Leilah closes the diary shut with a snap. "Why-" She inhales sharply, trying to stabilize her emotions but it is difficult.

She feels as if she witnessed the clash between Walid and Mahrosh, and she shoots to her feet, wishing she could do something about it. But what can she do except pace and rant to herself about how things should have been? It is the curse of a reader who is nothing but a witness to a story that alters the chemistry of their hearts so greatly.

Mahrosh is scared. How can she sit still while Walid is clearly in danger? But while her empathy with Mahrosh is strong, she understands Walid just as well. But she is letting her fears cloud her judgment. She should have talked this through with Walid instead of pushing him away -

Leilah grumbles and drops on her study chair. "There are enough forces working against them," she murmurs to herself, "This is the time they need to be at their strongest and most united. Why-"

Her wish to somehow scold the two of them and force them to have a talk slowly fades when a memory comes rushing back to her.

She remembers when she shifted back to Pakistan with her mother. Her mother had resigned from her job. Her grandmother was ill. Everything on the outside seemed to be going wrong - it should have been a time for mother and daughter to be most united and present for each other.

Her own words come back to her and her grip loosens on the diary.

But it wasn't. Her relationship with her mother had severed. She was depressed, frustrated -

Leilah draws in a sharp breath. It is easy to be a witness, she realizes, a reader - reading stories and pointing out how one should have behaved. But it is harder to live it. She is a reminded of a reel that she saw on her instagram; a sheikh was talking about the seerah of Rasulullah ﷺ ; 'We listen to it like a story. 'Such and such happened-' But if we were to involve our emotions, to 'live' the story, our hearts would tremble and our eyes would never become dry.'

Leilah fiddles with the diary. For the first time, she thinks she understands the concept of trials. Before she used to think of bad times as simply bad times you had to survive through. Now, she realizes that both moments of happiness and moments of struggles are a trial: occurring to see how you react to them.

Leilah thought Walid and Mahrosh were perfect. They were her ideal couple; restoring her faith in love and marriage and the strength of faith.

But everyone falls. Everyone trips.

The question is: do they get up again?

Leilah opens the diary again.

19th August 1937,

Today, these blank pages do not appear inviting to me. They are daunting. Scary. As if it is my heart I am staring at; my bare heart placed into my hands. The beat of my heart sends shivers up my arm and my hands tremble; I am afraid my hands are too weak for the weight of my heart. I am fearful of letting go. But I am afraid to hold on.

All my life, I've tried to hide from the world in the lines and turns of these pages. But today I need hiding from myself as these very pages appear as a mirror - and yet I write. As if it is the only thing I can do, I write.

To describe my fears? Or to describe my weakness? For I have let these fears wrap their claws around me. For I have let them into my subconscious; into my dreams, and I have let them into my actions and my days. I thought I was brave once. The word 'brave' now becomes antonymous to my very being.

I am scared.

I am scared of losing Walid.

I can toughen myself in front of the whole world. I can pretend to be fearless in front of Walid. I can be the one who holds hands and offers support -

But in front of You, Ya Rabb, I break. How can I fake toughness in front of the One Who hears every passing thought of my heart? Ya Allah - I am scared. I am terrified. And I am not tough.

I am the definition of weakness. I am a coward - Ya Rabb. In front of You, I appear as I am.

Humans like each other as whole. We like to think that we will accept each other when we are at our most broken; but we cannot always handle each other's brokenness. How can we? We ourselves are so broken -

But in front of You, Ya Rabb, I carry the shards of my broken self. I'm scared, I whisper, voice inaudible to even my own ears, but my Rabb Hears it.

My pen pauses.

At my most broken, I ache for a response from You, Ya Rabb. So I open Your Kalaam. My hand grazes the mushaf as I open it.

It opens to surah Qasas.

Ya Allah? These are the ayahs it opens to -

"And we inspired the mother of Musa: nurse him but when you fear for him, put him in the river. And do not fear and do not grieve."

My heart bursts open. Umm-e-Musa; she was scared too. She was scared of losing her baby boy; the heart of a mother, the greatest form of human love to ever exist, worried that the tyrant would kill her child -

- "and the heart of the mother of Musa became empty."

A mother's heart! Whose heartbeat is the rhythm of love - but there was a greater love within that heart of hers.

"...reassured her heart to have faith in Allah's promise."

My tears blotch the pages of the mushaf. I bury my face in my arms -

Has Allah not promised victory to those who strive for His sake?

I break down. Ya Rabb. You - Who brought me from the darkness to the Noor of Hidaya? You; Who blessed me everytime I raised my shaking hands and asked of You -

Ya Allah, how could I let go of my tawakkul in You? How could I let my fears grow bigger than my faith -

Am I afraid? Afraid of what humans could do, when my Rabb is Allah? Scared? When I am from the ummah of Ibrahim A.S; who did not fear the fire because sufficient for him was his Lord -

The guilt crashes against the limits of my heart. I wish to bury my face in my arms and never to get up; ashamed of showing my face to the One who gave me everything but I lost my trust in Him. I feared other than Him -

The tsunamis of guilt crash over me, but within my whispers of Astaghfirullah, a calmness descends upon my heart.

You are Al-Ghafoor; You love to forgive. And I am in need of Your forgiveness.

My own imperfections may shame me, but Ya Rabb - I turn to You. Your door never closes. It is never too late. I turn to You.

Make me brave, Ya Rabb. Tighten my grip on the Rope of tawakkul in You - grant me sakina, Ya Rabb. Make me a righteous abd.

Mahrosh is imperfect. She falls so many times, and scrapes her knees. Without You, she would have been in the darkest of wells - but her Rabb is Al-Karim. So she carries her weakness and falls in sujood.

Ya Allah? I am ashamed of myself and yet; how can I lose hope in Your Rahma? How can I lose hope in Your Rahma that encompasses Your Wrath -

For if You did not wish to Forgive me or to Guide me; why would You have blessed me with the ability to shed tears in sujood, asking for Your forgiveness?

"If you are able to perform sajda, know. Allah wants you here."

Love,

Mahrosh.

assalamoalaikum!

are you guys silent readers or do you read like leilah? [I'm worse than leilah, I scold the characters aloud, have long debates with myself and read very dramatically xD]

p.s: the quote at the end of Mahrosh's diary entry is by someone really special to me, and someone I always learn sm from. this chapter is dedicated to her <3