F o r t y N i n e
This one is for @missy_
:)

Allah sometimes, takes us into troubled water, not to drown us, but to cleanse us.
*

Mashal
Men might consider themselves to be stronger and more vigilant but the moment they decide to be lazy, even slugs are ashamed of their sluggishness.

Apparently, my brother Ibrahim was demonstrating the same skill for the plan 009 Ibby's zubiha day. He wasn't at all ready to man up and talk to Minahil's father.
He had a whole bag full of excuses.
"Mashal the time in UK is different. He might be sleeping right now."
"Mashal it's Friday today. He must be gone to the juma'ah."
"He must be at work."

"He must be--"

"No! Not at all. I don't care if he might be in toilet, in the masjid or even on Mars. You're calling him today or else book a ticket and go to his house with some flowers and talk to him face to face."

He opened his mouth, probably to come up with a new excuse but a lethal stare from me shut him up and I pushed him off to the networking room.

Since I had proved myself worthy, I resumed my training under Saddia with all the other women. Key skills about weapons and camouflage were taught, which according to Saddia were 'more important than fighting.'
We were in the middle of the training session in Zanjabeel when Zara came in. Everyone paused, staring at the girl at the door with confused expressions.

It was when I ran up to her and crashed her into a hug that the fighters clapped along with a loud "Welcome back Zara!"

She smiled against my shoulder and mumbled a "thank you for everything you did."

In the end all the fighters were given the option to choose whichever weapon they preferred. All the weapons were layed out in front of us, long guns, short guns, more guns that I couldn't name, rifles, even daggers, knives, bows and arrows.

I ended up choosing the smallest pistol possible because form what I had learnt from my previous experience, the tinier the gun, the deadlier it is.

The hasty flowing of time had also brought the last ten days of Ramadan and Laylatul qadr. The night of Power.
Since Zara had finally decided to come out of her depressive shell, we got back together in our plan of finishing the Quran twice. Our whole day between suhoor and iftar was spent in the masjid with the other women, some of whom were sitting for itikaff. Seclusion from worldly affairs to devote oneself to worship.

I was sitting in the masjid with Zara, two days after forcing Ibrahim to talk to Minahil's father when a certain men's perfume struck my nose.
I rose my head up from the Quran in my hand and looked around desperately to find the source of that scent.

Rightfully, there she was, two rows behind me. For the first time since we came to Alnihayya, Minahil was in the masjid.
Although with a slippery, see through scarf on her head that did little to cover her silky brown hair and clothes that were too tight to be legal.

Shut up Mashal you're fasting. Stop judging people!

She seemed to be praying nawafil. Voluntary prayer. But the poor girl's scarf would keep on slipping off every time she bent down for ruku' and sujood and she had to fix it up every ten seconds.

Excitement poured down on me like the Manchester rain, drenching me to the core. A wide smile cracked on my face and I rushed up to Minahil as soon as she finished her prayer.

"Minahil! I can't believe you're here!" I squealed in a low voice, not to disturb the others absorbed in Ibadah, especially Zara.

"What a coincidence." She said with a sarcastic enthusiasm. "Even I can't believe I'm here."
Her make up was on 'fleek' as always with lined eyes, sweeps of mascara and brown lips which left me wondering how she managed to do wudu.
Probably before the make up Mashal. Once again, stop judging.

"I'm so happy for you." I whispered as I settled down beside her. Her strong perfume struck me real bad and I ended up coughing violently. "But please next time, don't use this perfume for the masjid."

"That ugly doctor told me not to use any perfume at all for the sake of my lungs but who cares." She shrugged. "If I'm gonna die, I would rather die while smelling like Madonna, not like a stinky dead body."

And for a second there, I thought she had improved.

I shook my head in disbelief. "You're unbelievable. But at least you're in the masjid!"

"Yeah that." She said, fixing her fallen scarf again. "Your brother talked to my father and my father finally agreed to talk to me. I thanked Ibby for that but he told me to go and thank Allah. So here I am. I guess that's how you thank Allah right?"

