Comment here a weird thing you do on eid that no one else does.

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This one is for myusuff
:)

Say, 'If the sea were ink for [writing] the words of my Lord, the sea would be exhausted before the words of my Lord were exhausted, even if we brought another [sea] like it as well.'

-Translation from-
-Al Quran-
-18:109-

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F  i  f  t  y   T  h  r  e  e

Mashal
The sky rushed by in a blur.

"Stretch your arms!!" Zeyara had shouted, probably a trick for a safer falling.
For those morbid seconds we were suspended in the air, limbs swaying, mouths agape, I closed my eyes falling in the darkness to an invisible floor. A floor meant to kill us if we continued to fall at that speed. My hijab whipped around as the air pushed against my face, making it impossible to breathe. However, Minahil had even managed to scream.

An instant later, there was a deafening blast from where the missile hit the abandoned helicopter. The dreadful blow of the explosion pushed me and Zeyara, the force flinging us away in a different direction than Ibrahim and Minahil. They had been fortunate to jump first for they had escaped the mass of terrible sensations as the broken pieces of glass and aluminium showered down on my husband and I.

Time seemed to slow down for a bit, causing a rush of flashbacks of my normal life which had turned into an inevitable adventure since the emergence of Zeyara in it, since I had felt the highly meddled feeling of being in love with someone whose face I had never seen.

Like a blind bulbul who could only smell the rose, not perceive it's beautiful features.

There was me praying for a Muslim neighbour, unmindful that I was actually praying for my husband, there was the sticky note in the prayer room, Minahil's red car. There was 'Zainab' as well and Mrs. Shamim. There was the full moon in Pakistan who witnessed me running away from the protection of the one who had been written for me, probably before the moon was created.
There was Sanan and Al Shams, there was Marwa and Uncle Suleiman. There was Ibrahim and there was baba.
Then there was a rose as well.

And the other flowers had complained
there's more beauty to praise around.
One day loving the rose all along
You'll find, was entirely wrong.

The bulbul said, I know where I belong
For nothing else can give my heart a song.

"Mashal!!" That scream of Zeyara again. "I said stretch your arms!"

I allowed my arms to stretch, giving myself wings. Making myself the bulbul.

The helicopter, a ball of fire being pulled more strongly by gravity than us rushed past me and the last thing I witnessed was how the helicopter blades sliced through the branches of a tree, reducing to nothing but a wretched mess of metals.

Even so, I could tell that falling from 8000 feet above sea level was less painful than falling in love.

*

I was expecting to wake up in my grave and be greeted by Munkar and Nakir but when I woke up suddenly, Alhamdulillah in one piece, I found myself surrounded by four walls with chipped off paint.
The rusty metallic door gave away that I was a prisoner.

I tried getting up slowly but a pang of pain struck through my head and limbs. I bit my lip to keep from crying as the ache reminded me of what had happened.

Tension lanced in my entire system when I realised Zeyara was supposed to be with me but he wasn't.
"Zeyara!"

No answer.

My heart raced faster than the speed of light, mind clouded with the most horrific thoughts.

"Zeyara!! Sheikh!" I called out again.

No answer.

My eyes watered, feeling exactly what I had felt when Ibrahim once told me Zeyara was no more.
I had been so ungrateful. What if I didn't deserve him anymore?

I whimpered with each fluctuating intake of breath, unable to heave myself off the floor, a mix of aromas leached as a blend of damp and stagnant odours, animal droppings, reminiscent of decaying vegetation leaped and whirled in the humid air and into my nose.

I let myself turn into sujood, thanking Allah for still being alive and praying hard with tears running down my face, pouring down until I felt at peace. I made dua for Zeyara and for our relationship, that Allah makes me the best for him and keeps him safe, helping both of us out of this trial. For all help is from Him alone.

I had no track of time, for how long I kept crying and reminding myself to be patient until the rusty grey door rattled open suddenly. Fear and disgust crept into my flesh and bones even before I could direct my neck to face those who had entered.
Their loud chanting Arabic and unkempt beards. An attire that could force you into thinking they were the most pious, whilst actually being the opposite.

Terrorists.
It was unknown to me why they saved us, only to throw us in a cell as captives.

They flung an almost senseless Zeyara on the floor next to me, being well aware of my horrific scream as my eyes inspected my husband's state.

They found it strangely amusing and kicked Zeyara right in the gut  along with harsh Arabic words which seemed to be curses.

Zeyara didn't wince though, even after getting three kicks.

They left us locked in there after that. The flickering yellow bulb being the only light source and it didn't seem long until it would give up too.

I jerked myself, crawling towards him, feeling as helpless as a bird without wings. "Zeyara!" I had called out to him in agony. My heart fell right through my chest when his bleeding lips failed to utter a word.

