling up to the clouds and then ask for my forgiveness, I will forgive you without any reservation. O son of Adam, if you come to me with enough sins to fill the earth and you meet me without associating a partner with me, I will come to you with enough forgiveness to fill the earth.” (Sunan At-Tirmidhi)

A pious wife. She knew just what to make out of the situation, and she knew how to set things back in order. Just like the darkness had been lifted out of our lives with her presence, the house I grew up in was being illuminated with the light of the efforts she was making.

I looked up, noticing my family exceptionally quiet, moving my eyes to Mo, who I was actually hesitant to look at all this time. The guy’s eyes were downcast, and though I couldn’t read his expression, I knew that some reflection might be under way. I knew that deep down, some stirrings were well on their way.

Maybe I had been too harsh, but I wasn’t sure if he felt remorse. If he truly did regret. But even me, as I judged him, remembered that  sometimes, out of overwhelming fear of the consequence of our sins, we forget Allah’s mercy.

Mo wasn’t a bad guy. He wasn’t even as bad as I had been. He had just made a mistake. He had just messed up. And maybe he just needed to be shown an escape from what he had done. Maybe he just needed to know that there was a way out of the darkness.

You see, the thing is, we all make mistakes. Prophet Adam (AS) made a mistake. And so did Iblees. Both were Aabids… They both worshipped Allah. But the distinct difference between the two, was simple, yet revolutionary.

Tawbah. It was the remedy for the the disease. The antidote for the poison. The cure for the cancer.

Every moment is a priceless opportunity to press that refresh button, and come back to Allah. To start over. To not only polish the heart to it’s original condition, but actually purify it in a way that makes you focus your life and heart on Him. To have the potential to be even richer than if you’d never fallen at all.

That was Tawbah. And this process of Tawbah, of turning back to Allah and seeking His forgiveness, is not only one of the most liberating Ibadah, but is also something that Allah loves excessively. He loves to forgive.

In fact, it is this act alone, which distinguished Prophet Adam (AS) from Shaytaan. It is by this act, that a man who committed 99 murders was completely forgiven. And it is by this act alone, that some’s hearts will actually be cleansed to such an extent, that they might actually become worthy of that place that every heart yearns for…

Paradise.

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Please don’t forget our Super Sunnahs!

It was narrated from Anas raḍyAllāhu ‘anhu (may Allāh be pleased with him): “The Prophet ṣallallāhu ‘alayhi wa sallam (peace and blessings of Allāh be upon him) prohibited that a man should drink while standing.” (Qatadah said) So it was said: “And eating?” He (Anas) said: “That is worse.” [Tirmidhi]

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

#RevivetheSunnahofEating

#RevivetheSunnahofDrinking

#Revive theSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofSmiling

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofDu’aas

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