Narrated Abu Hurairah (may Allaah be pleased with him): Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon) said, "A woman can be married for four reasons: her wealth, her lineage, her beauty, and her religious commitment. Choose the one with religious commitment lest your hands be covered in dust (due to destitution)."

-Saheeh Bukhari & Muslim

* * *

She froze at her mother's proclamation. Her mind drew blank. She forgot about blinking and forgot how to exhale. For a moment, nothing made sense-absolutely nothing. Her eyes stayed fix on her mother. Her lashes never once met their significant other. Outside, a car honked; and with that noise, her thoughts came spiralling down on her with such intensity.

Engagement? Did Mom just say engagement? My engagement? As in, me as a bride? What about the groom? Who on earth is he?

She opened her mouth and then closed it, trying to make sense of what was happening. She was sure she had heard wrong. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. How could she have received a rishta and not come to know of it? How could it have gotten so far without her being aware of it? Her family had not told her anything and had not asked her for her consent. She had no freaking clue as to who the guy was or that such a thing had been brewing in her household.

For how long has this even been happening?

There was just one plausible explanation for the direction her thoughts were heading, and Manha seized it. She decided she had heard wrong. That was what it had to be. She was positive that being immersed in the thoughts of her friend's impending wedding had started to take a toll on her. That was what it was. Of all the things that had to happen to her, she had started to hear things these days.

Manha blinked her eyes in quick succession to clear her thoughts and did the only thing that came to her mind to relieve herself of the tension that had built inside of her-she opened her mouth and chuckled.

Her mother drew her brows together and flashed her a scathing look. "What are you laughing at?"

"I'm sorry, Mom." Manha pressed her lips into a thin line. "With all the things that are happening, I'm starting to hear things these days."

"Manha." The tone was stern. "Let me get this straight. You are not hearing things. I did tell you about your engagement, and I do want you to take a day off tomorrow." There was a prolonged sigh before she continued, "You are getting engaged within a month and married at the end of two. It has all been decided." She crossed her arms and shifted her stance, preparing herself to face the rebuke she knew was to come.

Sure enough, Manha's eyes rounded in horror, and she sprang from her seat. "What are you telling me?" Throwing her hands in the air in helplessness, she started pacing. "I was not even aware that a rishta had come in the first place." She closed her eyes, a pained expression darting across her face. Before looking up, her eyes lit with fury. "You've decided the groom. You've decided the date. You have gone ahead, planned it all behind my back, and didn't even deem it necessary to tell me?"

The response she received was a cynical look casted in her direction. "I'm telling you now, am I not? Before a month."

"Mom, are you kidding me? A month?" Her voice rose a notch without her being aware of it. "What do I do within a month when I have no idea of the person I'd be getting tied down with for the rest of my life?"

"Watch your tone with me, young lady. I didn't even know who your father was until after the nikkah. My sisters had it the same away, so did my mother, and your father's mother for that matter. We were not questioned about our desires and decisions or informed anything about our grooms. If I wanted, I could have gone ahead and done the same thing with you; but I know the days are changing, and things are not the same anymore. I'm being generous enough to grant you the privilege of knowing who the guy is before the engagement."

Taking a step forward, her mother produced an envelope from beneath her shawl and placed it on the dresser. "This is the photo and biodata of the guy."

Manha's heart fell. Staring helplessly at her mother, she shook her head in disapproval. "It's not that I'm against the idea of marriage or who you choose for me, Mom," she tried cajoling her, "it's just that I'm against the idea of not consulting me before arranging the whole thing. You could have told me. You could have asked me my opinions. You should have found out if I'd be compatible with the guy and if I'd be comfortable with him before finalising the proposal. My decision should have been taken into consideration, Mom. I should have been asked and not be informed about my future. I have a right to decide on who my spouse has to be."

Her mother's expression was tipping towards evident fury, and she burst out by the time Manha stopped speaking. "That does not happen in our family, Manha," her mother roared. "Youngsters are not involved in any of this. It is only the elders who decide on everything. It is only elders who discuss such things. Whether you accept it or not, we are older, and our experience is better than the lot of you. We know what is best for whom. Nothing is ever asked to the girl, and she doesn't have a say. The only thing she gets to do is sign her nikkah papers. Nothing more, nothing less. What is decided is final; and once the decision is taken, it cannot be revoked."