His shirt was torn, congealed blood visible on his face, his arms and legs purple. The scarlet blood flowing out of the deep cut right below his elbow, also the bone fractures that I couldn't see.

His dreary, half open eyes stared into mine and I desperately tried to minimise the distance between us.
My heart snapped into two and there was no doubt that I loved him more than I loved myself.

"I'm sorry." is all my trembling lips could mumble as I wrapped a torn shard of my abaya to stop his bleeding.
His eyes blinked, he wasn't one to whimper in pain, except what the eyes revealed.

My own aching leg was forgotten, head bowed down on his chest as the tears spilt down my face. My own distressed cries echoed in the room.
They had beaten him as much as they possibly could.
I was just praying it wasn't beyond repair.

"M- Ma Mashal." He managed to croak after several failed attempts, making my breathing halt.
My head rose at the word, heart clenching at his voice. As if he was speaking while being choked.
"M- my hair."

He gave up speaking after those words, it had been too painful for him.

Unknowing of what he meant and to not put him through the pain of explanation, I reached out for his hair.
I let my hands ruffle those locks, holding back the welling tears.

I was just about to stop when in the softness of his dusty hair, my hand grazed something metallic.

It was a hidden tracker, I knew it as soon as I saw the Alnihayya logo on it. Zeyara wanted me to turn it on so back at Alnihayya they could receive our location signals and come to our rescue.

My perplexed mind, forgetting that there was a reason Zeyara had kept the tracker hidden, unclipped it from his hair and brought it out where it was visible.
I had just managed to turn it on when they barged in through the shattered door.

First the tracker was snatched from my hands, followed by curses as three of those monsters kicked and lashed me and my already injured husband. My efforts of shielding Zeyara failed miserably as they pulled me off of him and beat him more.
He didn't scream. I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Not for the hits that I got, but for the ones he had to bear because of my foolishness.
The pain seemed to come in waves and torrents, combined with my already swollen leg. I wish I had mastered Sabran Jamila.

"Khalas!" A ruthless voice commanded, ending the physical torture which had reduced me and Zeyara to a pile of bloody mess on the floor.

The three that had been lashing us stepped aside and with the little force I had left, I directed my head to see the commander.

Allah SWT makes every single human beautiful. He creates art as he is Al Musawwir.
But when humans engage in the worst sins, continuously do what is disgusting and hideous, it starts showing up on their faces. Their faces become frightful and ghastly due to their cursed deeds.

The same was the case with that terrorist.
He gave a malicious laugh at my demeanour, lowering himself on his knees for a direct eye contact with me.

He seemed to be under the impression that I could understand Arabic. His loud grating voice kept talking to me without me having the slightest idea of what he was on about.
When he had repeated a question thrice without earning a single reply from me, rage enticed in his eyes which were high on the blood of innocent people, he cracked his hand across my face. It stung me loud and hard, my face reeling back on the floor.

Zeyara's limp hand rose a little in my peripherals before falling down again. That's the most his unconscious body could do as a reaction to his wife being hit. My eyes pooled wet, knowing that he was in ten times more pain as I. And also that he would've not spared the breath of this man if he was not struggling for his own life.

The brute repeated the question again, in a much more stentorian tone. To save myself another slap, I spoke out. "I can't understand the poison you're uttering!"

A hint of realisation finally crossed his features when he heard me speak a language foreign to him.
He backed off then, annoyed to the core of his stoned heart.

I heard him hush a harsh command to one of his men and he rushed out of the cell to follow out the command of his leader. I was guessing he ordered to bring someone who could translate Arabic into English for me.

My mind trailed back to Ibrahim and Minahil. Hopefully they had escaped safely. The negativity in me didn't help though. I could imagine them being caught by Israelis, if not by terrorists.

The terrorist who had gone out, returned shortly, accompanied by another man I easily recognised. The physical torture had been enough but seeing Sanan as a terrorist again was the type of torture I wasn't ready for.

No it couldn't be him. Pain had probably frozen my nerves and I must be hallucinating but even after rapid blinks of my eyes I couldn't mistake his tall stature, his pushed back black hair and the smouldering eyes which were full of a shameful shock when they fell upon me and my husband. He pulled his eyes away in a split second as if he had just been stung by the deadliest of bees.

But I didn't. My hollow eyes bore holes into him, disgusted by his presence and what it stood for while he listened to the command of his leader who had summoned him to be a translator.

"You are under the custody of Islamic state. It is in your best interest to tell us how you are related to Zeyara Suleiman because you were found next to him." Sanan spoke, converting his leader's previous Arabic question into English for me.

His voice was steady and clear but all I could hear was the freezing of the sun. I was hurt and it felt like the Shams would be hurt too.

