It's not time that passes, it's you, it's I.

— Rutger Kopland

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Aurang.

Her voice is the only echo in his head, bouncing back from every surface in his skull to his ears. It causes him raw pain in the heart and keeps him restless-- it keeps reminding him of her. Their evening together. Their every moment together. They become like ghosts in his mind, never leaving. And he has denied her something that she eventually will find out. It will bring her suffering. Her suffering will ache him too. What if she doesn't forgive him?

He absentmindedly pets his cat lying in his lap as he stare at Zimal and Larmina from the porch of his house, sitting in the lawn and busy doing something he cannot make out. Hurairah sits beside him, his son lying sleeping in his arms, being put on babysitting duty by his wife. He munches on a chocolate as he calls him.

"Mikael?"

"Yeah?"

"When are you gonna tell her then?"

"I don't know."

"Well, that sounds bad."

Mikael glances at him. "It's not easy."

"When did it become so complicated?"

"It has been since the beginning, and you know it."

Hurairah lean towards him, apprehensive, waving the chocolate bar in his face. "Are you blaming me for it?"

Mikael sighs and shakes his head, turning towards him. "Why don't you just tell me who did you make a promise to in my name?"

"I don't understand." Hurairah knits his brows in annoyance. "What is Banafsha's problem? If you hadn't married her, she would've ended up with someone like the rest of them, and she knows it."

"You're changing the topic," Mikael catches onto his trick but doesn't push it. "Apparently, she still doesn't know Aurang," he reminds him. "She knows me, and I'm not her husband for her. She thinks Aurang could be the same as them. So from her point of view, her worry is justifiable."

"She's just quick to judge, brother," Hurairah argues. "Only if she had been decent with you on your nikah night, met you, talked to you, wouldn't she have known? It's her own fault. She should be grateful she didn't end up with some rich, zeroed-character fellow from the list of useless men whose proposals her parents were considering for her before you came in the picture."

The way Hurairah is talking about Banafsha irritates his tolerance. Despite everything, she's still his wife and he cannot bear anyone raising fingers at her. Mikael bites his tongue.

"What is done is done." Hurairah reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. "I'm sorry, you certainly deserved better than her. If Mina gets to know Banafsha, she might divorce me for setting you up with her." He chuckles lightly. "But she's lucky to have you."

"I never said I'm unhappy in this relationship," Mikael clarifies.

"You don't have to. Knowing you, I know you never will-- you're unlike them. But Banafsha is one of them; she has the same blood in her veins. Honestly, I don't know how Zoraiz has turned out to be different. I just thought if he could be a good man, maybe his sister would be different too. Only if I had known..."

Qutub stretches on his lap and Mikael ruffles the cat's fur, feeling discomforted at Hurairah's constant criticism. "She's not like them," he defends her. "She's actually quite different. And besides, I thought you and Mughis were friends. You don't have to be a hypocrite and go behind their backs speaking poorly."

"I'm only stating facts, and they're not hidden from anyone," Hurairah replies casually. "True, Mughis and I have come a long way together, but that doesn't mean I approve of their ways. In fact, a million times I've told him to leave the bad company, but when the whole pond is dirty, which fish would you save?" He leans back in his chair, cradling the baby carefully in his arms. "The things we call sins are habits for them. Their whole social circle is wrecked. Who would leave their pregnant wife behind, get drunk and end up in brothels? Banafsha would've her attitude fixed if you hadn't become a knight in shining armor for her and instead she had married someone half as corrupted as her own father."

"I've heard enough, Hurairah," Mikael interrupts harshly, glaring at his friend. "Nothing gives you the right to speak so disrespectfully about my wife. However she is, this is now my affair to deal with, not yours to criticize."

"Woah." Hurairah pops out his eyes in shock. "What is this reaction? Did I hurt your ghairah (pudency)?"

Mikael sharply returns his gaze. "Let's just not forget I've married her and she's my honor now. You disrespect her, you dishonor me."

"I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry."

Mikael looks away from him. "Forget about it."

Hurairah coughs suggestively. "Can I ask you something?"

"Even if I say no, you're still gonna slip the question in the conversation, so ask away."

"Are you falling for Banafsha, my friend?"

Mikael turns to him again, all sober. "I'll answer you, but let me ask you a question first."

"Shoot."