Tears of frustration and anger formed a sheen in her eyes. "A Muslim girl cannot be married against her will, Mom. What you are saying is what your family has been doing for years-mixing Indian customs with Islaamic traditions. This doesn't happen in Muslim households. Such a nikkah is not accepted in the eyes of the Lord. I won't accept it. I cannot live a life against my choice."

Manha's mother flared at that. "What acceptance and choice are you talking about, girl? To the place we are heading, we would no longer be accepted, let alone having the privilege to choose."

Manha was startled. "Mom," she breathed, "what do you mean by we would not be accepted? Are you hiding something from me?"

"Yes. Yes I am. I wanted to tell you everything about our state right from the beginning, but your father was not ready to have it. I have no other choice but to let it all out in the open now. We are heading towards our downfall, Manha."

Pulling her close, her mother dug her fingers in her shoulders, uncaring of how her face twisted in pain. "The company your father works in has been bought out, and they're firing employees now, right and left. At this rate, we couldn't tell when your father would be sent back to India from the gulf. As if that isn't enough, he had put all his savings in a firm that has gone crashing like biscuits dunked in tea. You hear me? All our savings are gone! We've lost everything except the jewellery we have saved for your wedding. Soon, your father will also be losing his job. We will gradually be losing all that we have."

Sniffing, Manha dabbed her tears furiously. "So you're just pushing me off with the first guy who comes knocking at our door? How does that even solve our issues? How does our financial condition have anything to do with my wedding?" A stubborn tear ran down her right cheek.

"We want to finish all our obligations before we lose our status in the society and before we lose the money."

Her hand went to her head. "Mom, how can I explain it to you? I don't want a lavish wedding. That's . . . that has never been a part of my plans," she croaked. "I don't want people spending on me. I don't want any extravagance. I only want a simple wedding with a man of my choice. Mom, please."

"Man of your choice? Is there someone you've been seeing? Are you hiding something from us?"

Manha grew bewildered. "Noo, Mom! How can you even think something of that sort?"

Her mother harrumphed. "Better, and what were you saying about having a simple wedding? Do you want us to conduct a simple affair and then become the subject of gossip among our relations? No thanks, Manha. You're going to do what I say. Prepare yourself for the wedding.

"The guy is from a very good family, earns well, and looks good. All three important qualities are found in him. That's more than enough, isn't it?"

Manha frowned. "That is your idea of a perfect guy, Mom." She looked away. "My idea of an ideal husband is completely different from yours."

"Okay, then. Let's come your way. We've found out that he is an only child, looks after his parents very well, and prays regularly too. Isn't this your idea of an ideal husband?"

Her mother walked out of the room, not giving her a chance to reply; but, just before she exited, she stopped and looked over shoulder to spare her a glance. "Buck up and convince yourself. We are not throwing you to the wolves, Manha. They are a good lot. They'd keep you happy. This is what has been decided for you. You are not to change it. The quicker you accept things, the better they will seem."

Manha sunk into her bed after her mother left. She knew her mother's idea of good people. Anyone who smiled kindly and spoke politely went into the good books of her mother. In her own extended family, she knew of some her mother deemed gold, but who were in truth anything but. She had always avoided commenting on such people to her mother and turned a blind eye to all what they did. Now, however, knowing her mother's way of viewing the world, dread crept inside of her. Who would the guy be and how would his family treat her? Would he even be practicing, or would he be of the misguided lot? Would he laugh at her for her beliefs, or would he understand her? How would his relationship with Him be?

Would he even be a Muslim in the real sense? Would he be the kind she had wanted her spouse to be? Manha wanted to weep her heart out.

"How can I make you understand, Mom?" Her eyes rolled up to settle on the expanse of her painted ceiling. "Just because a man prays outwardly, doesn't mean he will be a good Muslim or a good husband. And weddings?" She chuckled without any humour. "Wedding is the union of two willing souls. It isn't about wearing flashy clothes, glittering jewels, wasting money, and showing off. It's the acceptance of the other, flaws and all."

Her gaze landed on the moon shining radiantly outside her window. A shudder passed through her. "I have a feeling I wouldn't be happy with this arrangement. Ya Allaah, what else is going to happen next?"

Her throat felt thick. It was difficult to even swallow.

* * *

In the farthest corner of the very same city, another friend of Manha sat on her prayer mat. Head bowed, palms cupped, and legs folded beneath her, she represented a perfect picture of humility. Words spilling out of her mouth, her heart was being bared to her Creator in a manner she would never dare do with anyone else.

"Ya Allaah," she prayed, "what is this feeling in me that doesn't let me rest and doesn't let me sleep? This feeling that clogs my throat and burdens my soul? I'm utterly clueless.

"You alone are my salvation, Ya Allaah. You are both the beginning and the ending of my journey-in whose Hands my soul rests, my eternal light. Is it because of this or because I feel quite empty on the inside? I'm not aware, Ya Allaah, but I love you with every fibre of my being, with the whole of my little heart, and I couldn't find it in myself to fear You.

"I've never felt Your wrath, Ya Allaah. I've never felt the difficulties of life. Rather, I've always been on the safer side. I've never roamed the streets in hunger or slept without a roof over my head. My clothes have never seen bad days. I love You, Ya Allaah; and unlike others, I couldn't bring myself to fear You.

"I love You. There is no doubt regarding it. You are my anchor. You are my strength. You are my hope. I acknowledge the fact that there is no deity worthy of worship except for you. All that you have bestowed upon me-I acknowledge them, too, but when the whole city sleeps and the darkness descends, I'm left feeling cold. I ache for a random word and a physical hug. Ya Allaah, why couldn't I control myself?

"There are times I feel bereft, Ya Allaah, like a lone iceberg floating in the vast ocean even though I'm surrounded by people. At such times, solitude threatens to swallow me whole. I don't mean to complain though. I don't mean to say I'm entirely abandoned. I have people who care for me, and for that, I'm very grateful to You. I have my friends, cousins, and my uncle-all praises indeed belong to You.

"They look out for me whenever I'm around. They care for me. Their presence soothes my worries. Their love pacifies my soul; but as the night approaches and the last rays of light disappear, I'm left to tackle my demons all alone, and I lose my sanity. I couldn't think right, Ya Allaah. Solitude doesn't work for me.

She sniffed. "My buddy, Eshaal, is getting married. My cousin, Adeeba, is getting engaged. The house is swarmed with relatives who have come from all across the country; and, despite being surrounded by them, I feel all alone. Ya Allaah, am I bad for feeling that?

"Everyone seems to be moving on, progressing in life while I realise I'm stuck. I find myself going back to that particular day twelve years ago when I was stripped off of a family's comfort. I find myself longing and pining after something that could have been. I find myself wondering what it would have been like if my parents had been alive.

"Would my mother have become a typical desi mom with her frenzied pursuit of a groom for me? Would my father have been proud of what I've become? Would I still be an only child? Questions pile up in me, Ya Allaah, then I push those thoughts away.

"I push those thoughts away because that conditional clause, 'if' actually questions Your will. It defies Your ordainment. Most of all, I push them away because they will distance myself from You, and I couldn't stand that. I don't have the strength for it, Ya Allaah. I cannot afford to detach myself from You." Silent sobs shook her form.

"I try, Ya Allaah. I try so hard; but no matter how many days pass by and no matter how much courage I gather to look ahead, I find that my past still has a strong hold on me. I find that I still remember that fateful day like yesterday." She whimpered. "I was supposed to go with them and would have gone with them, but I was detained in the last moment. My parents passed away, Ya Allaah, but I stayed. I stayed back then, and I stayed alive. I was alive twelve years back, and I'm still alive now. It couldn't have been without a reason, right?

"I know that there is a reason I was spared, Ya Allaah. Apart from glorifying You, there is a purpose I was left to live. You have plans for me, Ya Allaah. I know you do. Please help me figure it out. Aid me to be of service to You.

"Frankly," she blinked rapidly to clear the tears that had blurred her vision, "I don't want to mourn my parents' death and mar the time I spent with them. Help me with that, Ya Allaah!