"Go ahead, tell them! You already know the answer." I screamed at him, even though my voice was trembling.
"You revolt me Sanan. The sight of you makes me sick! I can't believe you could be that ill to enjoy killing people!"

He didn't look me in the eye the whole time, he didn't address me after that. Just talked to his leader in Arabic, probably letting him know that I was Zeyara's wife.

Then they left us again, locked in the light of a bulb which blinked rapidly until it burnt off, leaving us in grey darkness.

I did shout,"Your mother would be ashamed to have given birth to a puny!" before Sanan walked out.

I wanted to scream in that locked emptiness but the little tawwakul. Reliance on Allah. That I had learnt didn't let me.
So what if it was dark? I had already experienced the Noor of the heavens and the earth in Kashf. He was here too, All seeing and all hearing.

I dragged myself to Zeyara again, telling myself I had to be strong like him and not shed tears anymore. Rather look for a solution.
A mud pot full of water was placed at the corner of the room. I did push myself to get the water despite the burning pain which coursed through my entire system but the smell of animal droppings was much stronger there. I could imagine the area being used as a toilet.

Zeyara was burning with fever while I desperately spread wet pieces of my abaya on his forehead. The deep inflamed slash above his elbow that I had previously covered with had started dripping blood and pus again. Even in the grey of the unlit room, his blood glinted. I held my hand to the slash but no matter the pressure I applied, the blood still gushed between my fingers and oozed down my hand, staining the floor.

My lips trembled, heart pounding with fear realising that if I was unable to stop the bleeding, I might lose Zeyara.
This time for real.
And I would be the cause of that.

I tried pouring water over the wound which caused him to wince, but the blood still continued. "Zeyara please stay with me." I found myself helplessly muttering. "Please make dua. Your dua will surely be accepted."

Moments later, a flood of light entered the room, twitching my eyes as someone opened the door, this time without much rattling. I was mentally preparing myself for more lashes which would probably be the last ones before our bodies gave up but instead, the man carefully unscrewed the fused bulb and replaced it with a working one. The room illuminated enough for me to see that the he was none other than Sanan.

He placed a metallic tray on the floor next to me. I could see what seemed like gauge, bandages, scissors and an ointment of some sort. Without speaking a word, he extended his hand to grab Zeyara's injured arm that I had been holding.

"No! Don't you dare touch him." I snarled at him with much hatred.

"He will die." He answered coldly, staring into my soul.

"I don't need a bloody monster's help for my husband! It's because of you he is in this state."

He sighed, picking up a cotton wipe from the tray, "Stop kidding yourself Mashal. We both know he won't make it if I don't stop the bleeding."

Zeyara's flesh was pale, his strong sturdy looks were long gone. One glance at him and I couldn't argue anymore.
Swallowing my ego and going against every mental instinct, I let him do his thing, moving aside.

"Thank you." He muttered as he set to work, wiping the blood from my husband's pallid skin.
Every time an ointment was applied, Zeyara winced and I looked away, biting my lip to refrain from screaming. Instead I continued my dua.
He was so beautiful, yet he had to bear this pain. And he did so, with a beautiful patience.

"All done." Sanan announced after what seemed like ten minutes. I diverted my eyes to finally look at my husband. He seemed much cleaner, all the blood gone, the wounds dressed in white. I even noticed how Sanan had cared to wipe the crimson fluid off the muddy floor.

"Can you make him eat this please?" He asked, extending what seemed like a medicine towards me. "This is to prevent infection. I tried to feed him but he won't eat from my hand. Hates me way too much I guess." I took the medicine from him as he gave a crooked smile.

"You know Zeyara was about to hang you in Syria. He would've done that if I had not stopped him, thinking you had changed." I snapped, unable to hold the feelings inside. "You just proved how wrong I can be when it comes to judging people."

He shook his head and stared at me in disbelief. "You still don't get it, do you? I am not a terrorist! If I was, why would I be risking my life to help you two right now?"

"You are amongst terrorists and obeying their commands and you are saying you aren't one!"

"Trust me Mashal, I am not. Like you said earlier, why would I want my mother to think of me as a puny? They caught me on the Palestine-Syria border. If I had not pretended to be one of them, they would've killed me."

I didn't let my guards down instantly but the story he narrated seemed believable. When I didn't respond for another minute, he repeated his previous words.

"These medicines Mashal. Zeyara needs them."

"How do I know they are medicines and not poison?"

"So you have decided not to trust me." He sighed. "Fine. But let me tell you, that's the only choice you have. Either trust me and I will help all three of us to escape, or don't trust me and die."

Contemplation was not a choice, without further resistance I moved up closer to Zeyara.