"Keeping aside the fact that your wife is my sister, if anyone else or I were to talk about Mina the way you talked about my wife--"

"I'll snap you in two," Hurairah cuts in before he could complete. "Or anyone else if they dare."

Mikael smirks. "Thank you. Because if your answer was otherwise, I'd have snapped you in two. Or should I do so anyway since you've already given me a reason?"

Hurairah laughs, taking his message and raising a palm in surrender. "Fine, I get you. Now tell me what I've asked of you. Is Banafsha becoming a blooming flower in this deserted heart of yours?"

Mikael hugs Qutub to his chest and looks away, a secret smile dancing upon his lips he tries to hide. Hurairah whistles and laughs again.

☾

"Bilal ibn Rabah was a black slave."

Mikael stands behind the podium in the auditorium. Many people have gathered to listen to his lecture today. His gaze swims over the crowd before coming to fall on his notes and then back up.

"His story teaches us the strength of faith and the rewards it brings, and how racism is nothing but a war against brotherhood and humanity-- how it is just ignorance petty in the sight of God." He directs questions to his audience challengingly. "Do you think God would choose favorites among his own creations based on color, cast, creed or whatsoever?" He smiles, ironic. "If He has to pick favorites, why not someone who's dedicated to Him? Who seeks His love, why wouldn't He love them more compared to those who don't? Either free or slave, black or white, rich or poor, why would He care about these factors when He Himself is the distributor of them?" He pauses and attentive silence greets him. "What good is status to the Lord of the world who not only owns everything in the universe but us too?"

He holds his breath for a second as he sees Banafsha entering the hall. Their eyes connect and a fleeting smile graces her lips when she notices him watching her. Unlike before, she has wrapped a scarf around her hair this time and is wearing sneakers. So now when she moves towards a seat in the back row, no one notices her sliding in quietly.

Mikael clears his throat as he returns his attention back to his lecture, but his heart is soaring at finding her here. He's happy she has decided to attend his class.

"Bilal ibn Rabah lived during the times for Prophet Muhammad (pbuh)," he begins his story. "He was from Ethiopia, described as a tall, thin, dark skinned man. But a man with a pure heart who struggled in the cause of God. He was the first man to ever call an adhan (prayer call), and to this day it's his legacy. In fact, the Prophet called him the leader of all those who call the adhan. A man of such status, but it exceeds beyond that. He was very close to the Messenger of God, and the Prophet said about him that he heard Bilal's footsteps in paradise. That jannah (heaven) longs for Bilal. Can you imagine?"

He keeps his gaze from flicking to Banafsha and keeps it swimming around coolly as he continues.

"Bilal was sold to a man named Ummayah bin Khalaf, a very stern enemy of Islam. But when Bilal heard about this message of Islam, he came to learn about it from the Prophet. And the message gave him, a slave, so much hope that he embraced the religion. When his master found out about his change of faith, he started tormenting him. In the streets of Mecca he would be dragged until his skin would peel off from his body, boiled with armour, and tortured with sticks and stones. And they would ask him to denounce his religion, but his only reply would be Ahad. One God. And no matter what they did to him, they couldn't shake his faith. He remained steadfast in the way of God."

A murmur of praises raise from the crowd and Mikael takes a minute to let it settle.

"Prophet Muhammad would see this oppression, and one day he went to his companions, asking them if there was anyone who could buy Bilal from his master and free him. And Abu Bakr, the most dearest friend of the Prophet, he went to Ummayah bin Khalaf and asked him to sell Bilal to him. Ummayah agreed, saying since they had corrupted him in the first place, he would sell his slave to him for ten gold coins. So Abu Bakr paid the price and took Bilal from him, and he freed him." Mikael directs more questions to the gathering. "How many of us would follow the example of Abu Bakr? How many of us are ready to free our brothers from the constant torment of racism?"

Silence. His gaze sweeps around again and he brings the mic closer to his lips.

"Bilal participated in every campaign of the Prophet with him. And people would come and praise him, saying how he was so close to the Prophet and how the Prophet himself said that Bilal would enter paradise. To this, he would lower his head and he would shed tears, saying how he was a black man and used to be a slave, but now he was a slave of God. Such humbleness. See where his faith took him?"

His eyes collide with Banafsha's again. She's watching him intently, unblinking, and he's glad to have her presence around. Shirin was the first one to support him in this cause of spreading knowledge and awareness-- she was his reason to be here. And now, Banafsha being here for him reminds him of old times.

"At the conquest of Mecca," he begins again, "all the people, Muslims and non-Muslims were there, and the closest companions of the Prophet were there, and the Kaaba which was considered the holiest place by everyone, who did the Prophet ask to ascend it and give a prayer call?" He glances around meaningfully. "Among all those people-- the four rightly guided caliphs, the companions of the battle of Badr, the ten promised paradise-- among all the nobles, he asked Bilal, a black man from background of slavery, to climb the most sacred place for them and give adhan. Why? Because the Prophet dealt with the issues of racism fourteen hundred years before. Why? Because him being black didn't matter to God. Why? Because his piety made Bilal was as much noble as the others. And that's what matters to God the most-- devotion and goodness."

Mikael flips in notes, narrating another incident. "A very significant event to add here. Once Abu Dhar, one of the companions of the Prophet, said to Bilal: you son of a black woman. And Bilal got offended and went to the Prophet, saying O Messenger of God, this is what Abu Dhar said to me. The Prophet called Abu Dhar and told him that he still had traits of ignorance in him. Why? Because that's what racism is. Ignorance."

He stresses each point, trying to deliver the message, and poses questions every now and then.

"He was the muezzin (caller to the prayer) of the Prophet. Not only did he give the adhan in Masjid al Haram (the sacred mosque) in Mecca and Masjid an Nabawi (the Prophet's mosque) in Madina, but also in Al-Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem during the caliphate of Umar ibn Al-Khattab, upon the request of the companions-- he gave call to the prayer in all the three holy places of the Muslims. And when the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, passed away, the grief of Bilal was so much so that he couldn't give the prayer call anymore without choking, because he would remember the Messenger of God. So he decided to leave Madina, he couldn't bear with the memories, and asked Abu Bakr to give him permission. But Abu Bakr requested for him to stay with him. And Bilal said if he had freed him for himself so he can keep him, but that if he had freed him for God he should let him go. So Abu Bakr let him go."

Mikael adds a few more events in between before concluding.

"When he was passing away in Damascus, his wife said: what grief. And Bilal replied: what happiness, for tomorrow I meet the Prophet and the companions. And when he passed away, he left behind no children or wealth. But he left behind adhan for the Muslims which is remembered and treasured to this day. And thus, Bilal is never forgotten either. This is the status his faith and piety gave him-- his Love for God earned him both heaven and earth. And a black slave became a man of paradise, because again, it's we who judge. But what do we know what ranks God might have reserved for someone? Like Bilal being a chosen one among the mankind-- a black slave superior to many free white men."

He finishes the lectures and gives permission for the audience to ask questions. He listens to them patiently and answers each, explaining every aspect carefully. When everyone is done, he closes the session and people thank him as they start leaving one by one. When all of them have poured out and the hall is almost empty, he excuses himself from the organizer and makes his way towards the woman waiting for him at the end of the auditorium.

Mikael smiles as he nears her, coming to a stop a foot away from her. "Doctor," he drowns into her pupils, "salam (peace)."

"Salam," she greets back with a smile of her own. "Excellent lecture you delivered there, professor. Beautiful message, very impressive."

"Thank you, miss." He grins at her as his feelings go tender. "I'm glad you've come again. And that you stayed."

"You wouldn't have liked me leaving again. You probably wouldn't have allowed me next time," she jokes.

He chuckles as he leans in a bit. "Then you better not leave me, doctor. You better stay."

The brown in her orbs softens and melts at his request as she asks him in a whisper, "Forever, Mikael?"

And in that moment, his soul leaves his body and tangles itself with hers, so does the myriad pieces of his heart all beat as one again. He raises his hand to her face, his fingers hovering over her skin but never touching, before brushing back the few stray strands of hair from her eyes that have escaped her scarf in a feather caress.

"Forever, doctor," he whispers back.

☾

For all the racism out in the world, sadly the twenty first century advances still cannot deal with the ignorance. But every effort starts as an individual effort. So do what's in your power-- be kind, spread love, and give respect.

Now, I've no definite chapters limit to end this book at, but I feel like we're already half done. Stay with me to complete this story, and I'm already plotting a new one. Lemme tell you, it's a genre I've never tried before, so I'm excited. Can you make a guess? ;)

PS: The link to the video on Bilal ibn Rabah I've used for this chapter is attached above. Refer to it for details.

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