Be generous in pouring your love, for this is the last chapter of this book, keeping the epilogue in mind.

Bismillah hir Rahman nir Raheem

"A little to the right, no not totally right, move a bit towards the left. Okay! Perfect," Shabna coerced, lending Anjum a hand to get down from the stool after sticking the glitter wall decorations.

"Asad, don't laze around in the name of helping and do actual help, Alright?" Fathima bickered, carrying a dozen of fairy lights in her hands.

"If you use the time you put on noting me 24×7 into your works means half of the chores would have been already done," Asad replied back making Fathima roll her eyes.

"Thank you," Anjum thanked, taking the fairy lights from Fathima. They both looked over their shoulder, Samad rushing towards Samra, handing her a glass of water. Samra kissed the boy's cheeks and he prettily blushed.

"Samad has always been a gentle man," Anjum gleamed at the boy.

"Yup! He is, I often wonder how he shared the same womb as Asad," Fathima commented.

"Fathima, even the walls have ears and so do I." Asad put a hand over his hip.

"I told you so that you may hear and bring out a change."

"Everything changes except the word change. I don't want to change my colors and become a chameleon. I have my own style." He ran a hand through his hair, mirroring Maahi in that category, and walked inside the sliding glass doors.

"That boy is something," Anjum laughed looking back to the heavily pregnant Samra gulping the contents of the cold water, the March breeze flipping her hijab ever so lightly.

Samad waited for her to drink so that he may place the glass back in the kitchen.

"Do you want to hear some positive predictions?"

"Like?" Rafa beat Anjum before the question left the latter's lips as she came beside the duo, phone in her hand.

"I think Samad just fed water to his future wife," Fathima pointed towards Samra's protruded belly.

"What the-" Rafa put a hand over her mouth, bewildered and Anjum heartily laughed.

"Been planning to marry all the good bachelors to your family, I see, but now your circle has extended to our friends list. It's good as far as you people keep me on your list too," Rafa wiped the tears away and tried to stifle her laughs but terribly failed.

"My opinion is, let's wait and watch with popcorn in our hands." Anjum patted Fathima's back, moving to stick the fairy lights over the fence.

"Shabna," Maahi called his wife, after setting the barbecue grill over the lush green grass and walked up to the scattered group of people.

"Yeah?" Shabna called out from behind, sitting on the neatly spread picnic mat, peeling the corn kernels.

"Give me the car keys, will ya?" Maahi ruled his hair to fall back from his forehead, spiking and combing them with his long fingers. "I will quickly trip to the Masjid, it's almost time for Asr."

"I have put them on the key stand, Maahi, fetch it on the way to the door."

"Okay!" Maahi whirled towards the kids, "Boys who are all coming to the Masjid?"

"Me," Saad at once started to jump up and down.

"Me too," Samad rolled his sleeves as he ran towards them.

"Come on then, Samad go grab Asad from the kitchen, I guess he is probably eating Rafa's homemade cupcakes."

Saad and Samad hurried inside before Asad finished the last of the cupcakes. And together the boys headed towards the masjid.

"With the mention of Rafa, where is Rafa?" Shabna asked looking around, light giggles of four months old baby Kulsoom filled the air as Fathima's mother tried to make her learn to sit on the lap.

"Over here," Rafa called out from the far end, she sat on the white chairs nearby the pool, " I believe Pinterest is worse than any supermarket."

They all shared a group laugh at her childishness, "Why so?"

"I went to look out for party decoration ideas and then cute couple photos emerged, through it I reached nikah dresses then to hijab styles and after that to vintage cars, high roofed buildings, short videos from inside the water, waterfalls and finally, I don't even remember why I logged in."

The chorus of laughter chirped aloud but nevertheless, everyone agreed to the fact. The apps these days were surely created to absorb our whole time. The more we stay away the more we will be safe from the exposure. Then again, was it such an easy strenuous task?

They giggled and gossiped while preparing the barbecue party thrown on the courtesy of Asma's two weeks anniversary, everyone indulged in a full-fledged preparation.

