Salam my lovely readers! Thank you for reading the story so far, I am so grateful that you've given this story time! ❤❤❤

Dedicated to LoveUnconditionally because I am loving Confessions of A Muslim Girl and it is helping me write this story too. 

(Rewritten in July 2026)

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Abu Hurairah (RA) reported: The Prophet (Sallallahu Alaihi wasallam) said, "He who goes to the mosque in the morning or in the evening, Allah prepares for him a place in Jannah whenever he goes to the mosque in the morning and returns from it in the evening."

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"Hurry up, Zeinab, we're going to be late!" I urged as Zeinab undid her hijab for the third time, claiming it wasn't perfect. My sister the perfectionist. I knew the Prophet (S.A.W) told us to do everything at its best, but this was just getting ridiculous.

"We have to leave now or we'll miss Maghrib!" I called down the hallway, grabbing my purse and checking my hijab one last time. We were going to the mosque, as we always did for Maghrib prayer on a Friday night, however, Zeinab and Nasr were taking far too much time in getting ready.

"I want to look good for Allah," Nasr said as he finally got out of his bedroom, running his fingers through his thick dark hair. He had been growing out his stubble in the past week, and he smelt fresh, his clothes clean and ironed.

I fixed up his collar and smiled at him. "Well, you do look good, bro, but you didn't have to take so long."

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Zeinab stumbled out of her room, her hijab still a little wonky, however I was not going to tell her that, especially since we only had five minutes to drive to the mosque and join the prayer, and Immi and Baba were waiting for us at the front door.

"Yallah, ya awlaad!" our mother ushered us out the door, barely even wearing our sandals. I was still hopping into mine, my left foot bare. Well, there goes my perfectly clean feet.

Our local mosque was quite packed on a Friday night, as we lived among many Muslims from a variety of countries. The majority of our neighbourhood consisted of Lebanese and Palestinian, with a few Indonesian, Pakistani and Somali thrown in. I noticed a blond head belonging to a tall man in a blue thobe bobbing in the crowd in front of me as we all shuffled in the door, removing our shoes. I always put mine on the top right shelf so that it'd be easier to find it, since hardly anyone put theirs on the top shelf. I had never seen the blond man before, perhaps he was a convert, and I noticed him shaking hands with other men as he entered the mosque, smiling and saying, "Assalamu Alaikum."

I was quickly swept through the doors that led to the women's section of the mosque, and I felt someone barrel into me, enveloping me into a hug. I sniffed. Pomegranate soap, apple-cinnamon muffin and lemon laundry powder. It had to be Fatima!

"Fatima! Salam, sister!" I hugged her back after realizing it wasn't some random stranger, and she beamed at me, brown eyes twinkling.

"I missed you, Mariam!" she exclaimed, only to receive disapproving glares and shushes from the mothers that passed us. I glanced around and sure enough, everyone was getting in line for prayer.

"Oops!" Fatima covered her mouth sheepishly, dragging me by the hand so that we could stand together for prayer. Zeinab and Mama joined me on my left while Fatima was practically jittering on my right, excited to be here. Fatima loved coming to the mosque, and not just because she got to see me. She was a much more devoted Muslim than me, and that was saying something. Being her friend also made me want to be a better Muslim, and it was she who convinced me to stop listening to music and come to the mosque regularly a couple of years ago, since I had fallen through a time when I was out of touch with Islam. If it weren't for Fatima, I would've probably ended up like Nasr, missing prayers and going to parties in the last couple of years of high school. Alhamdulillah for Fatima.

The prayer ended ten minutes later, led by the Sheikh, who spoke through the microphone for us women in the back to hear. It was fully packed tonight, and I felt squished in my place in between Fatima and Zeinab, but it also reminded me how blessed we were to all be praying together like this in congregation, for the reward was increased when you prayed in a group rather than alone.

Most of the people broke off and left the mosque, while a few stayed behind to read Quran. I was also that few, however after reading Quran for five minutes, Fatima couldn't help but whisper to me.

"What Surah are you up to?"

"Al-Hajj," I replied, keeping my voice low so as not to disturb mama, who was not far from us, reading Quran from the kitab.

Fatima's eyes gleamed. "I'm up to Nur," she boasted. "I'm ahead of you."

