Bismillah hir Rahman nir Raheem.

She will never forgive herself even if Allah forgave her.

She has been a hypocrite all her life. 

How could she possibly contemplate ending her life, given even for a single split second?

Just how could she?

Yes, the clay castle she built with so much love melted into beach sand, the waves retreating with melted grains. The lightness of the day she lived in was blanketed with the darkness of the night. The candle of hope she brewed with so much affection faded away—the flicker of the flame that radiated her faith. Everything she thought she contained was taken within a wink of an eye, she felt like the poorest human in the world rather than the rich. 

And yes, the person she had started to love with all of her being was removed from the pages of her life. 

She would have taken the step, she would have died within a few seconds and she would have been buried beside the one she loved with her heart and soul. But, a small thought that touched her mind that exact instance, saved her. If not for the remainder of the unread letters, she would have been now dead. Her life would have been over long ago. 

The respect that she earned in her whole existence would have vanished in thin air. People would have sympathy for her decision, wishing that she should have been more strong. But what would have been her image in front of her Lord? Will she be able to face Him?

Who does not get tested in this world?

Some people get tested with money—few of them are given abundantly to know how they spend it while some are given less to know, how they try to earn it.

Some people get tested with family—few parents oppress the children and in few other cases, children forsake the parents. If we give our heed outside the nuclear family, we may notice fights of siblings to attain the maximum property. Death of the loved ones. Misunderstandings between mother and daughter in law's that causes rifts in marriage and so on. 

Some people get tested with health—some born with imperfection, others get contagious diseases, a few suffer daily with bad health and for some, it becomes difficult to even do the basics like to breathe, eat, urinate, write, read and walk.

Different people get tested in different ways.

But no one is left empty-handed. If Allah blesses you with blessings then it is the test for you to know whether you are being grateful to him and on the same time, if you are being refused from your dreams then it is the test for you to know whether you practice patience over your loss.

Even if all you see darkness, feel like you are thrown over an ocean—lacking a boat and life support, the tides trying to swallow you, they thrash you, they might even seem to gulp you down.

In clear words, the waves attempt to drown you so they may wobble you of your sanity, eat away your skin, keep your bones floating over the water. Even though how impossible the situation can be, just always remember, Allah can make a possible way out. He sure can. Did he not brought Yunus (Alaihi salaam) safe from a whale's stomach?

If dark clouds hover over the sky and drench you wet, only Allah's will may save you, allowing rays of the sun to melt away the clouds and deciphering your land with sunshine, nurturing your wet soil with warmth.

If He takes away your gold, it means that He is going to send diamond your way. 

The wait might be tiring yet have no doubt about the destination. Surely, one day this frown of your lips will twitch up, these tears that you shed will dry over, even if they leave their trail, Allah will bless you with so much Noor that one day the sparkling of your face will hide away all of your scars.

Life is not about letting go, it's about standing straight amidst storms and hurricanes. It's about fighting the battles and not turning your back.

If Allah has given you a position as a soldier, you surely can kill your adversary armies, if Allah has given you the place of a minister, you surely will come up with a plan to win the opposing kingdom, if Allah has given you the position of the King, you surely have the strength to run and safeguard the kingdom from all the evils that try to knock it away.

The stronger you are, the stronger the test is.

It's only the mercy of Allah that saved her that day. Gave her another chance to prove her worth. She claimed to love Aashiq immensely, if she had died that day, she would never have had the opportunity to ever meet him again. 

Subhan'Allah! Allah is the most merciful. When we think we are asking his forgiveness first, it is He who outran the race, it is He who blessed us with Hidayah (Guidance) to even whisper a small Astaghfirullah.

When we think we are doing righteous deeds, it is He who lets us do them in the first place, if He had wished he would have left us scornful and blinded by the deceptions of this Dunya but He chose not to.

He chose us for Jannah then how on earth will he push us to Jahannam?

He will try to pull even the last card for us to turn to him before we return to him. 

Alhamdulillah! She was alive now. Alive to see the positive result in her hand. 