Inside the room, the female protagonist of the story stroked the hair of her baby girl, starting the cute little bundle of happiness Allah has blessed her with. The light curls that covered the soft scalp were feather-like. The affection that out-poured from the deepest parts of her heart marveled her. How in just two weeks, someone so small, someone who doesn't talk, someone who doesn't run around the house, and someone who has no experience in making others fall for them-has the whole house members wrapped around their tiny fingers.

SubhanAllah.

"Jesima?" A voice called from the door made her jolt slightly and turn towards the direction of the voice, it was her mother-in-law, "Can I come in?"

"Of course, you don't need to ask permission, Ma. It's your house"

The old lady stepped in, her beige-colored saree tucked neatly on all the sides. She sat on the foot of the bed, looking over her granddaughter peacefully sleeping in the middle cushioned with warm layers of clothing.

"Your friends are crazy, Masha Allah, " she chuckled, "They have filled the whole house with an aura of smiles."

"Those idiots try so hard to make us happy and not miss who we lost," Jesima replied, taking the pillows and arranging them to lean on the headboard so that her mil could take the baby.

"I know, with their constant bickerings I forget the last of my worries."

"Barakallahu feeki, I am glad you like their company."

"Who wouldn't?" Her mother-in-law smiled, the smile reaching her eyes. She gradually took the baby by keeping a hand beneath the head and below the butt, and careful enough to not wake Asma up.

The answer caused Jesima's own smile to falter. The past year, after the loss of their loved one, the ones who were alive cocooned themselves with the people around them. Became so used to each other's presence that the dreams that awaited for Jesima to grasp will eventually burst the balloon of excitement and create rifts that would never mend.

If anyone asked her if she would change her decision for that, her answer will be a no.

No one can lean on the other for the extent of their life except their Lord. Each and every human we cross path will eventually, at some point, part from us, and the only being which wouldn't depart will be our own souls.

Instead of loving others to be loved back, waiting for others to talk to us, care us, we can use the time to care for our own selves, grow the seedling of our own soul, nurture it with the water of love and compassion, finally, see the enormous green tree spreading it's branches all over the niche, shadowing us from the harsh realities, giving us warmth amidst the blazing sun, bestowing us with the cool breeze of positivity and fulfilling our tummies with the fruit of our desires.

We can sow the seed of positive belief on the Qadr of Allah and lend him the keys to our heart, ask him to safeguard it from the stormy trails, and wait for him to bring day after night.

"Ma," Jesima called and the addressed one across her met her eyes, "I want to ask you something."

"Yes?" There was a tinge of doubt lacing her mil's voice as if she knew the truth but in the meantime wanted to delay the hearing.

"As the process of building the hospital is now complete, I prefer that it's the best time to leave for Palestine."

A thick silence stretched through both women, Aashiq's mother folded Asma's romper sleeves, and finally, an eternity later looked up, crease lines were neatly combed on their forehead, the salt and pepper colored hair matted perfectly into a bun, the soft texture of the skin highlighted smile marks and light brown dark circles encircled her eyes, "Is that not the wish of my son?"

Jesima licked her parched lips, nodding. Her throat went dry and she gulped the pain that threatened to spill once again when someone so special to her-the same someone who is not with her was mentioned.

"I won't say it will not hurt me and Anjum. We will become all alone in a foreign country and she couldn't drop his business too and I will not leave her to fly back to my homeland. But that doesn't mean you should always be with us Jesima," her mother in law ushered her with her hand to come forward and Jesima affirmatively moved her face towards her mother in law, "I have already asked you to do what you wish, no one will chain you now. You are free." She kissed Jesima's forehead and for a second, Jesima felt lost because the kiss felt so much like the ones Aashiq bestowed on her.

"Your friends are putting all their energies to make this evening a blast, let's not ruin their hard work by crying, okay?" Her mil choked, her eyes turning glassy as if she is controlling her emotions not to spill.

"Okay! Can you put this dress on Asma after she wakes up? I will go get ready." Jesima smiled slightly, putting her own emotions in check.

"Sure."

The rest of the evening was anything but filled with enjoyment. A long table was set in the backyard, served with mouth-watering dishes, tinkering fairy lights lighted the trees around them, Maahi stood on the grill counter, wearing a chef hat, shouting for refills on plates, Ahmed setting the grill with new pieces of the barbecue marinated meat. Ali was going back and forth rocking baby Kulsoom who was crying due to waking up earlier than usual.