"So you decided to trust me?" He smirked as I examined the tablets for potential traces of poison.

"Not you, Allah." I answered, making him go silent.

Sanan helped me prop Zeyara against a wall to get him in a sitting position. There wasn't anything left of his battered face to express what he might have wanted to express, nor did he have the strength to speak or open his eyes anymore. Yet, I was sure he could hear me.

For the first time ever, I decided to address him in the same affectionate way, he addressed me. "Zawji please open your mouth for me? These are just medicines."

"M -M..M" His cracked lips continuously tried to form my name, wincing in pain with each movement of his jaw.

I would've let my head fall on his chest and cry, tell him that he didn't need to.
Only the presence of Sanan held me back.

"Bismillahi Rahman ar Raheem" I mumbled as I pushed the tablets in his mouth one by one, followed by three sips of water, half of which drooled down his chin.

He extended his frail hand a bit, as if reaching out for me.
"I'm here." I croaked, tearing up as I held his wounded hand in my bloodied one, intertwining our fingers, just the way he had always liked them to be.

The whole time, I had forgotten about Sanan who stared at us fascinated.
"You make an amazing wife." He finally whispered, ending the silence and reminding me of his presence.

I didn't reply to his statement. Little did he know how bad a wife I had proven myself to be.

"I should be going then." He cleared his throat. "I had turned off the cameras for a while but leaving them off for longer might make them suspicious."

"Thanks for your help." I muttered without eye contact just as he was about to leave.

"It's okay. I'm ashamed. I'm sorry I can't do more for you right now or else they'll kill me. I'll try to bring food tomorrow morning in sha Allah and also try to find what they want from you." He said before uttering his Salam and locking us off in the death hole again.
I couldn't help but mumble Alhamdulillah for at least Zeyara was safe now and we had light.

*

"Alhamdulillahil lathee ahyaana ba'da maa amaatanaa wa inlayhin-nushoor"
Praise be to Allah Who gives us life after He has caused us to die and to Him is the return.

There wasn't a clock or a window to see the sun and it might well be the middle of the night, but when I woke up I assumed it to be the next day.

Zeyara's eyes were still closed, his hand still holding mine which made me smile. The slow rise and fall of his chest was probably the only thing about him I could recognise but he still seemed to be calmer than yesterday. Sanan's tablets were indeed medicines, not poison. Alhamdulillah.

However when I tried moving myself, pain exploded in my leg. In the numbness of Zeyara's pain, I had completely ignored my own wounds. Covering my mouth with my left hand to muffle my sobs, I pulled up the abaya. Only to see my grey trousers stained brown with dired blood just below my knee.
That was already enough for a person like me to get a heart failure but I still managed to tear off that part of the trouser. From my shin to my knee, there was no skin. Only raw and screaming flesh in hues of pink and red.
The bruises on the rest of my body were long and thin, like the whips they used to lash us.

The door rattled and I pushed my abaya down.
It must be Sanan. He said he would come with food. I really wanted him to come for my stomach was rumbling with hunger.

But that hope was destroyed as soon as two terrorists with thick long whips entered, flinging their whips in the air, wanting everyone to fear them.
My tongue started reciting whatever came to my mind, my hand clenching Zeyara's even tighter than before.
They threw an unwounded man on the floor next to us, his hands and feet tied with ropes which were red with blood. The cell was tiny and the man almost fell on top of me.

He looked racially white with his blond hair and pale skin.
"You bloody mozlems!" He spat, adding more unpleasant words with each passing second. His English accent confirmed it further, he was an American. If we were at a better place and not surrounded by terrorists who would enjoy killing us more than eating chocolate, I would've argued with that person. Like hello? I'm a Muslim and they're treating me just as badly.

I was expecting them to lash him like they lashed me and Zeyara.
Instead, much for the nightmares I was going to receive for the rest of my life, one of the terrorist took out a heavy, long knife. A deadly sharp dagger.

Laughing and chanting in Arabic, one pulled the guy's head back by his hair to reveal his neck. The other chanted "Allahu Akbar!" before slitting the guy's throat right in front of me as he let out a strangled scream which was going to haunt me for years.

I don't know why I didn't scream when in the echoes of their mad laughter, they cut the guy's hands, legs and his head. Holding his limbs up like trophies, they continued saying Takbeer.

I lost conscience.

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EID MUBARAK everyone!!

I'm sure there's got to be someone older than me here!
So now let's get to the point. Shall I give you guys my bank account details so you could send my Eidi? XD

And if someone is younger than me then error 404 Muskaan not found. hahaha.

This was the promised Eid update #1
(even though it was pretty depressing compared to the lively eid atmosphere)

2 more to come in sha Allah!

-Muskaan.