بسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ
In The Name Of Allah, The Most Beneficent, The Most Merciful

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

Her lips move, murmuring praises as a form of gratitude to the One Who granted her a healthy, luxurious life. Seated on the poshly laid-out carpeted ground, Wafa does dhikr on her fingers after completing her fajr prayer in congregation. An elderly woman and a few teenage girls sitting to her right do the same.

The vocalist smiles and adjusts her veil securely. Had it not been for the face covering, the brown-haired girl is certain she wouldn't be enjoying this very air filled with idyllic, doing her dhikr in peace as people would've without a doubt come up to her either for taking pictures or for talking about other stuff.

Though Wafa truly respects the adoration of her fans, she gives her all to return it by being equally affectionate. Yet, she is aware not everybody loves her truly from the heart and approaches her disguised as an admirer, ready to stab her in the back any chance they get, pulling her leg out of envy. And she has to be cautious.

Truly, she has seen more hypocrites than faithful ones. And perhaps this is the sole reason she only has a handful of close friends and chooses to conceal her day-to-day matters from the public except for the information they need to know.

After all, as successful of a singer as she is, she is indeed the target of many. But then again, everything has a price, and perhaps this is the price she pays for her fame.

Her eyes roam around the hall— subconsciously looking for the man in a black hoodie with shining eyes.

Right, he would've gone outside. The vocalist purses her lips as her chest tightens. I hope he hasn't gone too far. Mein kahan dhondti phiroon gi. Mein tou yahan kisi ko janti bhi nahi, aur agar kisi ko pata chal gya ke mein yahan hoon tou yaqeenan tamasha mach jaye ga. Wafa slumps her shoulders, beginning to regret her earlier choice of words and actions. Aik do guards ko apnay sath le a jana chahiye tha, magar phir wohi lamba masla ke pehlay sub se ijazat lo janay ki, aur wo bhi is ke hasool ki koe zamanat nahi. Aur phir nazroon mein a jao. She rolls her eyes at the thought and sighs. Allah hi madad karay.

(where will I search? I don't even know anyone here, and if someone finds out that I'm here, then without a doubt, a ruckus will break)(should've brought one or two guards with me, but the same tiring issue to get permission first, that too having no guarantee to attain it. And then be under a watchful eye)(may God help)

Getting up on her feet, Wafa dusts her abaya. Her eyes again wander but close dejectedly after not spotting him.

She exits the iron gates, and the sight beyond her draws her mood sour. In the hallway, the crowded mass of people comes to a decline, except for a small number of men and women standing near the shoe racks. Some slip their shoes on, some take pictures, and some just talk in hushed voices.

And amongst all of them, he is not here.

Wafa takes a deep breath in an attempt to stay calm and chase away the anxious feeling gnawing at her. She steadily walks to where her shoes are kept.

Could he have left without m--

And when her sight clashes with the pair of jet-black sneakers next to her white sandals, her thought drowned in pessimism comes to an abrupt halt, and her eyes glint in happiness. Her mind matches two and two together, and then realization finally dawns on her.

Kyle's footwear is still here! It means he is still inside!

Lifting her long gown from both sides, the maiden dashes inside the enormous halls adorned with golden pendant lights. Wafa turns her head here and there to find him. Her breaths release out in small pants as if she has hiked an entire mountain.

Her lens begins to scan her surroundings. And then, within a span of a second, another notion strikes her mind.

I should get a hold of myself. What on earth am I doing?! Attracting attention to myself?! She grinds her teeth agitatedly while shaking her head, thinking of the consequences of her raw form blunders.

True to her fear, she does look like someone who may have lost someone else or a psycho just bizarrely disturbing the peace and stealing the attention of others as a few worried and a few curious glances are thrown at her by the random locals sitting inside the atrium.

Wafa then, with poise, gathers her skirt and ambles further inside, masking her inner reck, stopping by the nearby shelf filled with books on history intentionally to make it seem like she is just exploring until unwanted attention may ward off.

She eyes the books for a few moments, then ambles towards another shelf adorned with different mushaf of the Holy Qur'an alongside a large pillar made up of pure marble. Her slender fingers graze the smooth covers as a smile dances across her lips. She picks one of the Books and opens it, finding the Words printed in the Madani script.

Wafa grabs it in her hold, but a sudden movement caught in her peripheral vision catches her off-guard. She snaps her head to it, and her heart jumps up. Long legs clad in black denim jeans welcomes her sight. And in the back of her mind, she has an idea who it may be.

She closes the distance from her to the pillar where the figure is, and when the missing piece of the puzzle finally completes the picture, a gasp resonates from her mouth upon finding none other than her bandmate.

Lying on the carpeted floor, his back reclined on the cold marble, and his shining eyes closed whilst his right palm rests soundly over his abdomen and the other lay lifelessly on the ground, Wafa gawkingly stares at Kyle's form. She crouches down a meter away from him as it seems to her as if he is-- dead.

Is he really gone?

The ability to have crazy thoughts amid a frightening situation and the will to believe in them has ever been rooted in her blood.

So she stares at his chest.

And when the maiden finds it heaving and falling slowly in a low rhythm, she releases the breath of her own she didn't know she was holding. Her eyes travel up to his face causing an itch to erupt in her fingers. His bangs have fallen over his eyes, and the black mask protectively conceals the rest of his facial features.

I should slide the mask down. Wouldn't he be having trouble breathing? Wafa thinks. But then someone will surely recognize us. Plus, if he is having trouble, he would've taken it off himself, right?

Seconds pass, and she continues keeping him under her eyes.

His eyelashes are so thick and--

As the flash of a memory of him and her standing near the window outside her hotel room hits her, abruptly, the maiden tear her eyes away from him and blinks a couple of times.

Astaghfirullah! What a terrible picture!

(I seek forgiveness from God)

Grumpily with blushed cheeks, the vocalist takes her phone out of her pocket, checks the time, and pouts. Wafa wanted to explore every corner of this place, but now? She doesn't find it in her to wake him, for he looks as if he is having a peaceful slumber.

Yeah, with a stiff neck. Sarcastically, she thinks, rolling her eyes.

The maiden stares at her feet peeking out from under her abaya. Roughly it has been about forty minutes since they left the hotel. And finding nothing to do, she decides to make use of her time. Thus rearranging her position, sitting cross-legged now, Wafa opens up the Qur'an to Chapter Ya-Seen.

Her eyes move along the lines, and Wafa realizes she has forgotten most of it.

There was a time when her parents and uncle's family would have a hifdh competition between her, her twin brothers, and her two cousins. Blessed with a good memory, Wafa would win most of them. There was a time when she could recite the last seventy-eight chapters of the Qur'an without a single mistake.

There was a time. But the seconds have passed. The hours are long gone. The times have changed. And so has she.

Gulping the sadness, along with some souvenirs of the memory of her past, she begins to recite. It isn't about the melodious voice she is reciting with or the perfect tajweed, but the Words Themselves carry tremendous power to cause her heart to tremble.

(the art of Islamic sciences of beautifying the recitation of the Qur'an)

After all, Arabic was grinded in her by her Arab mother.

Finishing the Chapter, the vocalist glances at her bandmate, finding him stirred deep in his sleep, then rolls her eyes in annoyance. Subsequently, she starts the next chapter melodiously, but then after a minute, her heart thumps violently in her chest, her tongue stops, her breathing rages, and her eyes widen.

Fa aqbala ba'duhum 'alaa badiny yatasaaa 'aloon
(Then they will turn to one another inquisitively)

Beads of perspiration form on her forehead. She stares at the next Verse and is well aware of the meaning.

Qaala qaaa'ilum minhum innee kaana lee qareen
(One of them will say, "I once had a companion ˹in the world˺)

Her fingers touching the Verse grows cold.

Yaqoolu 'a innaka laminal musaddiqeen
(who used to ask ˹me˺, 'Do you actually believe ˹in resurrection˺?)

Eyes widen; she is not aware that she hasn't blinked. Not even once, except that the horror has seeped into every part of her body.

'A-izaa mitnaa wa kunnaa turaabanw wa 'izaaman 'a innaa lamadeenoon
(When we are dead and reduced to dust and bones, will we really be brought to judgment?'")

Breathing distraught, she slowly raises her head and sees her friend sleeping soundly. Tears well up in her eyes and blur her vision. Wafa then reverts her attention as the tip of her acquires a pink hue.

Qaala hal antum muttali'oon
(He will ˹then˺ ask, "Would you care to see ˹his fate˺?")

A fresh ball of a hot tear falls directly over the Words, wetting it, followed by a few more.

Stammering with pain, the next Verse finally escapes her lips.

Fattala'a fara aahu fee sawaaa'il Jaheem
(Then he ˹and the others˺ will look and spot him in the midst of the Hellfire.)

Woeful sobs erupt from her throat. Wafa brings out her palms and clutches her mouth. She cries and cries until it turns into hiccups and soaks her veil. The pain is indeed anguishing her heart mercilessly.

Minutes have passed, and she can't recite further. She can not, for fear has relentlessly gripped her heart and soul. But even so, even if she doesn't recite further, the Truth is still there.

The Truth will not change if I read it or not. If I turn my back on it, the Truth will not change. If I try to manipulate the meaning until I'm satisfied, the actual Truth will still exist, and If I pretend to never hear it, the Truth will still be there. I can not be a hypocrite!

Wiping away the tears, the vocalist musters courage. With shaky hands, she opens up the Glorious Qur'an again and starts to recite it.

Qaala tallaahi in kitta laturdeen
(He will ˹then˺ say, "By Allah! You nearly ruined me.)

Wa law laa ni'matu Rabbee lakuntu minal muhdareen
(Had it not been for the grace of my Lord, I ˹too˺ would have certainly been among those brought ˹to Hell˺.")

Her voice breaks, and uncontrollable tears kiss down her cheeks and her heart?

Oh, the heart!

Afamaa nahnu bimaiyiteen
(˹Then he will ask his fellow believers,˺ "Can you imagine that we will never die,)

Illa mawtatanal oola wa maa nahnu bimu'azzabeen
(except for our first death, nor be punished ˹like the others˺?")

Inna haazaa lahuwal fawzul 'azeem
(This is truly the ultimate triumph.)

Limisli haaza falya'ma lil 'aamiloon
(For such ˹honour˺ all should strive.)

Her heart bleeds. Unable to continue further, Wafa closes the Book and brings it closer to her chest while hugging her knees tightly, forming a wall, resting her forehead on top of them.

"O God!" The pain in her chest leaks through the new line of tears as they keep on falling and falling from her almond-shaped eyes. Her dampened cheeks turn red. "You are the Most Merciful to Your servants. Please, I beg You, grant him Guidance! Grant him the right sense and the ability to use the right sense. Please," She looks up as cries filled with agony flee her lips. "Give him guidance, give him guidance! Bring him closer to You; bring him closer to You!"

The sound of someone crying in the distance awakes him.

Rubbing his eyes to get a clear view, Kyle sits up straight, then as he feels the mask under his touch, covering his nose, he practically throws it away with a frown and takes long breaths. It has suffocated him!

The sound again knocks at his senses.

He snaps his head to the right and sees the source; a girl dressed in all black, sitting a little further away from him, is weeping with her head low.

He jerks up as the realization clashes with him. Instantly he crawls to her, startling the poor maiden.

She looks up with teary eyes. Red veins become prominent in once-white crystal-like eyes as her cries reduce upon seeing him awake and transition into small hiccups and sniffs.

"Hey, w...what's wrong?" Mouth agape, Kyle sits close to her.

Instantly his eyes go hard, his expression full of rage. "Did somebody do something?" His cold eyes survey the atrium. But only a few people are left there, some engaged in worship, some just sitting, and some exploring. And none of them have seemed to be treacherous.

Wafa doesn't respond. Watching him getting protective and worried about her brings out more tears to pool out.

Between the rest of the vocalists, he has been kinder to her, more protective of her, and more understanding towards her, ever since they both became friends. When the world mocked and taunted her for covering her body, he was the first to defend her publically in an interview, which later became the most-watched interview of the decade. When people made fun of her button-nose which brought her to the brink of depression and plastic surgery, he helped her out of it. In fact, they all did, including her brothers and cousins. And by the Mercy of Allah, she has become strong ever since. And now, whenever these types of narrow-minded questions are launched her way, she shuts them down immediately.

So how is it that she can ever see him going through unimaginable pain? Wafa can never.

"Hey, why are you crying?" Kyle almost pleads, but his hand remains in the air awkwardly. He doesn't know if he should pat her back or not. His mother used to get emotional often, and he would just embrace her in a warm hug.

But what to do with Wafa? The girl will get a freaking seizure attack if he'll wrap her arms around her form to hug her.

"Wafa, what's wrong? Did something happen?" His voice grows gentle and soft. "What are you crying for?"

Satayaya hoa admi! Tumharay liye hi tou ro rahi hoon! Aur kis ke liye? With her lips quivering and tears continuously falling from her eyes, Wafa looks at him with blood-red eyes. Itna tou shyid kabhi apnay liye bhi ro ro ker du'aen nahi mangi hoon gi wo bhi itni shidat se.

(Stupid man! I'm crying for you! Or for who else?)(so much so, maybe I have never cried and prayed for myself, that too, this intensely)

But to Kyle's dismay, all of his questions remain unanswered. He runs his fingers through his locks nervously.

"So tell me," Kyle tries to divert the topic. "What was the song?" His face breaks out a grin. "It helped me sleep--" He bites his tongue, thinking over the right set of words, "quite easily."

"It wa...wasn't a song." Wafa hiccups. "It was a recitation fro...from the Book of God, The Qur'an." She finds him listening to her intently-- almost curiously. "The only Book to remain in its true form without corruption, not even by a single letter."

He hums and nods his head. "It was beautiful. It felt as if-- as if something was cupping my heart gently and fondly that the anxiousness in me vanished at that moment, and I found-- peace after a long time." And even now, as you are with me.

Wafa only stares at him in awe, then lowers her gaze in astonishment. Her lips curl up from the corner under her veil, and her eyes leak one last tear.

A tear of hope.

"We should head back to the hotel before Mark marches here with the Army." Wafa playfully jokes, her voice deep and hoarse from crying.

Upon hearing his bandmate, Kyle chuckles. "Yeah, I can't wait to see the furious Vanessa." He gets up, stretching his neck muscles. "Happy life! We'll soon welcome loads of freaking paperwork."

The midnight-haired man watches her dust her abaya from her left hand while the Book he never knew was with her, tightly grasped in her right hand as he slips on the face mask.

She goes to the shelf and places it back. "And I wonder if we'll welcome it during our stay in Turkey or back at the HQ."

Kyle lightly shrugs his shoulder in response as both of them make their way out of the atrium. "Depends on how angry Vanessa will be after seeing us."

Perhaps ignorance is truly a blessing, for they are oblivious of the X-Team Vanessa is in charge of has always been tailing the duo; ever since they placed their feet out of the hotel premises. And even now, the few guards hiding in shadows change their positions, following them at a distance.

Cold air giddily sweeps past them upon seeing both the vocalists exposed to the morning sky. As Wafa makes the call to book a cab, a vendor catches Kyle's attention. He then gestures to Wafa.

Receiving the nod from her, he walks to the table.

The vendor and he exchange pleasantries as Kyle eyes the various books placed neatly in order and a few keychains. After all, he is a bookaholic.

The local man then asks in broken English if he is a foreigner or if it's his first coming to this Masjid. When the vocalist affirms, the man beams in a delightful smile that can outshine the light of the golden sun peeking at them from behind the puffs of clouds.

"Then you can not leave without getting anything from here, oğul. Here!" The man hands him the English Translation Qur'an along with the bag. "The prayer mat is inside."

(son)

"No--but. But I don't have lira to pay you with." Awkwardly, Kyle says, holding the Qur'an in one hand and the bag in the other.

"It's free! Take it!" The vendor chimes with a bright smile.

"No, Sir. I feel bad." Rummaging his pocket, Kyle hands him the hundred-dollar note. After a minute or two with his pleading, the vendor finally accepts it.

"Also, this prayer mat. I don't nee--" Wafa's face instantly clicks his mind. "Ah, never mind. Thank you."

| QUR'ANIC VERSES |

Indeed, the righteous will be in a secure place, amid Gardens and springs, dressed in fine silk and rich brocade, facing one another So it will be. And We will pair them to maidens with gorgeous eyes. There they will call for every fruit in serenity. There they will never taste death, beyond the first death. And He will protect them from the punishment of the Hellfire— as ˹an act of˺ grace from your Lord. That is ˹truly˺ the ultimate triumph.

-Surah Dukhan

| AUTHOR'S NOTE |

If I have to choose the best chapter I've ever written, I will say this one is.

- W A L I Y A H