The ladies were given a holiday, so they all were seated on the chairs, marveling at the yummy chicken and roasted veggies with cans of sodas. The kids ran in all directions serving as the waiters.

Maahi, standing behind the grill like a true gentleman flipped the meat, watching everyone with a smile.

"Be careful with that, Samad," he called out. "Don't drop the dish like your dropped your phone at the masjid."

"I won't," Samad assured. "I've learned my lesson."

"Thank Allah that man was there to pick up your phone, or else you would have lost it forever," Maahi said, shaking his head. He met Ahmed's eyes and shared a look, like he couldn't believe how careless kids these days could be.

"All things aside, that man looked like Mufti Menk a little bit, didn't he?" Asad laughed from the lawn where he stood with the others.

"Yeah his beard was really long," Saad agreed. "A little like the qari who teach the Quran."

As the boys laughed, on the other side of the wide backyard Shabna wiped Khathija's mouth for the nth time, the one-year-old chewing the take-out French fry and the saliva dripped from her mouth.

"My daughter-in-law reminds me of cleanness," Usman, Fathima's father, proudly put forth.

"Really Dad?"

"Of course, people these days don't follow clean habits. On our days we were so keen on maintaining our purity."

"Can you give us an example?" Rafa mischievously grinned.

"Hmm," the old man thought for a while, "We were so focussed to keep ourselves clean all the time. So much so that for example, we used to sit Indian style on western toilets."

The inhabitants burst out into a laughing spirit. "Do you still use the toilet in the same way?" It was Asad who put forth in between his fits of laughter.

"Chacha, we or you?" Maahi bickered from the side.

It felt like their smiles won't seize, their cheeks hurt with continuous movements of glee.

The night was simply bliss.

Tinkering the glass with a spoon Jesima grabbed everyone's attention once the boys sat, pausing the movements of their hands and mouth, "Yes?" The audience chorused.

"Thank you so much for all the love that has been granted towards me, for making me smile during the hardest of times, for being there with me when I needed you guys the most, a deep thank you from the bottom of my heart."

"Thank you? We thought in friendship there is no sorry/thank you," Maahi said, running a hand through his hair.

"I agree with my husband," Shabna smiled, leaning into him and he looked at her, stars in his eyes, and quickly placed a feather-light kiss on her hijab-covered forehead.

"You people are too kind to me" Jesima whispered but due to the silence that encompassed them, everyone heard.

"Jessie! If you are planning to make me cry, I will better knock your words out and concentrate on my dinner," Asad chimed, putting a morsel of the roasted chicken on his mouth and acted as if he was immersed in eating.

"No! I have one more information in store for you guys to know."

"It's better not be something not emotional," Rafa winked at her.

"I hope you guys won't turn emotional," Jesima smiled, "I am planning to leave for Palestine the following month."

If a pin fell on the table, the inaudible sound would be heard. They all knew Jesima's dreams, perhaps, well aware that she was going to leave them some day to claim them but when at last the news of her departure came, it was more heartbreaking than they had imagined it would be.

After the death of Aashiq, they have become more close than they were before. If a wayfarer looked at them, he wouldn't believe that they all came from different households, wrapped under common name friends. They were more than that term. More than family. Were they not?

Before someone erupted into tears, Fathima snickered, curbing her own emotions, "Ali! We guys turned lucky."

"How?" Ali asked, playing around, grabbing all the attention towards the couple.

"Our Kulsoom is going to have all the chances to make Saad fall for her."

That was enough to make them choke smiles, cherishing the moments they lived together in that instance because they didn't know what tomorrow will bring with it.

Once inside, everyone rushed to finish the last of the chores, Anjum and Shabna were doing the dishes, Rafa was sweeping the floor, Asad, Samad, and Saad stacked the washed plates on the counter while on the dining table, Ahmed massaged Samra's swollen feet.

Once in a while, the ladies looked at him and swooned, praying to Allah to grant a husband who massaged their feet after a tiring day.

Anjum was wiping her hand with a towel when the door rang, as everyone was busy with their own work, she loudly announced that she would answer the door.

Checking whether her hijab was in place, she stifled a yawn, walking across the living room sofas and up to the threshold, she opened the door.

"Assalamu alaikum?" She quizzically welcomed a guy on a loose football tee with slacks.

"Wa alaikum assalam," the guy answered, his eyes lingered over her face for more than a second, making her lower her gaze. He looked at her as if he had never seen someone like her.

The surprise was evident in those blue orbs when Anjum asked, "Yes! Do you need something?" she asked, keeping her tone polite.

"Uh!" He ran a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his head, "is Rafa home?"

"Yes, she is."

"Okay! I came to fetch her."

"You are?" Anjum asked because she can't let Jesima's friend go with any random guy.

"I am.. Yahya, " he stuttered, his gaze quickly reading Anjum's expression as he added, "I am her brother."

"Oh! I am sorry," Anjum apologized, "Come in, I will call Rafa didi"

"Okay!" Yahya didn't know what took over him that he made her conscious of herself but nevertheless didn't argue, he removed his shoes and followed her inside.

"Rafa didi, your brother has come," Anjum called, Yahya stopped on his track once he reached the kitchen.

"Has he?" Rafa fished the dust and dumped it into the trash. She dusted her hands before rubbing them on her skirt, walking up to them. "Hey! Is everything alright?" She asked her brother because it was unusual of him to drop by.

"You curfew was at ten and did you see the time?"

"What time is it?" Rafa turned towards Anjum.

"It's half-past twelve, didi." Anjum chuckled.

"Oh! No, thanks for dropping by a brother, I will grab my purse and come." Rafa rushed towards the spiral staircase keeping in her mind not to make noise in order not to wake up the sleeping elders.

Anjum and Yahya watched her retreating quick steps.

"Anjum, give him some apprehensions." Shabna cleared the counter, stacking the clean dishes in their respective places.

"You can have a seat, boy," Ahmed called out, shaking Yahya's hand.

And with one brisk glance at Anjum, Yahya whirled towards Ahmed.

*

"Today was fun, wasn't it?" Jesima asked baby Asma, removing her dirty pamper.

Jesima waited for an inaudible reply, the girl just blinked her eyes, licking her lips, pouting cutely.

"Did you enjoy the barbecued chicken?" Jesima chuckled, lightly pinching Asma's cheeks and pulling her legs into another pamper after wiping her clean.

"Don't worry! Through Mamma, you will taste today's all dishes," she chuckled some more, remembering Asma will have the food that she ate through her breast milk.

"Don't you think Maahi is an exceptional cook?" She wondered, buttoning Asma's nightdress.

"Yes?" She giggled when Asma's tiny lips twitched up, "I agree with you but only if he chooses to apply less butter/cheese on Shabna," she took Asma carefully from the bed and placed her in the crib," Come on! They have been married for three years now and looking at them, they make me believe that they have not crossed their honeymoon face."

"And let's not discuss Ahmed. He is too cliche."

"What Ali?" She questioned when Asma looked at her. "I think he dropped from planet mars. Who feeds their wife after making their daughter sleep?"

Jesima laid on her bed, facing the crib, and slowly stared at her daughter-innocently playing with her hands and trying to catch her legs.

The tiny movements filling her heart with contentment.

"You can't even imagine how romantic your father would have been if he was here today," Jesima whispered into the thin air, looking at the ceiling that was filled with fluorescent stars as the lights were turned off, "No one can beat Aashiq in his Aashiqui."

"He would have been a gone case until now. I can't count how many kisses of love that will be bestowed on my face, the adoration in his greyish-green pupils towards you if he was here, he would have given a party to the whole world. Celebrating your two weeks."

Her eyes stung and she closed them, trying to ward off the image of her husband, her other half, her everything.

If only, he was here, things would have been a hundred times different. Colorful. Golden.

She wasn't a hypocrite to deny the efforts of her friends to make her happy but no matter how hard she tried to smile, tried to reassure she was okay, in actuality, she wasn't, she will not.

