Bismillah hir Rahman nir Raheem.

My life just laughed at me.

Like it's some sort of a joke.

Everything I see seemed like a planned murder mystery. Each piece perfectly fitting the footprints of the algorithm designed. My breathing is the non-existent calling bell the murderer rings, my migraine is the exact dose to make me unconscious, my nosebleed kidnaps me to a space where no one can reach me, and finally, my tumor is my killer, who strikes the sword.

I don't know why I have been diagnosed with a tumor. What good does it bring except unquenchable heartache?

For my family, the news was like a hurricane, uprooting all the hopes we had candled throughout our lives. A cyclone that destroyed all the skyscrapers of love we built. I couldn't even meet my folk's eyes. How can I? All of them think that I am stupid to give up.

What do they want from me? To fight Glioblastoma when it was already a step away from claiming checkmate. Now, who is acting stupid? Don't they understand that I will give everything in me to get to live a second more with them, but it doesn't work like that, does it?

I don't have any option but to accept the reality like sand mixed with rice. No matter how much I choke, I should eat the sand gravel to breathe. This makes me sound so ungrateful towards my Creator? Where is my Imaan, Taqwa and Tawakkul?

They say this life is transient, yet we live like it is endless. They compare our journey to be of a wayfarer, yet we give our heart to this soil and human beings, even though we knew that they don't have the strength to keep it safe. They say death is reality, yet we live our life as if it's just an illusion.

When our false beliefs are this strongly uprooted in our brains then how can we take in the pain of unexpected expiration. Just, how can we?

Let me give my example. I grew up nothing more than a Mamma's boy. Her aanchal was were I found my world. If I was the moon, she was my sun, she was the one who nurtured me with her light so that I could shine. Whenever I went away from her, darkness enveloped me, sometimes I was a crescent- a quarter, a half until finally, I met her again, and then did I turn- whole.

I used to be so chubby back then, kids my age used to belittle me, calling names such as- maidey key aatey ka gola. I was not only larger in size but also super dumb, nerd with an intellectual brain. I was like Aamir khan from 3 idiots, solving maths problems of my seniors in my junior standards. I was the odd one out. Not only that, I was my mohalley ka Hrithik Roshan, not the older-handsome one rather the boy, who acted as his kid version in Kabhi kushi kabhi gham. Whenever my Uncle who lived in Saudi would visit me, I would sit eagerly waiting to eat away all the goodies he brought. My cousins would disparage me a lot. They would ask me to sing the Hindi tongue twister which the boy in the above mentioned movie finds hard to phrase, "Chandu key Chacha ney Chandu key Chachi ko Chandhni Raath mein Chandi key Chamchey sey Chutney Chakaayi". My mother became my school, she helped me cope up with my unrequited love for my studies and she didn't make me feel delusional with the constant kids bickerings, rather she always fed me my favorite besan ke laddoo hiding them from the protruding gaze of my sister, Anjum and from my cousins, of course.

My relationship with my sister was like every the other sibling relationships, can categorise as - Tom and Jerry. She could break into your room to steal your entire pencil set and yet throw a tantrum for not sharing an eraser with her. I was everything but not an artist, she once added that talent on my invincible to-learn list, when I disagreed, she colored half of my hair purple. It was a miracle that my mother painted my hair black as soon as Anjum spill a purple dye over my hair that my hair got saved that day. She was pure evil then and she still blackmails me with the same threat, making me obey her orders and the sad reality was, I still obey her.

Then I graduated my college when everyone were stuck in high school. With a double degree in architecture, I was provided a job to intern on the project of building the highest building in the world, Burj Khalifa. It was the first time, I took a step with individuality. I was sorted to live all alone in a new country. My mom arranged a cook but I secretly denied the offer. Trying to learn to cook, I only lost all my extra calories. Too many burnt bread and salty soups became my only meals, yet my ambition to reconstruct this world took charge in me in such a way that it didn't bother me once to fulfill my food cravings. Besan ke laddoo, basundi became my farfetched ex-girlfriends while bricks and cement became my current possessions.

My Lord blessed me with victories after victories, I trespassed the largest of heights. All this while, my father became my compass of direction, he helped me to stay rooted to the ground even though I was flying in the air. He was my greatest supporter and well-wisher. I fell in little more love with my courier when I started to reach out to thousands of homeless people who lived in slums. I hard worked to find out low-cost budget homes to build to enlighten the lives of these people and when I did found out an idea, my inkling spread like wildfire but this time, it didn't destroy lives rather it brightened it.

My companies spread worldwide and in my mid-twenties, I was automatically titled to be one of the world's richest men, best business entropeuner, and what not.

If my mother was kindness, my father was the one who taught me how to be kind. They both were the different sides of a same coin, who helped me to stay rooted in the same spot that was their love.

Then my life turned pathetic. Board meetings and building castles in the air became my time pass. I was just any other samosa, deep fried in the oil of life. Until one day, I was given my redemption. My father called me to meet a girl, to look for a potential wife. I could still remember the day. The day when I first met her. She was created with the exact blend of tangy tomato sauce, to make my samosa taste extraordinary. My plain life turned into a whirlwind of rollercoaster rides. Running races, where we pushed and pulled each other to reach the finishing line. Each second, each minute, each hour spent with her was cherished so dearly that I was left to crave for more and more.

I literally waited a whole year for her to begin a relationship with me. All this while, I didn't felt a speck of boredom. It was thrilling. Interesting to watch her from afar. Notice her tiniest of details. In a world filled with hatred, she chose to be a blanket of kindness. In a world filled with selfishness, she chose to be a breeze of selflessness. How can anybody not fall for her?

She became my Aashiqui.

This Aashiq's Aashiqui.

Subhanallah! When I look back at the journey of my life, I could only see how much my Lord adorned me with blessings. In every trial, a miracle hid. With every ounce of patience, a gift was bestowed.

That's why, from the moment, I heard about my tumor and the moment when I came to know that my time in this world is limited, I couldn't stop myself from pondering over Death.

They say every clay-carved human who is born would taste the flavor of death. Eventually, we all will have the same ending but in different ways and at distinct times. Some die an early death while others live a long life.

Even though my time is near, it doesn't mean yours is not.

Think in this way, ponder a hundred years later than this date. Do you think you would exist in the next century?

If your answer is no. Then where do you think you will be?

Buried six feet underground.

Our final abode. Barzaq. Until the commencement of the Day of Judgment, we would lay in our separate graves.

Amidst the darkness, upon the soil, congested within four walls of mud, we would lead a life, all alone.

I can't get over that fact. I am yet to grasp it fully without gaping with fear. What will happen to me? What will happen to my loved ones? What would they do without me? How will I live without them?

These questions repeatedly swivel through my brain. My intuition always ends up saying that the sand clock of my days in this world is rolling faster and faster. Each passing day gave me a new chance to change my ways, repent for my sins, earn a few more rewards, settle my relationship with my Creator.

I am most of all scared for my wife. How will she ever cope up my loss? She has a whole life ahead and I am leaving at the end of her start.

I urge myself to will for her good. One small part of me want her to move on from me. I want her to forget me. I want her to forget whatever golden that had conspired within the small period of time we shared. I pray that she gets someone who gives her stars, not like me, who just promises. I pray that she gets someone who gives her happiness from love not tears of love.

But I stop myself in mid-prayer. A very selfish and immature segment of mine, withers with just the thought. I can't even will myself to imagine my wife making a life with someone other than me. This makes me feel ungrateful towards my Creator for giving me such a short term of life.

My gaze now sees moons and stars when the time arrives, my vision would perceive beyond what lies in front of my eyes. I will see things those are Ghaib. The things which my Rabb had kept hidden throughout my life.

Beware, for everyone is going to have the same ending but in different ways. The same angel of death will come to retrieve our souls from their respective bodies.

No matter how much your bank balance is, you wouldn't be able to bribe death. The richest man on earth dies just as the poorest beggar. No one escapes its wimps. No Prophet has ever left to live then what are we?

My wife and my family ask me to undergo treatment. To become hale and healthy but the question is, will I become healthy for real? Again?

Do you want me to believe that I would become alright after what has preyed me down? A disease, with a fancy name, Glioblastoma, which is hazardous than HIV, so fast in spreading that experts couldn't find out ways to stop the spread. A killer with a perfect plan of the murder. A killer from who's grasps is hard to lose.