"I do not want to become one among the scores of people who follow the circle of birth and death without doing anything of value. Help me in aiding the ummah, Ya Allaah.

"There is no one I could turn to help save for You so I ask of You, Ya Allaah, help me through this impasse and help me in dulling the edge of my ache. Fill up the crevices of my faith, Ya Allaah, and make me of the blessed ones. Grant me the love of those close to you. Distance me from everything that displeases you. Strengthen my religion. Make it sound. Fortify my faith and widen my knowledge.

"I have lifted my hands in humility, Ya Allaah, knowing You feel ashamed to return the hands raised to you empty. I know You would not disappoint me. Please guide me to do good. I'm not asking for ease in my life, but I ask of You to help me navigate it. I'm asking You to make it worthwhile. I'm asking You to make my temporary stay on earth worthwhile.

"Also, help other lost souls like me-like Mehrin. Help us reach our destination with ease. Help me figure out the purpose of my being, Ya Allaah. Envelope all of us in Your mercy and in Your blessings. Increase our sincerity and raise us in the ranks of your slaves.

"Ya Allaah, send blessings upon Muhammad and upon the family of Muhammad as You sent blessings upon Ibrahim and upon the family of Ibrahim. You are indeed worthy of praise and full of glory."

Ending her conversation with her Creator the way it was recommended, Rida buried her face in her palms. She stayed that way for long moments, silently drawing strength from the One she had uttered those words to. Her heart felt considerably light. Her prayer had soothed her beyond words. An inexplicable sort of sereneness started to surge through her being. She smiled through her tears. There was no doubt that the Creator listened to His creations more than anyone else. No one understood people like He did, and no one responded to them like He did. He worked in the most subtle ways, making sure they got what they needed. He was Al-Wahhaab, the All Giver. He gave to an extent that the humans were left incapable of enumerating all that He had given. He was Ar-Razzaaq, the All Provider. He provided for all, regardless of which category of the plant or animal kingdom the creations fell under.

Absolutely nothing could match His love. Indisputably, His mercy enveloped all. The knowledge of it filled Rida with tranquil bliss. She knew help will find its way. She was not sure when; but since she had spread her hands in front of her Lord, she was positive He would not return them empty-handed. Help would surely reach her when the time was right. With renewed conviction, she got on her feet.

A good few minutes would have passed when Rida's throat started to feel itchy and dry. She reached over to the pitcher in her room. It was empty. "I think you let all the water in your body out through your tears, Rida." She chuckled to herself. "Let's go get water for you."

Getting out of the bed and securing a shawl around herself, she quietly slipped out of the room. As she descended the stairs of her uncle's house, she took extra care to not make any noise. It was well into the night and the guests who had come to attend her cousin Adeeba's engagement had already retired. She didn't want to inconvenience anyone.

Silently, she made her way to the kitchen, glad about the fact that no one was about. Relatives of both her uncle and aunt had been invited over and the thought of crossing paths with males at odd hours, more so with the ones who were not related to her, didn't seem complacent. However, as she entered the living room, she was surprised to see that she was not the only one awake. A figure was seated on the sofa. Even in the dim lighting, it was apparent that he was a male. Not letting it deter her, she continued walking. She noticed him look up to see her as she crossed him but neither of them acknowledged the other.

She walked to the fridge, got a bottle of chilled water, settled on dining table, and uttered Bismillaah before she took it in three sips as per the Sunnah. Once done, she tried closing the bottle when its cap slipped from her butter fingers. It swiftly rolled away coming to a stop at a few feet from the tea table in the living room.

The guy seemed to have noticed it, too, for he got up from the sofa. Keeping away the phone he had been fidgeting with in his pocket, he picked up the bottle cap.

"I believe you dropped it." He started towards her.

Her eyes having accustomed to the lighting, the place was no longer as dark as it had appeared before. Recogniton rounded Rida's eyes at the same time aversion flooded her being. A scowl tugged at her lips.

"You--"

"It's you-"

They spoke at the same time.

In their initial shock, they didn't hear a certain someone enter the room. They didn't hear the lights being turned on. Only when the light flooded the kitchen were they jarred out of their thoughts.

"Wasiq, beta, what are you doing here?" A voice boomed.

***