No matter how fierce she looked, how strong she portrayed, how brave she acted, there was a part in her heart that didn't get fulfilled. It didn't feel content on any materialistic things people around her granted her to make her delighted. It was as if in the puzzle that was her, a very important piece went missing. Leaving her stranded. Incomplete.

At the confines of her room, when left alone, as the night drizzled darkness to envelop the hemisphere, she couldn't stop herself from feeling lonely. She wanted, yearned, needed Aashiq to envelop her into a hug, kiss her to sleep, assure her that he wasn't going to leave when she woke up the next morning.

She craved for his warmth yesterday, she craved for him today and she will crave for his presence to be surrounding her tomorrow.

Shoo-ing those sad thoughts away, she scooped her direction back to her daughter. Her Asma. Her and His.

"Asma, what were we discussing?" Jesima got up to a sitting position and sat cross-legged with not an ounce of sleep.

"Oh! Yeah! If your dad was here, he would have toured you the entire house in his arms, always trying excuses to carry you," she smiled.

All of a sudden, a thought hit her brain, "Baby, do you wanna see your dad?"

As if on cue, Asma giggled. Her baby laughs filling Jesima's heart with the chore. "Not wanna miss the opportunity, will ya?" Jesima chuckled.

Getting up, she rounded the bed towards her nightstand where she had kept her phone on charge. Seeing him will only act as a sting of fire in her already burnt form, that's how low are the cons, aren't they?

She was about to retrieve her phone when her vision landed on the other one laying beside hers. It was his phone. She kept it safe, charged it up to date to not let it die but never dared to open the device.

Can today be an expulsion?

Before her brain won the race against her heart and changed her mind, she took his phone in her hand. The ice-cold metallic back ran a chill down her spine. She ran towards Asma as if she was a small girl granted candy. "Look what I found?"

Jesima switched on the phone, straight away going to the gallery by not peaking at her picture in the forest with a blue butterfly resting on her eyelash, her favorite memory with him. She scrolled through the videos and randomly clicked one.

It was taken by a coworker or an employee Jesima side-guessed. Aashiq wasn't in his usual suit, perhaps, he was on a construction site, the sounds of railing machines hummed in his back, and people were hurrying to complete the task at hand. Aashiq's white shirt was smudged with sweat, the top buttons were left open to be hit with fresh air but the sunny atmosphere told Jesima that there wasn't any cool breeze breezing ititsoolness. He had cupped a white sheet under his armhole and his hands worked passing the concrete stones. He didn't even look like a CEO, not even close to one. He looked like a wage worker, so mingled with the others that it was hard to differentiate. His laughs caused havoc inside her and she fell, again for him. How can you be so kind?

This reminded her of the Prophetic Hadith, how the Prophet himself helped the Muslims to dig the trenches during the battle of trench. How he helped to build the Masjids.

SubhanAllah! It was his way we should follow and she felt so proud to have him as her husband. Have a man who followed the Prophetic way even when Allah blessed him with the world, he chose the hereafter.

She swooned at her husband, fell harder and harder for him, giggled to her daughter at how cute he looked in his every video and one particular one made her halt. It was his speech on her graduation day.

Jesima raised the volume to the fullest and proudly showed their best moment to her daughter. Even though it was nearing dawn, she felt the night young.

A yawn left her lips and her hands felt weak but her eyes were full after so long. Her heart felt full. Her soul felt full. Smiling to herself, she looked at her daughter, snoring ever so lightly. Her smile reached her eyes and she tucked Asma with a blanket, placing a teddy close to her arm.

She then laid to sleep but sleep felt like a faraway territory. Bittersweet memories rushed through her mind, playing a movie in her head with her as a lead and him as her hero. Her Aashiq.

And when the bitterest part came, Jesima clutched her bedspread, throttling it with her fingers, she fast-forwarded and rewinded, back and forth, not having the guts to relive his departure and suddenly she halted.

Through her eyes, she saw her coming to their room after blow-drying her hair, Aashiq was alive, resting his head on their headboard, listening to a song. Jesima slowly compiled herself inside the bed, leaning on his shoulder. "What are you listening to?"

"An old song."

And then she had asked him to promise to quit music without knowing what song was he listening to? At the end of his life, what heart-touching lyrics did he want to listen to?

Her eyelids sprawled open. Her fingers trembled as she reached for his phone. Wishing with all her heart that he had switched on the history in his youTube. Alhamdulilah, he had.

Jesima copied the name and re-typed it on her search portal as she didn't want to listen to the music, piling his records with sin and at once the search results came. By now, her heart was drumming like crazy.

Jhonka hawa ka aaj bhi

Zulfein udhata hoga na

Even today a gust of wind

Must be blowing your hair away

Tera dupatta aaj bhi there

Sar se sarakta hoga na

Even today your scarf

Must be slipping from your head

Baalon mein tere aaj bhi

Phool koi sajta hoga na

Even today in your hair

There must be flower decorating them

Thandi hawaein raaton mein tujhko

Thapkiyan deti hogi na

The cold air in the nights

Must be patting you to sleep

Chaand ki thandak khwabon mein tujhko

Leke toh jaati hogi na

The coolness of the moon

Must be taking you to dream

Sooraj ki kirane subah ko teri

Neende udhati hogi na

The sun rays in the morning

Must be taking your sleep away

Mere khayalon mein sanam

Khud se hi baatein karti hogi na

In my thoughts, my beloved

You must be talking to herself

Main dekhta hoon chup chupke tumko

Mehsoos karti hogi na

You must be feeling that

I look at you hidingly

Jhonka hawa ka aaj bhi

Zulfein udhata hoga na

Even today a gust of wind

Must be blowing your hair away

Kagaz pe meri tasveer jaisi

Kuch toh banati hogi na

She must be making

A portrait like mine on a paper

Ulat palat ke dekh ke usko

Jee bhar ke hansti hogi na

Looking at that upside down

She must be laughing so much

Hanste hanste aankhen tumhari

Bhar bhar aati hogi na

With the laughs, her eyes

Must be drenching with tears

Mujhko dhaka tha dhoop mein jisse

Woh aanchal bhigoti hogi na

The cover of the dress with which she covered me from the rays of the sun-

must be wet by now

Saawan ki rim-jhim mera tarana

Yaad dilati hogi na

The sound of rainfall

Must be making her remember my melody

Ek ek meri baatein tumko

Yaad toh aati hogi na

Every single conversation with me

She must be remembering them

Yaad toh aati hogi na

She must be remembering them

Yaad toh aati hogi na

She must be remembering them

Kya tum mere in sab sawaalon ka

Kuch to jawab dogi na

Will, she ever answer

All these questions of mine?

Jesima gripped her nightstand, her nails digging her skin, water flooded her eyes without any control, and started to downpour on her cheeks.

Oh! Aashiq.

She didn't know whether the readers of this know that both of them had encountered all the above-mentioned situations or not, but her presence was a testimony that they have.

The first stanza that told the gust of wind sweeping her bangs, the actual scene in which she lived with Aashiq unfolded itself before her eyes. She sat with him at the balcony, a shawl loosely wrapped around her head, they both were discussing and working on the model of the medical camp, it was before everything went wrong. In that instance, the wind gushed back and forth, making it harder to place the dupatta in place, aside bang fell on her face, lushly swinging. Aashiq surprised her by reaching his fingers to her face, pushing the hair strand away, combing the shawl to fall, her ocean waves roared with the energy of the wind, and Aashiq turned her face away, braiding her hair into a messy braid. When at last he finished he came in front of her, looking at his accomplishment.

Then again, an adamant hair strand fell on her cheek, "okay! I am angry now," he whined.

"On who?" Jesima chuckled, mesmerized by the touch of his fingers that lingered in her back.

"On that hair strand," he pointed his index finger to the brown curls that adorned her face.

"Why?" This time she laughed heartily.

"Because it is kissing your cheeks more than me," he cutely pouted like a kid.

Jesima didn't know what took over her- her fingers immediately pushed it behind her ear and Aashiq's eyes glinted star-like. His face leaned towards her cheek, the exact place the hair strand lingered a few seconds ago and his lips were feather-light on her skin yet she felt all the air in her lungs knock away.

When initially she thought he was going to kiss her once, he surprised her by kissing thrice, leaving her face as red as a tomato.

She cried at the sweetness of the memory. The wound of the heart that she bandaged with so much effort started to bleed once again. She wanted her Aashiq. She wanted him back. So badly.

As the morning came, the rays of the sun started to pool her room, awakening her from her sleepless state, the lyrics playing inside her head-becoming true.

She ran towards her wardrobe, threw it open, her hands robotically screening her files for the failed painting she had painted, thinking of him.

Her fingers held it open, she turned it up and down, it didn't make any sense, it didn't do any justice in describing his beauty, describing him-but her vision obscured his face on that faceless form. Laying on the turquoise blue water, his olive skin shining under the limelight, she laughed at the cruelty of her painting and she started crying, muffled up sobs erupted with her innermost tribulation.

She sat staring at the blank space, missing him all the more.

The answers to his queries were affirmative.

She has crossed all the limits of sanity in his love.

At last, she remembered asking him to stop listening to the lyrics because no matter how heart-touching they were sung, they were haraam in her religion. Allah prohibited only the things that didn't benefit us.

They were mere words. Words that hit home. Words that fit our realities. Words that sting. Words that hurt. In the end, they are playing in a twisted way. By showing the healing, they are only deepening our scars. Scurrying away our bandaged wounds. Backstabbing us with false hopes. Unreal illusions.

She then realized that she had come too far, was standing at the peak of the mountain that she tread with so much difficulty, and was now living the relief after the storm. The storm she faced with tattered clothes, barely a roof to secure herself on top, without an umbrella.

Alhamdulillah! Her Lord made her go through the worst to live the best.

And she believed that He would surely unite her with her beloved in the bestest.

--THE END--

I will change my usual question, how was the book so far?

Did you guys love the whole scheme?

***

Ramadan Mubarak! In advance, indulge in a lot of spiritual activities and do remember me and my family in your prayers.

In shaa Allah! The epilogue will be out as a Eid treat.

As Ramadan quickly approaching and as this book has been now marked as complete, I want a small favor from all of my readers.

We have learned a lot of lessons in this story, one such is that music is no matter how heart touching it sounds is Haraam.

For the sake of Allah and for your Aashiq Bhaijaan, will you leave that toxic habit of yours?

Its okay! If not today, tomorrow it is. If not wholly, a single step will act as your resilience.

Don't listen to it, don't recommend it, don't inspire others to listen to it, because it is one of those misdeeds that keep bringing sins even after our eyes close and we are six feet under.

(A few Quranic and Hadith references attached)

"And of mankind is he who purchases idle talks (i.e. music, singing, etc.) to mislead (men) from the Path of Allah without knowledge, and takes it (the Path of Allah, the Verses of the Quran) by way of mockery. For such there will be a humiliating torment (in the Hell-fire).' (31:6)

(Sahih al-Bukhari 5590)

Narrated Abu 'Amir or Abu Malik Al-Ash'ari:

that he heard the Prophet (ﷺ) saying, "From among my followers there will be some people who will consider illegal sexual intercourse, the wearing of silk, the drinking of alcoholic drinks and the use of musical instruments, as lawful. And there will be some people who will stay near the side of a mountain and in the evening their shepherd will come to them with their sheep and ask them for something, but they will say to him, 'Return to us tomorrow.' Allah will destroy them during the night and will let the mountain fall on them, and He will transform the rest of them into monkeys and pigs and they will remain so till the Day of Resurrection."

I hope and pray the best for you guys for supporting me this far. May Allah bless you all! Aameen.

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And a final surprise, the fourth book in this series is planned and I, along with yours favorite @su_shhii have already started penning it, with great pleasure we bring to you

Cowritten with su_shhii

With her friends settled in their lives, Rafa is waiting for her happily ever after. Between classes at the masjid and rounds at the hospital, the line of suitors isn't small. But when broody and obedient son Abdur Rehman keeps appearing before her again and again, perhaps it's a sign that she should give him a chance. 

Will the feisty, passionate and outgoing Rafa give her heart to Abdur Rehman, the man who seems to be the exact opposite of her? Can a love grounded on unsteady foundations remain standing in the face of a storm? Will Abdur Rehman finally stand up for what he wants but Mama doesn't approve?