Alhamdulillah! She lived a moment in which she came to know that someone so small, a blood clot of life, lived inside her womb. Within ten months, she will have a small bundle of happiness in her hands, a fragment of her and a fragment of Aashiq. Yes, of course her heart will die the next moment when it would experience the birth of the child without him by her side—helping her, caressing her cheeks, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead, whispering I love you's. 

But the next minute, she will feel all the more alive. The heavenly cries of the newborn will suffice the tears of his/her mother. She will have someone to adhere to, someone who may grow to care for her like their father, love her like him.

A smile etched itself through her lips and remained intact.

SubhanAllah! Allah does invincible magic to persuade his dear slaves to become happy after being sad for days. His ways were the most unexpected and yet the best.

She rushed outside and the next second, she laid her head in prostration, she wailed to her Lord, ashamed of her sins and also at the same time, marvelling His Rahma.

Allah never does zulm(oppression) on anybody, it is us, it's our own desires, our own nafs that do the zulm. Allah is pure and we are the ones who are corrupted. Allah is the Most Merciful and we are the ones who are always in need of his mercy. Allah is the sole acceptor of repentance and we are the ones who are in dire need of His forgiveness. 

The weight of sins over our left shoulders may slumps us down, push us to fall to the ground, and never get up but on the same accord, we should never forget that Allah will forgive all of the sins if we utter a sorry in the most feeble way. Even within our heart.

Ever heard of the story of Musa (Alaihi wa salaam)?

At the time of Musa (AS), a terrible famine occurred. People who came to Musa (AS) asked him to pray for rain. Musa (AS) took thousands and thousands of people with him and asked Allah. He sought the Help of Allah for the sake of infants, old pious men, and four-footed animals. However, no rain came! It was hot all around.

Then Musa (AS) again started praying. He now sought the Support of Allah by saying: “If for any reason my level had been alleviated, for the sake of the Final Messenger – Muhammad (SAW), you may provide shower on us!”

Allah informed Musa (AS): “O Musa! It is not that your levels had gone down! The reason for no rain is that amongst your people there is one person who is disobeying my commands for forty consecutive years. Tell him to get out from your gathering; it is for him I have terminated rainfall.”

It was a very large gathering. Musa (AS) asked Allah: “I have a very low voice. How is it possible that in this large gathering my voice would reach him?” Allah contended him that He would reach His Prophet’s voice to all people.

Musa (AS) announced: “O the sinner, who had been sinning for 40 consecutive years! Get out from our gathering! It is for you the rain is not coming!”

Listening to this announcement, the sinner looked around and saw that none got out of the gathering! He thought it is to me whom this is being said. He further thought that when I would get out of this gathering people will see me. Alas! What a humiliation would that be! On the other hand, if I do not get out from here, for me the rain wouldn’t come! Suddenly while pondering on these thoughts, he covered his face with a cloth and started weeping.

With great repentance, he prayed: “O Rahman Raheem! I had been disobeying you for 40 years! You allowed me to come back, but I hadn’t utilized the chances. Now I (sincerely) turn to You! Do accept me!” Even his prayer had not been completed, the rain started pouring heavily!

Musa (AS) was quite astonished! Being astound he said to Allah: “O Lord! Not a single person had gone out of this gathering. What is the reason for rainfall then?”

Allah's reply was: “O Musa! It is for that person now I descended the rain, for whom I stopped it.”

Musa (AS) asked Allah: “O Allah! Do expose that person to me!”  Reply from Allah came: “I did not humiliate him at the time he disobeyed me; why would I now humiliate him – when he had come under My Shelter?”

A sinner of forty years asked forgiveness and Allah forgave him before forty seconds, even before he finished his prayer. SubhanAllah! To Allah belongs all beauty. And he did not expose his sins for forty years and how on earth will he disclose the information of his Abd (Slave) to anybody when he has asked forgiveness now?

Jesima whimpered and she remained in that same position for so long that when her mother came to check up on her for the third time and found her in the same spot and in the exact same position, she rushed towards Jesima.

Shaking her form, her mother's heart gripped in her throat, and after a few junctures, Jesima looked up.

"Mamma," Jesima cried, embracing her mother, "How can Allah be so merciful?"

"What happened, beta?" Her mother muffled, running a hand through Jesima's hair to comfort her.

"I am pregnant."

...

Jesima started to fall in love with silence, the non-existent words that orbited the room, the silence of the breeze, how beautifully it touches our skins yet we don't see or hear it except the buzzing of the current of the air-flow, and still it is so essential that we cannot survive a minute without the wind. 

She became deaf to the chaos of this world and started to hear the tantrums of nature, the sarcastic laughs of waves, the crashing of raindrops over the land, the dipping and rising of the sun in the watery sky, the floating of the moon in the starry blanketed night.

She surely had a vision but after reading the Qur'an, the veil that blinded her from seeing the truth unveiled itself from her. After seeing the true identity of this world, she came to know how blind she was all this while. Sure enough, beauty laid in nature—the waterfalls, the green meadows, the white transparent clouds, the shadow-filled trees, the colorful flowers, the vibrant colors of animals, and everything that existed between the heaven and the earth that her eyes could perceive but true beauty laid in Jannah, to which we have to work hard, stress our way through this life and do not take rest even for a second so we may rest there, Eternally.

"Anjum, You should taste this," Shabna called Anjum who entered the living room, her face exhausted and clad in office attire.

"What is that?" Anjum tried to pull a smile to stretch through her tired face. 

After Aashiq's death, Anjum ran his business, standing in his shoes. Coping up for her was to be in her brother's place, no matter how many fights they fought, Aakhir mey tho—they both were brother and sister, sharing the same womb.

"It's homemade dam ka rot," Shabna stretched the Tupperware box towards Anjum with a spoon on top.
Finally, earning Jesima's whole attention.

Jesima shifted her thoughts to Anjum and how intricately she handled her emotions when she found out that her Bhai had left a letter for her, believing in her that she would be capable of ruling the empire he ruled. Sure enough, he was right in all of his intuitions.

Jesima tightened her hands around Saad who was sitting on her lap and kissed him sideways. "Jessie, what is this?" The boy asked, pointing towards her phone screen with his small index finger.

"It's a BP apparatus."

"What's that?" Saad enquired to know more about what Jesima is holding in her hand in the image portrayed in the device.

"Saad, two doctors are enough in this room, you don't turn into one," Fathima bickered from the opposite couch. 

"Just because he asked one question related to a doctor doesn't mean he will turn into one," Rafa nudged Fathima from her side.

"Rafa don't even dare to start this conversation.. Jesima has already planned to marry her daughter to Saad, of course, her daughter will be a doctor as her mother is one that's why Jesima won't stop making Saad a doctor too."

Jesima's heart slightly nudged at that. What if it's a girl?

"You can't be serious." Rafa's eyes turned wide, "If you people marry all the bachelors of this town into your families, who will I marry?"

"Rafa, for your kind information, Saad is like more than twenty years younger than you."

"The Prophet Muhammad (Sallalahu alaihi wasallam) married Khadija (Radhiallahu Anha) irrespective of the age difference."

The whole troop burst to laugh, clutching their stomachs. "Fair point."

 "Saad, you have a wide variety of market." Shabna pinched his cheeks.

"My marriage is not a joke," Rafa bellowed.

"Rafa, don't worry, I will marry you," Asad chimed from where he sat.

"Asad, you are telling this only for her to bake cupcakes for you on a daily basis, right?" Fathima, stifled her laughs.

"Gotcha." Asad high-fied in the air.

That is exactly how Jesima's evenings passed with all her girls joining in the nights to give her company, and that dusk time contained hearty laughs of the girls and a few more bickerings of Rafa and Fathima. These small acts of love were blessed upon Jesima solely to let her know that if she had lost a loved one, there surely were others.

If anyone could fulfill Aashiq's place?

She only knew that the hole in her heart will forever be intact but it doesn't always mean that she should shut herself down when Allah has blessed her with family and a bunch of friends who showered her with anything but care. Alhamdulillah!

And not to forget the baby inside her tummy!

Involuntarily, when Saad got up and jogged towards the kitchen to get her something to eat, she ran her hand over her flat abdomen, looking over Fathima's visible baby bump.

In a matter of a few weeks, she will have her belly enlarged, feeling the tingles of the baby's movements, the texture of the limbs, the sound of the heartbeats. 

Leaving the unsettling past behind, she started to ponder over the future. Putting her heart in the hands of her Creator, she wanted to become like a spider, unknowingly spinning the web of life in all directions, and when she will sit at the end of her time, all that she will see is the perfect outcome of her trust. The perfect-shaped nest she built with the gossamer threads of belief in her Rabb.

She looked at the hearty laughs of Shabna, remembering the hell she went through to reach this point in her life. Perhaps, that's life. Going through hell to attain heaven as a reward.

She wondered the period when she would also laugh like them without sadness knocking at her door, talk like them without doubts worrying her brain, feel free like them rather than feeling caged. 

She then thought about her dreams, the ones that were securely saved on the drafts of her brain cells. After becoming pregnant, her iddat period was stretched until delivery. Meaning, until then, she will be mentally more strong and ready to live the actuality of her dreams. It also gave ample time for them to construct the hospital in Palestine.

That night, when she sat leaning on the swing, hugging her body, peeking at the lavish view of the night sky, counting the stars and the beauty of the crescent, her heart craved for Aashiq. 

How would he have reacted to the news of the pregnancy?

Her heart soared to no bounds, thinking about all the care, love, and support Aashiq would shower on her from his side. 

As days passed in a blur, all Jesima prepared herself was to shower all of the mentioned deeds of his/her father on their child. She readied herself to what was to come, prepared herself to not only be a single mother rather be the tough person she was. She had the strength in her to give both the love of a father and mother to the baby, didn't she?

And, that's how she started to come out of the depression of the tragic death of her husband and stepped into the first gargoyle stone of normalcy.

…

"Ahmed, your coffee," Samra said, placing the mug of hot-sizzling beverage over the nightstand, and was about to turn and walk away when a hand gripped her wrist, pulling her over the king-sized bed.

"I thought you were sleeping," she tried to word out when the hands snaked her waist and his head snuggled into her neck, making goosebumps graze her skin, a spark to run down her spine.

"I better cuddle you than sleep. Sleep seems far when you are not close," he murmured from the crook of her neck, his beard tickling her most gently yet making her feel all the alive.

"Amy! Leave me," Samra chuckled, "I have work to do."

Ahmed pulled her more and hugged her from the behind as if she is some sort of a teddy bear. "Sam, when I said you can call me that name. I wasn't serious."

"Amy! The day when you told me that you will have a relationship with me, even if I choose to veil myself from you, you weren't serious too." She turned around in her position, clashing her brown irises in the salty waters of the blue ones of her husband, mirth sparkling in both.

Ahmed broke into a hearty laugh. "Alhamdulillah! You didn't tell me yes that day."

Samra giggled before saying, "Even if I had told you yes, I will never have stopped you from claiming your right."

"Only when you were ready." Ahmed ran his fingers over her cheeks, stealing glances at her face that was only visible for him and not the world, "Come'on! What do you people say, Sabr ka phal meetha hota hai." (The fruit of patience is indeed sweet)

"Haan! Haan!" Samra tried to pull away before she melted into his arms with all of his icing and sugar quotes which were not cliche but real, "Drink the coffee, will ya?"

Ahmed let his arms loose and saw her unwrapping herself from his folds, his gaze not leaving her form as he sat, leaning on the headboard. 

Taking the mug in hand, Samra took a few sips of the coffee, "Here." She pointed to the place her lips touched and handed the mug over to Ahmed who's grin was as bright as the morning sun that adorned the sky.