I stared at her glowing face by the magic of MAC and Bobbi Brown, as I had learned. My eyes grew wide and grin wider. I couldn't believe how she was not feeling the same giddy of excitement as I was.

Knowing that my excitement might result in me being disrespectful to the values of the mosque, I nudged Minahil to come out of the masjid with me.

Once outside, I blasted her with loads of questions. "Did papa agree? Has he forgiven you now? Are you two getting married?"

"What the h- horror Mashal! I didn't study further because they ask too many questions in exams and now you're doing the same?"

"Okay I'm sorry! Just tell me what happened." I bit my lip from preventing myself from sounding too excited.

She took in a deep agitated breath. "So some good soul convinced Ibby to talk to papa. Papa told him he won't spend a single penny on my wedding and he put the condition of a really high mahr for me so that Ibby doesn't divorce me. Also, that no one from his family would attend the wedding. He still is adamant on his decision to disown me. Then he said he wanted to talk to me. You don't know how happy I was that he finally talked to me Mashal."

I guess I knew how happy she was.
"What did he say?" I asked, almost jumping on my toes.

"He told me not to fail him again. He told me to remember that Ibrahim is the only family I have now and that no matter what happens, whatever he says, I have to surrender. So that some day papa would have the right to say proudly that his daughter was at least, a good wife."

She wiped the tears off her face that had fallen during her speech. "Mashal." She exclaimed finally, with the same excitement I had. "I'M FREAKING GETTING MARRIED!!"

*

The news of the impending wedding spread in Alnihayya faster than the running speed of Flash in Justice league.
The reason being, this was going to be the first wedding in Alnihayya and probably the first wedding inside a mountain. The fact that it was going to be on the last day of Ramadan, added even more to the joy.

Three days before the big day, Minahil had invited some of her pilot friends from her fighter plane training and me to go shopping with her for her wedding. I took along Zara with me as well. She needed some change of air.

"You are not even married to him yet and you already asked him for money?" Zara asked Minahil with her face stuck in a stunned shock. It was immensely disturbing for a simple girl like Zara.

"Duh! Do you expect me to wear old clothes on my wedding?" Minahil shrieked with her hand on her heart. "Certainly not."

"No but..... you could've been less extravagant." Zara mumbled in her low voice.

"Yeah Minahil I agree. You asked Ibrahim for such a large amount of money. He is not even a fighter, he doesn't earn that much." I affirmed Zara's point as my eyes fell on the bundles of money in Minahil's hand. All of the girls she had invited were gathered in her room and preparing to go shopping when Minahil had shown us the money.

Minahil tossed the money into her bag and flung it over her shoulder. "It's not like I forced him guys! I just went to his room and asked him if he would give me money to get a wedding dress. He himself gave me all this..... on one condition though."

"What condition?" One of her pilot friends asked.

"This." Minahil said as she lowered a scarf on her head, the same slippery one that she had been wearing in the masjid. "He told me to cover my head when I go out for shopping."

Zara and I glanced at each other, wide smiles appearing on our faces. Ibrahim was already up on his mission to change Minahil.

Minahil was the one who flew us over in her own plane to Gaza. Her own fighter plane. As if that wasn't bizarre. Two of her pilot friends helped her to along. Her skills made me question why I didn't choose piloting instead of fighting.

Luckily for Minahil, the locals had organised a huge eid market on the Gaza beach. It was unbelievably beautiful.
It was as if all the life remaining on Gaza had decided to celebrate life.

The Spring sun shone down on the market, the sea glistened ahead and the scent of henna from the henna stalls lingered in the air. Market stalls lined the beach, selling colourful eid clothes, handmade jewellery, imported merchandise, exotic fruits, dates and sacks of dry fruits.
Minahil stopped by at one of the stalls with her Arabic speaking friends to bargain on a pair of sandals. I could see Zara strolling off to a stall selling patterned scarves.

My own brain gave me a cheeky idea when I saw a stall selling cheap make up. I blushed with a shy smile as I thought of how Zeyara would react. He had never really seen me dressed up and glam except for our wedding day and even on that day, I didn't have much make up on.

