This chapter is LONG I know! But I apologize for the long wait, and so I hope it's worth it. The reason why I took pretty much so long before publishing this is because I was super busy with my hectic life family wedding, etc; that this... sorta took longer than I planned even though I told myself I would write and publish it before the functions begin. But hey, what happened was that Wattpad acted weird and I realized that I was writing the story offline and before I knew it POOF half of my work disappeared 😭

I was honestly so devastated and annoyed I feel like closing this story but no, I love it too much. So, Alhumdullilah I took a more than a week long break and came refreshed and wrote this ribboned hit of a chapter and I hope you love it.

Even though I named it 'Epilogue' I still have a strange feeling that it's just a continuation of Chapter 29 *shrug*

I still feel like I'm just giving you all a VERY IMPORTANT BONUS CHAPTER that DOES add a lot to the main plot than just giving you all a sneak peak to the characters futures.

But hey, it's here! So read, comment and please, please, give me a review even if it's of one line by the end of this chapter of what Heart Echoes taught you (if anything at all 😭 ) and heads up for 'ship aesthetics' and an ending poem for the story since we had a starting poem now we have an ending poem!

Islamabad

The grass crunched under his feet, his hands pocketed in his jacket. A wild, cold wind blistered at his face but he kept on moving knowing where she was.

Walking between lines of tombstones, at the farthest end under a willow tree, laid a lump of dirt on the ground, and beside it a woman stood, her head drooping over it.

Musa's eyes softened when he approached her. "Assalamualaikum."

She lifted up her nightly gaze to meet his foggy ones, and shifting towards him as if waiting this long had been too much pain without him, she held his arm. Feeling her fingers clutch around his arm, Musa did the only thing he could think of and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder.

"Should we go back now?" He whispered, the warmth in his voice opposing the chilly air. Ambar nodded, staring down at the grave, whereupon both knew what the other was feeling and thinking.

"What did he say... to you that day?" She whispered.

Musa stared back down at the dirt, drizzled slightly in frost- knowing where this question was coming from- memory. We ask questions that we already know answers again because it seems to coat our pain with the thought that the other knows what we're going through.

"He said," Musa cleared his throat, turning around and leading her down the graveyard. "That my Rabb is calling me- but I asked Him some time. And these few breaths that I have remaining... I want to see my daughter's hand in yours."

Musa remembered it as though it were yesterday. The last words Rashid had relaid to him, before they parted after nikkah.

He felt their fingers slip, and when he looked down onto Ambar's face, though it was half-veiled, her moonlight eyes were enough to let him know that at least Rashid Murhani left this world with his wish fulfilled.

___
Lahore

"What has life taught you?" The interviewer spoke up, lifting a pen over her clipboard of questions.

What has life taught me as a person? Zara repeated this question in her mind. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes intently lowered to the floor.

A flutter of a smile lifted the ends of her lips, as she thought threw every joyous memory and every turmoil of grief- to the extent she would see herself seated down on a prayer mat in the darkness of the world, only to find herself both shedding tears and threatening laughter threatening escape her lips.

The cameras flashed, and the audience awaited for the Author of Heart Echoes, Zara Hashim to give a deep ocean till the neck of an answer.

"I... there are loads of things," Zara resulted to answer with simplicity. Yet she ironically wondered if there was anything simple with numerous life hassles. "But if there was one thing I would love you all to understand and comprehend is the fact that we're all in this life, battling our own struggles. We all have a sword, a shield, a pouch of medicine to fix up our own wounds, and share out these healing herbs to others. We all have our own resources, our own tests and challenges. So it only makes sense, and seems more human to check on one another."

Zara shook her head, her sweaty hands clamped over her lap. Even the air conditioner in the university hall wasn't making it easier for her. The heat crept to her cheeks, and her forest eyes of grave thoughts flitted to the sunshine out of the window.

"Don't please, don't hate. Despise the act, but not the person. Let Allah in your heart... honestly, that's the best use of our hearts... to let Allah in."

"And from which experience are you speaking this from, Miss Zara?" The interviewer interrupted, her scribbling pen paused.

Zara's face glowed in a way she could not tell. Her heart palpitated. "From my life. I've understood time to time, that nobody will get me the way my Rabb does. No one will understand my pain, my darkest days, and my hollow thoughts the way He does. So if He knows my problems, He also knows the solutions- and at times, when we are just so not sure about this ever-bounding horrid life... the one and only answer to whatever we are going through is to let Allah in our hearts. That's how I started to strive for the answers to my problems. By trying my best, and leaving the rest to Him. If I didn't strive for my answers, I wouldn't have written this book-" Zara lifted a hard cover book in the air- an indigo sky of sparking stars littered over it.

In a whole, a vibrant Heart Echoes was written over it, and as she did so- everyone's eyes trailed to the book.

Zara didn't feel any accomplishment holding the book in the air. She just felt a story given it's right of fulfillment.

She wasn't just holding any book in the air.

She wasn't just holding sleepless nights in the air.

She wasn't just holding a pattering yearn for money in the air. Though, that did have its own purpose.

But that wasn't the point.

The story that reveled in the audience's eyes, too, reveled in Zara's own. It shed her hearts to bits till it became what it was that day.

And yet that did not mean it was finally over.

It just meant more was to come, more was to be learnt, and more was to be read and shared.

All she saw in her hands were her accepted duas.

Duas being made from finding her brother Musa, to bringing him back to the Right path, to aiding her in her writing journey.

It had all the heart aches, shedded tears, and helpless duas in its writings.

The world could see her an author having finally accomplished a book and earning money.

But she saw herself as a desperate seeker of the past, a survivor of pain in the present, and an optimist of the future.

She saw herself as one of her Rabb's slaves, one in a million to have come this far... only to relay a story of Truth.

___
Again Lahore

"Your answers were beautiful," Dawood sped towards her, embracing her with an ethereal grin over his face. "Isn't it right, Sarah? Wasn't your mama beautiful up there on stage?"

Dawood was specifically talking to the three year old toddler at his feet, the girl with gifted almond eyes like her father's, and a button nose like her mother's.

Zara let out a rapture of shy chuckles, lifting her daughter to her chest, before wringing an arm around Dawood's, as the little family of three walked out of the convention hall, making their way to the parking lot.

The sun beated brightly that day on the steps they took. Watching over the beautiful world, and the warming hearts that irresistibly loved one another.

Sarah kept bantering to her mama in her gibberish fusions of words that hardly made sense, -but mama had her ears trained well and could understand reasonably- about how Abu kept losing the directions to the convention hall until a nice gentle guard came to direct him.

To which Dawood pecked Sarah's cheek to cover up his embarrassment and in that attempt whispered to his daughter not to always relay Abu's flushed moments to her mama.

Zara pretended to not hear for the sake of the pleasant afternoon, and the image of tomorrow's get-together prevailed in her mind.

___
The next night
Location to be discovered as you read along :P

A sky bathed in stars.

That's what he saw.

The streetlights of this coupling neighborhood, glowed a burning orange, cascading crimson light to the onlookers.

From afar, it was like a string of fairy lights on the side of the mountain, touching the tips of the coniferous trees. Tucked cottages, dried up in paint, but merry in people, recited the Quran in chorus till it rhythmed all night till the break of dawn.

His steps were light, his hands tucked into his navy blue coat's pockets, the wind wisping through his dark lockes, but his eyes... oh, his eyes were forever silver in the shade of moonlight.

Beside him, stood a woman, dark-eyed, and agile, talkative in whispers, with snowy wonders just as the sheen of her skin. "Why are we even out in the middle of the night. We are here for a couple of days... so we could explore properly in the daylight no?"

"Good question," The man answered back, shooting his wife a light look. "And if I were to tell you, then wouldn't the surprise be over too soon?"

"You brought me out here," Ambar hugged herself, saying curtly. "I would've been just fine sleeping with only Naim back in the hotel. But no, you had to bother waking up Zara baji, and telling her to take care of our baby."

"That... is true," Musa simply said, unfazed by his wife's light temper. "But hey, Naim loves his Phupo (Brother's sister, in other words: Aunt) and is just as fine sleeping with her or you. Anyways, look up-" he held out his forefinger under her chin, and raised it. "There's the surprise. Isn't the sky beautiful?"

Despite her mood to prolong her complaints, her husband's way of swiftness subsided her negative thoughts for the time being, and Ambar looked up.

Musa pocketed back his hand, watching his wife intensely as it changed colors from crimson cheeks, to a light, fond pink.

All of a sudden, the power in the living-on-the-edge-of-the-mountain's town went off. All the streetlights lined on the street, flickered off, and everything was blanched in darkness for the time being.

Ambar reached out for Musa's hand, and held it close, her eyes blinking up at the million stars twinkling back down at the two night lovers. The world was strange and cool and just beautiful as it is.

"You used to live here," Ambar muttered, feeling the wind chilling her bones, as this fact once again fell on her like a break of dawn. She stared at the side of Musa's moonlit face, his lips clamped shut- but his eyes were ethereal.

"Yes," Musa affirmed. "Badar Town. I was born here..." And though, he had already told her this, it seemed both comforting and natural of him to be relaying it again in the blanket of darkness.

And then, in just a few seconds, the power turned back on, the generators started working up, and though with the height of Murree's mountains, the steep hills the houses set on, felt like an eternal adventure for the energy to arrive, it did.

Just like anything in life. Energy took time, but when it did, it did with force, and brightly lit up the world, once again dimming the natural specks of light pinned to the sky.

Ambar felt Musa's fingers slip from hers.
Wondering, she looked back at him only to find him craning his neck, his eyes directed towards the last bend of the road.

"What are you looking at?" She asked.

Musa did not answer.

Ambar frowned, stepping upto to stand beside him and only then, did her eyes rove over a figure, shadowed like a silhouette against all this light.

There was something so mysterious in the way that shadowed man stood staring back at Musa and Ambar like as of a fond memory, a delight known before, and perhaps, if Ambar had asked, Musa would have said: "I feel like... I know him; but I'm not sure."

But since she did not, Musa remained shut- only watching the man turn away and make his way down the cracked road. Musa watched for seconds to minutes, the sight was just too tempting.

The man with stooped shoulders, stopped by a steel liner gate. Standing over a cracked, grey cobblestone pavement lining out of the road under the gate to a house, much smaller than the others, decorated with green vines, and darkly shaded flowers.

It was white washed, the roof was low and stooping. Ambar stood confused, wondering why Musa was staring at the piece of architecture so intensely, and that too, at the man who just unlocked the door and with a last flimsy look their way, went inside. The door swung close, and only then did Musa snap out of his daze.

"We'll have to meet him tomorrow with the others," Musa voiced, his voice awfully hoarse.

Ambar's head snapped towards Musa, her brows shot up. "Musa, I'm confused. I thought we're here for a vacation to see your birthplace but all of this... the way you're acting, it's worrying me."

"The last piece of the puzzle, Ambar dear," Musa glanced Ambar's way, ever so gently. "That's the house I used to live in with my Baba and Appa," Musa pointed towards the house, and Ambar's gaze followed his outstretched hand. Her eyes widened, and it had hit her like a sure spot of delight.

"Oh my Allah," Ambar whispered, holding onto Musa's hand tightly. "Musa.... This is- well, this is what we were searching for."

Musa nodded, feverish himself as well. "Yes, and perhaps that man knows what happened to Baba."

___
The Next Morning

The Town of Badar had not changed much over the years. Perhaps, the only addition would be its variety of stalls, revolving around over much exclosure of jeweler sets and heater markets, more than just junk stalls and pottery play-outs.

The nature was just as wild and wonderful around them, bur the population had increased. The old inhabitants queried over what was happening to their 'little edge of the world' while the young inhabitants fret and fussed over new 'innovations' and 'tourist-attractions' that to only lighten the old inhabitants' moods and give them an acceptable idea so that they too, can join the young inhabitants in the march of farewell and glossy streets, was to add air conditioners and heater inverters to the masjid hall.

That did it.

To hit all, you hit the point they all meet at.

And, the masjid was the spring of unity for the townsquare, forever remembering the blessings and they all were grateful to their Rabb for guiding them and blessing them with uncountable embellishments.

The Badar town had room for tourists as well who would visit and stay at. hotel set in much height, but it was at walking distance to the home of Zara and Musa.

The whole bunch of three families including Nani the top jewel of the crown, were gathered together for breakfast. They sat outdoors under a shade of umbrella, beside a fence which over looked the whole mountain and its greenery.

A range of mountains surrounding them, with heights as high as their dreams, and the foggy tendrils every once and a while hiding the top of a mountain to tease both the imaginative and the foolish that they were living up on the kingdom of skies.

Dark, ferny trees surrounded them everywhere- the scenic beauty was a gorgeous drink to the eyes and senses so much so that Zara held out her leather bound hand-notebook and started penning the details and vibe of nature she felt touched her soul, while waiting for breakfast.

Eshaal sitting by her right side, peeked over her shoulder.

Zara had written:

Clouds so close, breathing then through the nose.

Airy soft air, driving across your heart, cooling down the stress, the mess.

Tall trees standing in layers, lines along the mountains.

Dark forests giving out wisdom, and perseverance.

It's hard to be blind now. It's hard to be deaf now. It's hard to not think now. I believe now.

"Oh, it's so beautiful, MashaAllah," Eshaal whispered, blushing Zara a deep pink. "I wish I could write like you, Zara..."

Zara blinked, flabbergasted as she tied her notebook close with a lilac ribbon. "Don't say that, Eshie!" She then smiled. "You are just as amazing at what you do best. We're all colored differently with different talents, and that makes the world interesting."

"I agree!"

And this time it was Bilal who had spoken, his ever so young hazelnut eyes breaking course from a conversation with Dawood's, who was been sitting opposite to him. Bilal swung an arm around his wife's shoulder, and spoke up.

"Your good at fashion," he said, gesturing towards her clothes that Eshaal had designed for herself. "And I'm good at business. That's what life is about. Now if we both were only good at one thing- who would take care of the business-."

"Bilal," Eshaal drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Please keep the self-love low."

"I was just being expressive-"

"Bilal."

"Fine... fine." Bilal raised his hands in defense, giving into his wife's piercing stare. "But I'll say... you are good at designing."

On a round table, there were seven adults and two babies who were settled on baby chairs.

With sizzling barbeque and omelette scents swooning in the air, two of the children Naim (Musa and Ambar's son) along with Sarah (Zara and Dawood's daughter) only a one year difference between the two; the latter being older, had a gibberish agreement to partner up against the adults and incline to give them the Double-Dose of Dear Distress.

Their plan: Cry together like true cousins.

Ambar quickly hushed Naim taking him into her arms, and singing him a light lullaby, Dawood too, picked up Sarah and all the other adults worked their ways with their ideas; from Nani's opera-star singing to Zara's challenging nursery rhymes, and Bilal's comedic stand up; not to mention Musa rushing off to ask for how long will they have to wait till breakfast, and Eshaal crying alongside the babies since she just can not bear seeing anybody's tears- the three-family bunch became a baby monitoring junction.

Honestly, by the end of it, Bilal had to settle Eshaal down as well, telling her that the food is almost here and if she wanted them to remember this time with smiles and joyful sparkles, then 'Please, I can't bear to see you cry- let's enjoy this moment, huh?'

That worked.

Musa retreated like a victorious warrior and breakfast was served, the little minions hushed and gave their parents a much deserving break with silence.... Or, did they?

___

It was planned that right after breakfast they were going to go for a morning trek down to the Badar Town altogether, with their hearts beating as one, and memories reliving so bright.

To Musa and Zara, and the might of Nani, this town was like another world that life had them closed the doors of, but not quite. They were opening it once again, and with every agile step down, between the lines of trees that curved and swayed in the breeze, and the melodic salams passed towards them as if they belonged and never left once by the friendly villagers, they were hit with a sudden nostalgic air.... One of deep heartedness.

Zara pushed the pram that settled Sarah, and Dawood pointed to plenty of things from the flowers to a duck-shaped stone to get Sarah in love with nature. Because wasn't that important? That at the beginning years of a new life, they were meant to see life and feel life, to be alive?

Eshaal was no short of a child, she had her ways to jump and hold Bilal's hand coming up with wild ideas to see a deer and follow it roundabout, but Bilal held her back, trying to convey sense to her that 'They must stay with the others if they did not want to get lost.'

Eshaal exhaled slowly, stopping in her steps and swiveling to face him. "You're such a bore."

"And handsome," Bilal added, pulling her back. "Cmon."

"But that looks like a haunted house, Bilal!" Eshaal exclaimed, her bubbly eyes glinting. "Let's check it out!"

"Haunted- wait, what?!" Bilal let out, unable to keep his exhaustion hidden. "Eshie, there are no such things like haunted houses. But there is very much a thing like 'getting lost.'"

"You're scared, aren't you?" Eshaal folded her arms, wiggling her brows.

"Pfft. Scared? And me? Naw!"

"Then I dare you to come with me." Eshaal whispered.

The hollowed winds grew heavier, and her angelic eyes swayed in the mist, like eyes blinking back at him as if they were two pairs of diamonds.

He remained watching like stone. Will he take that step of bravery?

Or, will he allow her to tease him for the rest of their lives?

The latter called for working by fate; since Dawood had called in the background and both of them had no option but to subside Eshaal's wild plan and follow the others.

Bilal was secretly relieved though, he did not word out anything.

Nani was teary as their steps grew wider, her legs ached and Musa inclined that they were alomst there, but not without passing sleepy Naim to Ambar, and then holding Nani's arm and helping her steady on the steep hill.

Her eyes twinkled in the heat of the moment as she stared at the side of Musa's face. "I sometimes can't believe Waseem is no more in this world," she whispered out of nowhere.

Others were at a distance, Ambar and Naim had sped down the road towards the marked house she and Musa had seen last night, while Zara, Dawood, Sarah, Eshaal and Bilal were walking way behind them.

Musa's eyes flitted towards Nani's gentle sights. Her hair had whitened from the grey tendrils over the years (despite Zara's constant suggestions to dye it; but Nani desired to die with her 'silver lines') and yet her eyes were the true sparks of youth that made Musa wonder if this is where his mother's eyes came from.

"What do you mean?" he whispered.

Nani looked away, ever so fondly at the ground they stepped on, with their arms looped. "I mean... you look just like him, MashaAllah."

Musa had no words but the breath of her voice chilling his insides like nothing else. It was beautiful. Everything was.

He hadn't known that with his agile steps, and crisp entrance into his twenty sixth age with a one year old son, his life was leading him towards both the past and the future. Golden locks were turning, time was ticking- but as time passed on he was getting to learn more and more about himself and his journey.

Journey to Allah.

For everyone had different journeys, everyone had different set of obstacles and adventures, challenges and blessings, wonders and darknesses, but we all have one true road no matter what is our color and that is Siratul Mustaqeem.

After that long walk, no matter how short-distanced the path seemed from the hotel's gates, they had arrived before the steel fenced gates.

It was not locked, and there was no working bell in sight. Musa had led them by pushing the gate door back, and his steps falling in a cobblestone pathway leading upto the White washed house.

His eyes remained on the door upfront- it was creakily brown, and yet stable after these many years. One windows were boarded up with wood while the others were curtained but the side-garden that held flowers and bushes were cleaned and tended to with dewy droplets sparkling in the sunlight that beated through the thick clouds.

A chill set to his bones. Musa stood there, and felt a presence beside him, when he turned he saw Zara in a new light.

She too, stared up at the house, roving her intent eyes over the fading colors of the fences and the walls, till everything hit back at her over how many years had this house been standing, and yet its early inhabitants that laughed and cried within its walls were nowhere in sight for so long.

Yet here they were, despite the ghosts of past paining their hearts, here they were- standing like true soldiers against the past, hugging the mysteries and solving them with soft kisses over their long lost loved ones' letters.

Here they were with both dried up ink, and new found ink yet to be dipped into that which would letter their missions that were to come.

A lump formed in her throat, and before Musa could move- Zara had taken the lead. She had left Sarah in her pram with Dawood, who was right behind Zara.

Zara's sandals slapped the cobblestone pathway, grey and spotted with many footsteps taken over the years. She was fogged off of expressions, only her eyes remained to allow one to peak through her thoughts and there was only one shade of it: gratitude.

"Nothing has changed much," she whispered to no one in particular.

Just as the little walk ended from the small tiny gate, to the white wooden porch steps- her thoughts snapped, reality hitting back at her, and her eyes fell on the door. This was it.

Dawood watched her closely, reading off of her face. "You can do this."

"Yes, Appa," Musa added to that, standing up to her other side. He gently eyed her, and with a sharp intake of breath, Zara held Musa's hand. If she wanted to enter this door of memories, she wanted to enter it with Musa.

Before they could even take a further step, the door had creaked open for them, and out peeked a brown faced man, his face drooped with wrinkles, and his body draped in a loose white shirt and kameez.

Musa and Zara both looked up, and everybody else, too held their breaths.

Musa frowned lightly- guessing this to be the silhouette man he saw last night when he came out for a walk with Ambar.

"Assalamualaikum," he did not waste a second to introduce himself. "My name is Musa... and this is my sister Zara. We're here to visit this house, since it was our long lost father's. I- if you allow."

The man in question, half of his face shaded with the roof's sloping shadow, stepped out fully. Dawood tensed closer to Zara, and Zara too, stiffened.

"Oi, you do understand, don't you?" Nani called out from the back in annoyance, raising her hand.

"Nani ji," Zara said from the corner of her lips- "I think saying 'Oi' is not needed, right?"

Nani ignored her, folding her arms over her chest. "Look at him. He's living in my daughter and son-in-law's house, and you think I should not say-"

"Musa...." The old man had resorted to speak up finally, his tone both deep and filled with tears, though his eyes were dry and crisp. He closed the door behind him, his motion slow and stiff like a walking panda. Then, his eyes flitted towards Zara just as observant. "Zara..."

"Is it me, or, does it seem like he knows you two?" Eshaal whispered over Zara's shoulder.

"Musa, I'm having a bad feeling about this," Ambar muttered, gently squeezing Musa's shoulder. "We shouldn't just barge into someone else's claimed property especially since it's been so long. Nobody is going to just bring you in knowing you were the son of its rightful owner."

"Despite all this tension, I must say... the house has beautiful architecture," Dawood pointed out.

"Seriously?" Bilal spoke up, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Do you have to bring your eye of architecture into everything?"

"I shall take that as a compliment and yes, B Boy," Dawood winked. "Creation attracts appreciation."

"Can we just focus on how intense this scene is right now, and not get sidetracked in judging the other's career?" Eshaal perked up.

And since nobody had anything to say against that, Eshaal took it upon herself to step up between Musa and Zara and eye the old man.

"Listen Baba ji (dear father), this is my best friend Zara and this is her brother Musa, both have lost their parents and the dear family used to live in the house which you are currently occupying- no need to feel ashamed no, we're all just here for sightseeing, you know? All of us have played in this royale adventure of following our pasts to build the future, and hey, woo-hoo, you seem to be apart of this story as well! So if you can be kind and let us fine fellows in, I'll guarantee the kids will not make a mess, but they're still getting potty-trained-"

"Eshaal!" Everyone had let out.

Eshaal then turned rosy and smiled sheepishly. "What? I was just trying to make this poor old lonely man understand-"

"I understand," The 'poor old lonely man' nodded, speaking up for the second time.

Eshaal stood flustered, and Bilal pulled her gently, amusement glittering the specks of his eyes though, he did not say anything.

Musa felt relieved that Eshaal hadn't said anything more unnecessary, since now she was in safe hands a.k.a. Bilal; he turned to meet the man's eyes.

"I'm glad," Musa said.

The old man too, seemed calm. His broad shoulders relaxed and though his face was half curtained with his snowy white beard, his eyes remained fragile... like as if the sight of Musa and Zara seared his soul.

"I remember the two of you," he muttered. "I remember."

"What- what do you mean?" Zara asked, her voice high-pitched than she liked it to be.

Musa too, held his breath, frowning deeply.

"I... mean," the man continued softly. "He had told me so much about the both of you... from the color of your eyes, till the voice of your cries and how it pierced his soul every bit of it. He told me the way your laughter rang around the house, and gave him life even after his beloved wife's death. He told me of how he awaited your return even though, he knew he would be gone by then.... He...."

And there, the man lost his voice- raising his leathery hand to pinch his temples.

Musa was stunned by these affectionate words and before he knew it, he had reached forward to hold the old stranger's shaking shoulders- despite not even knowing his name.

Because something about him, Musa felt, was closer to him. Something about where they stood led him to believe that this man could not lie. No, he could not. He was sincere in his words and his memories that voiced out of his lips.

The old man clutched Musa tighter into an embrace, and Musa felt that hit the shore of his heart as if the old man had been waiting for this moment for years. Perhaps, Waseem had left him to take care of these walls in hope that his son and daughter would remember him and come back to retrieve their rightful property.

It was this moment that spoke volumes to Musa, and he too, batted his eyelashes fighting the tears that threatened to escape his eyes. He only gently rubbed the old man's back, parting away and forcing up a smile on his face. "You... you waited this long?"

The old man sniffed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. He nodded childishly. "It was the one wish I wanted to fulfill for your father. He had done so much for me... I couldn't think of anything else to repay him but to protect his name and his walls in hope that one day you and Zara would come back. I- I almost believed I would die doing it... but look at it! Look at us standing before each other!" The old man exclaimed with his hands cupped to the sky. "Our Allah! How He makes our roads cross and for the better. How He accepts duas and sews all pains and distress!"

Musa felt a lump form in his throat, and he looked down at his feet unable to couple his emotions into words.

"What- what did my father do for you?" Zara stepped up, teary-eyed and smiling at the same time.

The old man lowered his hands, and eyed her gently. "Oh daughter, I think it's best we sit down inside and talk about it.... Would you all like a cup of tea? I've haven't had guests in a long time."

"A cup would be divine, JazakAllah," Nani announced first. Since they all felt the weather suited a warm drink, they fell for Nani's desire for tea, and too, ordered one each. (Except for the babies who had already fallen asleep and settled in their prams each.)

____

Entering into this chamber of the past and heartfelt happenings, was a true blow of nostalgia, and yet again appreciation for how far they had come together.

The wooden floor creaked at times, and the windows fogged with condensation, but the small house walled with love and barakah that Allah had blessed it with- showed signs of a true loving family that once used to live within its walls.

It had Zara's childish drawings up on the walls, and Musa's toys locked away in a chest by the side of the only bedroom, with moth-eaten curtains, but everything was the way they had left it.

The only thing that seemed touched and used more often was the living room and the kitchen, but that was obvious since Jafar, the keykeeper of this Hashim's house, had said that Waseem was more like a brother to him and treated him as one.

Jafar showed his loyalty and determination to protect all that delved in the walls of this house; and he had opened up the documents for Musa and Zara to claim and worded one by one the exact things Waseem had said. It was acknowledged that trust and true love hadn't died yet.

Their created crockery still lived, and the sentimentals did not fade away. Zara had looked around the bookshelves which were many and were collecting dust; between the leather bound books of Quran and Tafsir and a variety of stories she spotted the old children's picture book with a page showing a bright yellow petaled sunflower.

Musa volunteered to take care of making tea in the kitchen, while Jafar made space for everybody else in the living room, allowing them to settle in peace after a little exploration was in order.

Despite standing alone in the kitchen over a boiling pot of water, Musa held the counter ledge with his hands, hearing everything that Jafar was saying back in the living room.

"I was just a simple poor man with not a roof over my head when Waseem found me," Jafar had started off, his voice slow and leveled down with emotions. "He wasn't well that time; limping and alone. He used to carry the water from the village's well all by himself. He saw me, and asked me why I was sitting there... and since I did not like to be seen as a helpless man even though I clearly was, I instead looked at his need and offered to help. He allowed me to- while I was filling up the bucket, he asked me questions. I was ashamed and red and did not look him in the eye- but as we talked on about stuff, he seemed like a nice, warm hearted gentleman and I did not like the way I had judged him before and thus told him of my situation. Instead of just dropping me a penny, or, downing me with lectures about being patient and being grateful to Allah (as most would at once say so)- he just gave me access to his home like a true brother. I was touched by that offer, and shy, but he was persistent. Thus, I came to help him with his chores in return for his huge act of kindness, and since he had no family to be there by his side as his health deteriorated, I tried what I could do for the sake of Allah."

These words panged at Musa's chest, and learning more about his father was truly refreshing a set of determination and love for the deen. Musa spooned in some tea grains into the pan, and allowed it to color a deep red, before pouring in some milk. Meanwhile, Jafar continued.

"He told me all about his children and his wife. It seemed to me he was content with his bond with Allah, but Allah allowed our paths to cross so he could find a human companion in me to share his thoughts. Alhumdulillah, I was able to learn much more about deen and my Rabb gave me a chance to turn back to Him and even though, I'm still struggling, I'm still coping with the ups and downs of faith... I'm still learning. Waseem had- had reached such a point in his illness that he was starting to lose his memory." Jafar hitched his breath, but nevertheless relaid more. "Slowly, he started to forget the path to the washroom, and he needed serious help. His memories of his family and loved ones remained longer, but by the time he wanted to find the two of you it was not possible, since he had absolutely forgotten everything. He lost his contacts and the numbers- and though I wanted to find everything, I even sped out to the train station to search for you both (Musa and Zara), I could not. I could not because then, I knew Waseem had nobody left behind- and I hoped just like he hoped that the two of you would return on your own."

The room was filled with silence and yet not silence. Zara's hand clutched the ends of her dress to stop herself from breaking out in sobs, yet it was hard.

Nani sat by her right side, holding onto her arm, and yet red-rimmed from the eyes. Dawood claimed to usher Zara down, while Eshaal grabbed a tissue each and handed it out for the teary-eyed to use including herself. Bilal too, patted Eshaal on the back, his own heart swollen till the core.

Ambar tried breaking Naim out of his cries (since it seemed he had felt the gloominess disturbing), and tried to handle her own, staring at the floor listlessly.

"But-" Jafar started off, once he found his courage and voice. This time, his lips tilted in a smile as he looked at the others. "He did not forget three things even till his last breath."

"What- what were those things?" Zara asked, blowing into a tissue.

"Salah (prayer), the verses he had memorized of the Quran, and the Shahadah (declaration of faith)," Jafar smiled ever so widely. "His last words were 'I witness there is no God but Allah and Muhammad is His Slave and His Prophet."

Musa, his tear-streaked face hidden from everyone else, stood by the kitchen window staring out of its cooled dewy drops. The steaming hot tea cups set on the counter, while he delved in his thoughts.

"Ya Allah," Musa said, slowly, staring up at the sky with its sunlight and clouds twirling around. "You only test the ones you love. You tested me to remember, and you tested my father to forget. Yet You found us in our most deepest darkest moments and helped us. Ya Allah Alhumdullilah... that you gave us a chance to come back to You."

____

In the later years, Musa and Zara had decided to give away Waseem's house to Jafar rightfully, and as course of summer and winter breaks, would come over to visit the loving old man every year with their children and as well as Eshaal and Bilal's little ones.

Jafar took it upon himself to tell their children stories of wonders and Waseem, as well as upholding a true standard of a 'grandfather' since Nani dismissed being the one to be the storyteller of the family and wanted to work on her side-show business with Eshaal on an essential oils' brand and do the world's women a favor by gathering mothers and their children at home and giving a talk show of what it truly meant to be a mother.

Zara worked alongside with Nani on the Hashim community, and everyone had their fair share of efforts and collaboration with it back in Lahore. Hashim community was an idea first sparked by Nani and had been going on over the years to help families to understand one another better with counseling sessions between spouses, and activities between parents and children, and test courses- with live sessions on the seerah on how the Prophet SAW was with his family to build a better world for both adults and children. Though it was a long-term struggle, but it was a new beginning, a new spark to flame that was sure to melt hearts with the barakah and will of Allah.

It was a belief that for a nation to be strong with its values, the community needs to be strong, values and Deen needed to be upheld and that can only start off from one branch of a family to another branch of a family, till the whole tree can bloom. And thus, the whole nation.

Humans are not born evil. Their environments and attempted tarbiyah build them as they are, thus as children we come into the world like blank slates being tests for ourselves and our parents on how we are treated and who we become till we return to our Rabb who will call us back once our session in this temporary world is over with.

Eshaal and Bilal were the true couple of what it meant to love and 'boom' businesses together, Bilal just for the sake of keeping a safe distance from his cold hearted family (only once a month visiting them when it was needed and to keep the bonds strong from his side) shifted in with Eshaal in Lahore. They were blessed by the will of Allah with twins, Amina and Aasiya, and would on weekends visit both their best friends: Zara and Musa.

Dawood would give in his share to the Hashim community along with Musa and Bilal (who would settle times with the men of the community and help them resolve their issues and advise them)

Dawood would give courtesy messages to his colleagues with Eshaal's designing hands on gift cards and send them out; calling them over to dawah.

Zara's book became a blossoming literature and she never did leave writing, it becoming her favorite heart and soul's voice- her words reached till the hearts of many people, yet at times she cried herself to sleep in gratitude to her Rabb, for surely, pens were the voices of words that needed to be heard.

Naim and Sarah were fostered by both their mothers, giving them a life-long siblinghood bond by milk and having their life shared under one roof. It was a beautiful, heart-warming thought between both families but one of shared values.

With Musa, once done with his work would return home, to help his wife, and cherish his son: the way he always believed Naim deserved to be. With one look in the boy's beautiful dark eyes taken from his mother's, Musa's heart would melt and the worked up day would end with warmth.

Rashid Murhani was forever mentioned and remembered and love wasn't dying anytime soon.

It wasn't at all since this love was for the sake of Allah. That would continue off through the day of Judgement and onwards from Jannah.

They wanted their hearts to beat and they wanted the world to live.

They wanted the world to see the light and the wanted themselves to hug the light till they all would see the road.

And that road escapes from the heart of Imaan (faith) leading the traveler till Jannah, with just a leather bag packed with the Quran, a prayer mat, and a heart beating for answers.

With this traveler, he meets side trackers and shows them ways and true resources that live on eternally like deeds and lessons and not just temporary delights like fruits off of trees munched and chewed and gone away.

Then this traveler waters hearts with ZamZam and helps his fellows to rejuvenate spirit, and then they all embark on this journey together reminding one another of what is truly important in life, at times distracted but reminded and working up day and night to love this journey through and through to the One they set out for in the first place.

Jannah's doors stood grand and wide for them.

And all because they took care of their own hearts and each other's hearts.

___
Hadith:

Abu Huraira reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said:
"Whoever travels a path in search of knowledge, Allah will make easy for him a path to Paradise."

Source: Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 2699

____
Ending Poem

Where is home?

Home is where the heart is

Where is the heart?

Above my soul

Where is the soul?

Beyond this skin

Beyond this heart

Beyond this world

My soul aches

For a home

Made for me and you

Near our Rabb

- e . a

Alhumdullilah to the One who allowed us to reach the end and helped me to give you all a story of message.

This is the end of Musa and Zara's story, but definitely not yours.

May Allah bless you and your families and guide us all to see the true light of life and make us able to please Him.

And May Allah enter each and every one of us into Jannah and allow us to see each other there ❤️

Live a worth living life in Allah's sight not people's.

- e . a