Drinking from the exact spot, a smile stretched through his lips. He got down and holding her hand, he guided her to the balcony. Samra tied her dupatta around her hair even though they lived on the twelfth floor, she didn't want to give a stranger a glimpse of her hair and face.

Ahmed gave her a proud smile and sat on the small couch that faced the vast and clear sky. They eyed the beauty of the Creation of the Creator that spread out above the sky and the Creation of the Creation that adorned the landscape, enjoying their morning cup of coffee.

Overlooking the pool in the middle of the amenity of the apartments, its Turkish blue water glistening in the morning light, all its four sides adorned with artificial palm trees and some hedgerows, they sighed in awe.

The sight looked marveling to the eyes.

They didn't know how long they sat but it was long enough to feel the moment etched in their memories.

When they exited their room, the smell of nihari filled the air and Ahmed outran Samra towards the kitchen. 

"I have always wanted you to try out 'Masterchef Auditions,'" he praised Samra's mother who was roasting the roti in the tawa. He hurriedly plucked a piece from the Roti's that were placed beside her—heat evaporating from the wheat flattened bread. He stuffed the piece into the masala, and then put it to his mouth, devouring each bite.

"Mom, he is the only buttering you," Samra chided Ahmed's hand that traced towards the hot pack of roti's for another bite, taking it she rounded the aisle and placed it over the four-seater dining table.

"Butter or cheese, woh hai tho mera son," her mother smiled warmly at Ahmed, nudging him to take a seat and he did so in affirmative. "I have also made some jadda pulao to go with the dish."

"I am in love with Bangladeshi cuisine," Ahmed grinned, plunging to fill his plate with the dishes served.

"What about me?", Samra whined a cross the table and he broke into a hearty laugh, " After you", he winked.

Ahmed had lived most of his life in hostel food, and homemade food was for him like the rainfall over a draught land. Marrying Samra benefited him with that blessing, for Samra's mother treated him as her own son rather than the son-in-law he was.

“Hurry up, we can’t get late again today,” Samra announced, watching Ahmed settle down with a heaped up plate. Eating all that food would take him forever. 

“We wo-” he chewed and swallowed “-we won’t get late, I’ll devour this deliciousness within seconds.” He fanned his mouth, some steam rising off since the gravy was too hot. Samra shook her head at him. 

Since she and Ahmed had started their own practice, their hours had gotten far more flexible, yet more long. They were no longer bound by the restraints of employers, so they did what they pleased. But since they were now their own employers, they had numerous other tasks to do which they weren’t familiar with before, like billing, machine repair and maintenance, and opening the clinic in the morning. They could no longer waltz into work and have a line of patients to see, they had to open the clinic, clean it and welcome each and every patient before seeing them. 

It was a lot of work, but it was their dream project. They had been batchmates for so long, colleagues, and then lovers, operating the clinic was as natural to them as waking up to each other every morning. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get dressed,” Samra informed, placing her used breakfast dish in the sink and starting towards their bedroom. 

“Wait!” Ahmed stacked his plate on hers in the sink and ran after her. 

Grabbing her from behind, he expressed his love as well as stopped her from getting dressed before him--which often led to her complaining about him getting them late again. 

“Have some shame,” Samra whispered, gesturing to her mother who was only a few feet away and could turn to see them.

“Shame in my own house with my own wife, I don’t think so.” 

Samra squealed as he lifted her off her feet, tingling her sides. As tears pooled her eyes with the tickles, she whispered numerous Alhamdulillah's. After having gone through so much hardship, this was her ease. Ahmed was her ease.

Her grin dropped the slightest as she thought about her best friend Jesima, and whispered a prayer for her. She was in the deepest midst of her hardship, but the Almighty had already started showing her the light at the end of the tunnel. 

A child. A love child of Jesima and Aashiq. A blessing neither of them had expected or known about until recently. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Samra whispered again, watching the smiling face of her husband. 

“So, surely with hardship comes ease. Surely with ˹that˺ hardship comes ˹more˺ ease.” (94:5-6)

***

Your thoughts, please.