When I went back to the other girls after buying make up, I found them all standing near a stall giggling, while one of the girls was having a heated argument in Arabic with the stall owner. The poor guy was desperately trying to calm the girl down but she kept on shouting at her.

"What happened?" I approached Zara.

"That boy unfortunately ended up calling Maryam an 'aunty'." Zara chuckled. "He's lucky she hasn't killed him yet."

When Maryam finally spared the poor boy's life, the girls decided to get henna on their hands. I was really excited to get it, I absolutely adored those pretty patterns on my hands but when we reached the henna stall, it wasn't sheltered or covered from any side. It was an open air tent and men lingered around in huge magnitudes. Even though I was dying to get it and I knew eid was the only chance for me to get it, my conscious didn't allow me to roll my sleeves up in front of men.

The others did get it though, Minahil literally got henna every where...... even on her shoulder blade.

By the time we all got at least one dress each and came back to Alnihayya, only few minutes were left for Maghrib and we had to run to be in time for iftaar.

These were the last few days of praying taraweeh behind Ibrahim and Minahil, for the first time ever, came to pray.
Regardless of the fact that in the end, when we were going back to our rooms, she ended up saying. "Ibby has a beautiful voice. Even better than Zayn Malik! He should try singing songs!"

I didn't have anything to say as an answer except for an incredulous shake of my head.

My actual excitement began when I reached my room. Zeyara had reached before me and was already lying on the bed when I arrived.

"Zeyaraaaa!" I jumped on my toes, "I went shopping with Minahil today!"

"Mashal, let me sleep." was his uninviting reply.

I ignored the bitterness and still went on to grab the bag full of my shopping. I pulled out the red dress I had bought and spread it out for Zeyara to see clearly. "See how pretty it is!"

"Would you please let me sleep?" He spat, a bit too harshly this time and turned around to face the opposite side.
He really didn't seem to care about the shopping, that wouldn't have bothered me but he seemed so worried and secretive from the past few days that it stressed me.

I pushed the shopping away and laid down next to him, hugging his muscular form from behind. "What's bothering you sheikh? Tell me please."

"Nothing!" He bellowed in frustration, brushing my arm off his body. "For once Mashal, stop being a baby and grow up! I'm sick and tired of you."

I flinched, gulping down my rising fear. He was right. I have such an immature mindset. He must've been so annoyed.
"I'm sorry Zeyara. I won't do it again. Please don't be mad at me, the Angels will curse me the whole night."

There was a moment of silence before he took a deep breath, still facing away from me. "Mashal just sleep." His voice was softer now, which calmed me. "I'm not mad at you. I'm just....worried. There's a war coming up. I'm sure I'll be okay by tomorrow in sha Allah."

The war. I had totally forgotten about that. Zeyara had a right to be worried even though everyone else was busy pretending that everything was perfect.

I curled my arm around him once again and snuggled in closer, breathing into his scent. "The war won't separate us...right? I won't be able to bear that."

Zeyara turned around to face me. His eyes scanned my face deeply before his hands fondled my curls. "Only if you remember the poem I taught you."

"Why do you keep on saying these scary things? But yeah I recorded it in my phone so even if I forget, I'll have backup."

"Zawjati." He whispered, still playing with my hair and completely ignoring my statement.

"Yeah?"

"I wish I could still kiss you." His deep voice cracked at the end, he had started crying.
Without tears.

"Z-Zeyara--" I tried forming words to say but I failed miserably. My heart ached with those half regrets that he never mentioned. He never complained.

"And smile when you smile and shed tears when you do. It's Ramadan and I can't even cry in front of Allah. I can't even--"

Before he could say another word, I intertwined our hands and planted a kiss on his. "You'll be able to do all that and also take me to for that expensive dinner. In sha Allah. Just be patient."

*

Sorry guys!
A very short, not well written chapter but thats because I didn't want this to be in the next chapter. The next one is going to be amazing in sha Allah! I have already written half of it so it will be done by tomorrow!

Also, thanks to everyone who followed Alnihayya on Instagram. ❤️
-Muskaan.