"Masha'allah," I remarked kindly, ignoring the fact that she was rubbing it in my face. We had this thing for the last two years where we'd start reading Quran on the first of January from the beginning and see who would finish it first. Fatima usually always won, but this year, I wasn't going to let her. I had been too busy with homework to find time to read Quran; I'd strive to read half a juz a day, however that wasn't enough to beat Fatima, who read very fast and spent more time on it. Did I mention she was also very competitive? But then, so was I.

"Oh, Mariam, you are so humble," Fatima smiled. "But I know deep down you are planning to read more Quran just to beat me!"

"You know me too well," I feigned defeat at her discovering my plans. I then turned back to my Quran. "Bismillahi rahmani Raheem..."

After reading Quran for around ten minutes, Fatima and I went to return them to the cabinet. I noticed that there were no other Quran copies left, which was amazing, since that meant that there were a lot of people here reading Quran.

Once we sat down again, I threw my arms around her and squeezed. "Ya Allah, I missed you. I wish we went to the same school."

"You definitely don't want to go to my school," Fatima said. "Girls are no better than boys."

"Well, you would hate my school. A private school girl like you wouldn't survive one day," I chuckled.

Fatima looked offended. "Hey! I bet I could. How hard could it be?"

"You wouldn't be able to cope with all the boys swarming around. You don't even have a brother!" I pointed out. "You're boy-starved!"

"More like boy-cleansed," Fatima countered. "Not dealing with boys every day is very refreshing, Mariam. You should try it – oh, wait, you can't. And while we're on the subject, what's up with Nasr?"

I could tell Fatima was trying to be casual about it, but I knew her well enough to know she had a little crush on my brother. I could never understand why anyone would like him, but I tried not to think about it as I replied nonchalantly, "Oh, you know, he's just cruising through uni. He says it's so much better than high school."

"He's studying architecture, right?" 

I arched an eyebrow. "How did you know? I never told you that."

Fatima reddened. "Oh, I think your mother mentioned it once." I shot her another look, and she sighed. "Okay, fine! I may have gotten the answer via Zeinab," she confessed.

At the mention of Zeinab, the girl herself approached us with a wide smile. "Hey, Fatima, sorry, but we have to go now. Baba's waiting in the car," she reported.

"Okay, Zay-Zay," I loved calling her that, especially since it made her wrinkle her cute little nose.

"Don't call me that!" she cried.

"Ya banaat, the mosque isn't a café, so stop gossiping," Mama told us off, clutching a burgundy-coloured Quran with an intricate golden design on the cover.

"Sorry, Mrs. Barakat," Fatima always called my mum by her formal name, and my mum liked it, since it made her feel professional.

"We are leaving now, ma'a salama, Fatima," I watched my friend embrace my mother as we stood up to leave.

I retrieved my sandals from the shoe rack, slipping them on and heading towards the exit. I had lost sight of my mother and sister, so I decided to head into the carpark first. It was a balmy night, and I found myself too entranced by the stars that twinkled in the deep blue sky above to watch where I was going, so I ended up colliding straight into someone.

"Sorry!" I yelped.

The guy I bumped into turned around, and I gasped. "Zaid?"

"Mariam," his face lit up with a smile as he recognised me. "Assalamu alaykum. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Wa alaikumu salam," I returned the peace greeting, surprised to see him again. I hadn't seen him since we were twelve, when we used to attend the same Quran class every Saturday morning at the mosque. Five years later and he still had the same black faux-hawk hairstyle, tanned skin and wide grin. The only thing that had changed was that he was taller than me now. "It certainly has been a long time."

Zaid placed a hand on the back of his neck, nodding. "Yeah, I remember you from Quran School."

"Why'd you quit it?" I might have blurted that question a little soon, but Zaid just shrugged, his smile never faltering.

"Oh, I guess I realized I could learn it easily at home, and for free too," Zaid replied. "How about you? Do you still go?"

"Unfortunately, no," I answered with a sigh. "Year Twelve has been so busy that I barely even have time to finish all my homework!"

"I totally get it. I'm doing three sciences – biology, chemistry and physics, so it's been full on for me, too," Zaid said.

I gasped. "Really? Me too!"

Zaid raised his eyebrows. "Wow, do you want to become a doctor or something?"

"In Sha Allah, that's the plan," I replied. "What about you?"

"Me too. I've always wanted to be a doctor," Zaid divulged. "But I'm still trying to make time to come to the mosque whenever I can. My father's kind of forcing me, but I need the push, since I'm also trying to rekindle my relationship with Islam. So far, I've been coming every Friday."