If I had stood on Stage one, I would have defied it with my money. If I had stood on Stage two, I would have defeated its demons with treatments and hope. Sadly, I stood on its last stage. All the damage was already done. Most of its patients don't even feel how severe the tumor has spread, they don't have any symptoms until the last strike. Ironically, I have crossed even the last blow.

It doesn't mean I don't trust my Rabb- I trust Ash-Shafi more than anyone else does. It's just that even if I survive this storm which is, Stage-3 Glioblastoma, what security is there that the tumor won't return. I may get to live a few more years and suddenly die, so isn't the death so sure more than the time I live?

That will cause unwanted hopes in my family. A great deception that would hurt them more than it hurts them now.

I want to survive my final battle with Shaitan, where he would come to welcome me into Christianity/Jewish/and other sects that are not Islam. He would claim to give me redemption. He would come as a hope when I would be swimming with confusion. He would promise me to give my life and eternal love. I pray sincerely that I don't get into his wisps. I pray that I dont blindly follow his footsteps as I did on this Dunya. I want to pass my final tests. I want to shout at him, "You are a clear enemy, you want nothing but bad to downpour on me. Go away".

He would shake his head at me, " You are on unmistakable loss. Your time is slipping off your fingers. Just accept my offer and I would give back your life".

"You don't attain any powers. The power of giving and taking lives lies only with Allah. I have lived the life of a Muslim and I want to die with the same religion embedded on my heart".

With those words, I will win. I will win my final battle.

Angels would come and surround me. They would be larger in both quantity and size. They would have white cloths to shroud me. I hope they are good looking and welcoming. I don't want them to look scary and whose looks would make my soul fearful.

One of the many winged-angels would segregate himself and come towards me. He would call my soul towards the
name of my Creator.

Hearing this happiness would surge through my soul. Like the hair strand that fell on milk, I would get out of my body-my temporary admonition.

Angels would bath me, I wish they would shroud me with a white cotton blend of fabric with beautiful smells of musk, crafted with the scents of Jannah. They would then ascend me towards the sky. The layers which I never have seen from all the flights I had taken while I was alive, would be the space I will travel. An infinite abode. A long journey that would lay ahead for me to undergo, all alone.

Time is what I think I have

to conquer the entire world,

all the while I forget

it's just a contentment of delusion

I leave my safe shore

and plunge into the

deep waves of the ocean,

all the while I forget -

I don't know

how to swim

Tides try to crush me

under their might,

but those are just the

ties that bind society

I forget

I bear a thumping heart

in my chest

and a few feelings of my own,

At last,

I drown in the sweeping depths,

my body shattering

into insignificant specks.

I forget

the world was

only a transient illusion

Time is what I thought I had,

until I was aroused

from a deep slumber

I stood amongst throngs

As far as the eyes stretched

they called it-The Judgment Day,

fear began to blanket my insubstantial heart

I put plea after plea,

to let me return to where I started,

but all my cries are in vain,

because I forgot

my time has already been ceased

long ago

Memories of my sinful life

flash before my eyes,

I curse my former self, because

I spent my life

forgetting that

all that glitters is not gold

I was too blind

to give heed

Time is what I was given

when they drag me to stand

before my Creator

I hang my neck low,

forgetting

He, the Exalted, is (Ar-Rahman)

the Most Merciful

The scales outweigh

with crimes and transgression,

I stand with guilt

gnawing my insides.

I forget

they could be forgiven

before a blink of an eye

The mercy that was granted to me

was the best blessing that

was bestowed upon me,

I smile with tears,

how did I forget

even with the size of a mustard seed worth of Imaan,

a person would be granted entry

into the greatest of gates

that exists,

under which lush gardens lay

with delightful river beds

bejeweled castles so high

and my Rabb's face

enthralled over the sky.

With this, he closed his journal, whenever he takes the pen in hand, his heart bleeds the ink, to fill a hundred pages of sorrow yet there was no changing to the destiny that laid ahead.

A world spinning in its orbit, a regular task of day and night, there would live a life dying a thousand deaths and also would live a dead wanting to live a thousand lives with his beloved. The irony was when we are pushed to take a step ahead in our life, there was no stepping back. What is gone is really gone.