"Me –"

"Lemme guess, you were gonna say 'me too'?" Zaid chuckled, shaking his head. "Wow, we have so much in common."

"Yeah, who would've thought?"

I spotted Zeinab exiting the mosque, and as soon as she saw me, she called my name. "Mariam!"

"I gotta go," I said apologetically, pointing my thumb over my shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, me too."

We both broke into laughter. Zaid's eyes were twinkling. "We gotta stop saying that, don't we?"

"Yeah..." 

I was glad when Zeinab finally reached us,because I wasn't sure what else to say. She frowned at me in a way that made her look just like our mother. "I was looking everywhere for you! Wait, who's that?" Zeinab noticed Zaid for the first time, her frown deepening.

"That is Zaid," I introduced him casually. To be honest, I never knew Zaid very well. He always sat on my left while Fatima sat on my right, and occasionally he'd ask to borrow a pencil or an eraser, but that was the majority of our interactions. We had just been classmates fora brief time of our lives.

"Zaid? Are you my future brother-in-law or something?" Zeinab's words were probably meant as a joke, but for some reason I felt extremely embarrassed, and by the looks of it, so did Zaid.

"No, Zeinab, he's nothing like that, where did you get such a ridiculous idea from?" I scoffed, trying to brush off my embarrassment, but it was sticking to me like a cicada shell.

Zeinab smiled cheekily. "I was just teasing you, Mims."

My eyes widened at my nickname. Zaid chuckled beside me. "Mims? Really?"

I shot him a glare. "I didn't come up with it," I said in my defence.

"Well, I think it's cute," he shrugged.

"Cute?" I echoed, exchanging a look with Zeinab, who just stifled a laugh.

Before Zaid could say anything else weird, Fatima suddenly appeared, and I had never been happier to see her again, saving me from this awkward moment.

"Fatima!" I exclaimed, flinging my arms around her like a crazy person, even though I had already hugged her like twice tonight.

"I thought you already left?" Fatima's words were muffled in my hijab as I pressed her against me, memorizing her scent once more. This girl was like a sister to me, and not just in Islam. We had met through Quran Class, but unlike Zaid, we never stopped keeping in touch. 

"Is that Zaid?" Fatima pulled away from me to scrutinise him.

"Yes, it's me," he grinned with a wave of his hand. A big, bearded man wearing a black thobe and a white kufi cap came over, and he looked incredibly familiar.

"Zaid, who are you talking to?" the man regarded us three girls with suspicion.

"Hey, Baba, this is Mariam, Zeinab and Fatima. Mariam and Fatima were in my Quran classes back in the day," Zaid introduced us to his father, who nodded, his face splitting into a friendlier expression that made me remember why he looked so familiar – he worked at the mosque, so I had seen him many times before.

"Ah, yes, I remember you girls! You have really grown to be beautiful young women, Masha'Allah," his father complimented us, making me blush, despite myself.

"Jazakallahu Khair," Fatima and I said simultaneously, while Zeinab just looked disgusted.

Zaid's father slapped his son on the back, saying cheerfully, "Who knows? Maybe someday my boy will marry one of you."

My jaw dropped. So did Fatima's. Zeinab's eyes widened in horror. Zaid just grinned, winking at us when his father wasn't looking. "Someday," Zaid whispered to us before leaving with his father. Fatima and I just stared at each other in shock.

"No way," we said in unison, breaking into laughter that was soon interrupted by Nasr, who had been sent by our parents to come fetch us. He looked downright ticked off, so we bid Fatima goodbye and followed our brother back to the car, hardly believing what had just happened. I didn't even want to acknowledge it, so I slipped into the backseat next to Zeinab wordlessly, glad to be going home.

I had a feeling Fridays were going to be a little more interesting from now on.

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Whoa new character alert ding ding ding! What do we think of Zaid? (Picture above is Zaid btw)

I am setting up the stage now for the performance, which I promise will be soon! (metaphor for things will get more interesting)

Until my next update, peace be with you ✌

Glossary:
Awlaad = Kids
Kufi cap = Hat for men
Thobe = long dress for men
Kitab = Book

Juz = part of the Quran

Masha'Allah = Glory be to God

Bismillahi Rahmani Raheem = In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful