I’tikaf | Episode 18
Not every loss can be compensated for...
Shalabiyya returned home after two weeks. The house was as she had left it, but something about it felt different. As she stepped inside, a soft breeze carried the scent of fresh earth and the distant chirping of birds. Curiosity flickered in her eyes when she noticed movement outside.
There, in the lawn, Amatullah was kneeling on the grass, deep in prayer. The golden afternoon light bathed her figure, making her appear almost ethereal, her colorful hijab flowing gently in the breeze. The sight made something twist inside Shalabiyya; whether it was resentment, amusement, or something else entirely, she wasn’t sure. A smirk curled on her lips as an idea formed in her mind. She remembered that Amatullah had started praying only in her room a few weeks ago.
She strolled toward Amatullah, her steps slow, deliberate. She waited until the moment Amatullah finished her salah and lowered her hands from her final supplication.
“You’re out of your cage, I see,” Shalabiyya remarked, crossing her arms. “You were just waiting for me to leave so you could roam free.”
Amatullah turned her head toward her and smiled, soft, serene, unshaken. The cleansing from salah made sure she was ready to forgive Biyya but…
Shalabiyya’s smirk twitched. “Stop. Just stop with the Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes act.” She leaned forward slightly. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you… where is this God you always pray to?”
Amatullah’s gaze remained steady, filled with a patience that only irritated Shalabiyya further. “He is up in His Chair but His signs are everywhere,” she replied gently.
Shalabiyya let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh no, I mean, I did something so horrible that you lost control. You turned into a savage and slapped me. If what I did was truly wrong, why hasn’t your God punished me?” Her voice dripped with mockery.
Amatullah tilted her head slightly. “You’re talking about the same God you used to pray to, aren’t you?”
Shalabiyya’s expression hardened for the briefest moment before she scoffed. “You know what? Don’t marry Ahyan. He’s too good for you. He’s got everything, and look at you…” Her gaze swept over Amatullah, her lips curling in disdain. “You look like a dead body wrapped in a colorful piece of cloth.”
Amatullah’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, as though she found something amusing in those words. “If Allah SWT wishes,” she said softly, “I would even throw Ahyan Jaffar out of my life.”
Shalabiyya clicked her tongue. “Then Allah, wish it. Wish it, so Ahyan can be freed from this boring relationship.” She spun on her heel and walked away, repeating her words like a taunt.
Amatullah watched her go, still smiling. But as the footsteps faded, her lips trembled slightly. She lowered her gaze to the grass beneath her, her fingers pressing gently into the fabric of her dress.
A deep breath. Then, in a whisper, she murmured, “O Allah, forgive me for the things I say that may hurt others, and forgive them for the things they say that hurt me.”
The wind carried her prayer away, dissolving it into Sidratul Muntaha.
Amatullah lay back on the prayer mat, her body sinking into its soft fabric. She wiped the stray tear clinging to the corner of her eye, exhaling slowly as the weight of her emotions settled in.
Something urged her. She hesitated for a moment before raising her hand toward the sky, her fingers stretching as if to grasp something unseen. She didn’t expect anything to happen. Why would she? It was just a loving gesture, a silent plea to Allah to take her hand.
But just as she was about to lower her hand, she saw it.
Tiny specks of light, like minuscule, perfectly even stars, began to descend from the sky. At first, they were faint, almost imperceptible, but within seconds, they multiplied, filling the air around her. They weren’t just falling; they were swirling, dancing in an ethereal rhythm, moving as if carried by an invisible current.
Amatullah gasped softly. Her eyes widened as she watched them float and shimmer, weaving through the air in delicate patterns. She reached out instinctively, but they slipped through her fingers, untouchable.
Her heart pounded in awe. Were they real? Was this just a trick of her tired mind? She wanted to hold on to the moment, to savor every second.
Time passed, and the glowing particles gradually became fewer. Their brilliance dimmed, like embers burning out, until finally, after fifteen minutes, they disappeared entirely.
Amatullah lay there, motionless. She could hardly believe it. Was it a gift from Allah SWT?
This was her own Year of Sorrow and what just happened was her own Isra wal Ma’iraj. The tears she held back earlier dripped down with gratitude and awe.
A radiant warmth filled her chest, spreading through her limbs. Happiness, gratitude, something beyond words. She closed her eyes, smiling softly, letting the moment sink into her soul. She was never going to forget these moments.
She stayed like that, hoping, waiting, maybe they would return. But as the sky darkened and the first call to Maghrib prayer echoed from the mosque, she knew it was time to let go. No miracles last forever.
With newfound peace, she rose and prayed.
Later, in her room, she pulled out her diary and scribbled down every detail, afraid that if she didn’t, the memory might fade like those vanishing stars.
After setting her pen down, she reached for her phone and dialed a number. The familiar voice on the other end picked up after a single ring.
“It’s past eight. What are you still doing in your office?” she asked, a hint of concern lacing her tone.
Ahyan exhaled dramatically. “We’re sending a delegate to the head office. I’m stuck here finishing up the preparations. That’s why I’m still inside my dark room, expecting the boss to arrive at any moment,” he said in a theatrical tone.
Amatullah scoffed. “You’re a pretty good actor.”
“Why are you asking? Want to hang out somewhere?”
“No,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
There was a pause, and then his voice softened. “Mmmhhh, that gives me feelings of all kinds.”
She rolled her eyes. “Shut up. I’m hanging up now.”
“Okay, okay. Merciless,” he teased.
She ended the call with a small smile playing on her lips.
Standing up, she walked to the mirror, washed her face, and applied a bit of lip balm. The glow in her eyes hadn’t faded.
Amatullah’s heart was light as she stepped into the building, eager to share her miracle with Ahyan. And Ahyan, he was the only person she wanted to tell. He would listen. He would love it even if he wouldn’t understand.
She approached the receptionist with a soft smile.
“Is Ahyan still in his office?”
The receptionist, a polite young man, nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to call him for you?”
“No, Jazakillah Khayran. Just point me in the right direction.”
“42nd floor. Turn right, and you’re there. The elevator is on the left.”
“Thank you. Have a good evening.”
“You too.”
As she walked away, the receptionist watched her enter the elevator. She was beautifully veiled in a white trapezoid dress, the fabric cascading gracefully beneath a merlot cardigan kimono. Her Jordan sneakers, a blend of white and pastel merlot, were laced in delicate bow knots, a small, intentional touch, revealing the effort she had put into even the simplest details. She wore no makeup, just a layer of lip balm softening her pastel pink lips.
The elevator ascended, and Amatullah’s gaze drifted to her reflection in the glass panels. Behind her, the city stretched endlessly, a dazzling testament to human ambition.
She had never truly cared for this world: its noise, its hunger, its ceaseless demands. But with Ahyan, it was different. With him, she could endure it. With him, she belonged.
A soft smile touched her lips.
How foolish she had been to once wish for him to leave everything behind for her. He was a man of the world, ambitious, determined. He had built his place in it. And she… she needed to be by his side, not the other way around.
The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.
She stepped out. Turned right.
Ahyan’s office was unmistakable with its grand, sleek, and commanding appearance. The door was slightly ajar.
And then came voices.
A woman’s voice. Familiar. Haya. Ahyan’s mother.
Amatullah slowed. She wasn’t expecting to see Haya right now. Amatullah had noticed recently that she absorbed negative energy which caused her nape to burn. This was not the time for that.
“You need to act fast, Ahyan.” Haya’s voice was firm, measured. “Marry Amatullah soon. Secure your claim before someone else does.”
Amatullah’s pulse faltered. Secure?
Her brows furrowed. Had she misheard?
Then, Ahyan’s voice, casual, effortless, so unlike the man she knew.
“Relax, Mama. She’s not going anywhere. I’ve got her wrapped around my little finger.”
Something inside her cracked.
Her feet moved on their own. She needed to see him say this. She needed proof that this wasn’t some cruel misunderstanding.
The plush carpet muted her steps as she slipped into the office, pressing herself against a thick marble pillar. From her hidden vantage point, she could see them clearly.
Haya reclined on the velvet sofa, draped in a regal blue dress, a glass of something dark in her hand. Her expression was one of satisfaction.
Ahyan stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, his hands in his pockets, his posture effortless. Unbothered.
“You call it little?” Haya scoffed, crossing her legs. “This is your future we’re talking about, Ahyan. Your company. If what Haim told me is true, we could be talking about numbers beyond our imagination. Qaisarah wasn’t foolish. She built something brilliant. And now, it’s within your reach.”
Qaisarah. Amatullah’s step-mother.
Her throat tightened.
Please, Ahyan. Say nothing more. Let this be some mistake.
But he had to speak. He had to.
“I was surprised too when I found out,” he admitted. “This changes everything.”
The crack inside her deepened.
Haya leaned forward, her voice sharp, commanding. “Then don’t be complacent. Lock her down. Make sure she’s so devoted to you that she would abandon even her religious values for your sake. Do you understand me?”
Ahyan smirked. “I understand, Mama.”
The world tilted.
Amatullah’s body went rigid. She gripped the pillar for support, her fingers pressing into the cool marble.
Her mind screamed at her to leave, to run, to unhear it all.
But it was too late. The truth had already sunk in, poisoning everything she had believed in. All the positive energy she had in store had already been tainted with darkness and negativity.
She had thought Ahyan was her anchor.
She had thought he was her home.
But she was nothing more than a means to an end. A transaction. A stepping stone.
The pain was suffocating. She wanted to cry, to scream, to demand answers, but what good would that do?
Her feet finally moved. The descent in the elevator felt endless.
She stared at her reflection again, but this time, she didn’t see a girl in love.
She saw a fool.
The elevator doors slid open. She walked straight to the receptionist, masking the storm within her with a practiced ease. Her own family made sure she was an expert at wearing masks.
The receptionist blinked. “You’re back already, ma’am?”
Amatullah smiled. “Yeah. He’s… not around. And on second thought, I’m sure he must be really busy.”
“He is. We all are.”
“I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention my visit to him. He’d feel bad that I missed him.”
The receptionist nodded. “Understood.”
She stepped out into the cold night air, breathing in deeply. The chill bit at her skin, but she welcomed it.
She climbed into the driver’s seat of her jeep, Renegade, the engagement present from Ahyan.
Her fingers trembled as she gripped the wheel.
She exhaled slowly. Then, she smiled.
The same smile she had practiced on the way down.
Amatullah stepped into the house, numb. The weight of her discovery was suffocating and silent. She wasn’t crying. Not yet. Her eyes were dry from the shock. The pain was too vast, too consuming to manifest in mere tears.
The moment she entered, the sound of laughter and music hit her like a slap. Shalabiyya and her friends were partying in the lawn, right where Amatullah used to pray.
A dance carpet lay sprawled over the sacred space.
Something twisted deep within her, a sharp stab, not of anger, but of cruel irony. She heard things she did not want to. She saw things she never wished for. Was the universe punishing her for something?
How fitting.
The world she had built in love and devotion was being trampled upon.
She didn’t stop. Didn’t look. Didn’t say a word.
Her feet carried her upstairs as if moving on their own. She reached her room, shut the door behind her, and locked it. Her hands were trembling, but her face remained blank, empty, hollow.
She crossed the room and grabbed her laptop. Her fingers instinctively found The Way of the Tears in her playlist. She turned on the bluetooth speakers and spiraled the volume up, loud, painfully loud, as if she needed the sound to drown out everything inside her, or wake her up from within.
The track began, the words breaking through the air:
"The way of the tears is the way to comfort
Sigh, my friend, so you can rest
And make emotional supplications in private
The universe will encompass your voice…”
The first tear slipped down.
Her vision blurred.
"And by the will of Allah, all wounds heal
And broken and the wounded hearts recover
And the sick and ill become full of strength again
While before they laid sick there…"
The dam shattered.
A choked sob tore from her throat, and she collapsed onto the floor as her knees gave in. Her body trembled as wave after wave of agony crashed over her.
She had thought she was strong. But her body was eating away at itself from within, like a blackhole swallowing itself.
She had thought she could take anything.
But nothing had prepared her for this: the betrayal of the one she had entrusted her heart to.
Only a person in sacred love could understand what a holy place human heart is.
The cries wracked through her, violent and raw. They weren’t the soft, aching tears she had shed before. No, these were the cries of someone whose soul was breaking, whose very essence was unraveling.
She clutched at her chest as if trying to hold herself together, but she was coming apart, slipping through her own fingers. The pain wasn’t just emotional; it was physical, clawing at her ribs, twisting her stomach, making it hard to breathe.
The song kept playing.
Again. And again. And again.
Even if somebody called her, she wouldn’t have known.
Her phone was off.
Her world was off.
When her tears finally slowed, when her body couldn’t take it anymore, she dragged herself to her prayer mat. She didn’t sit. Didn’t kneel.
She fell. Her words came crashing in her mind.
“I would even throw Ahyan Jaffar out of my life.”
Face to the ground, hands trembling against the fabric, she whispered, her voice broken beyond recognition.
“Rabbi… Did You get angry when I spoke those big words? Did I offend You with my pride?”
Her shoulders shook.
“I’m so sorry to have said words that were out of my league. I’m so sorry for disobeying You. Forgive me, please. Forgive me in the name of Your Beloved Prophet ﷺ. I let pride wander in my heart, but You, You are the Best Aware of what lies inside my Qalb, O Owner of my heart!”
Her fingers clenched into the prayer mat.
“Forgive me… Forgive me… Please, forgive me… not only for letting pride take root but also for crying before You for something that I know You are taking away in my favor.”
A fresh wave of tears spilled onto the mat.
“I didn’t ask You to bless me with Ahyan. And I am not going to complain when You are taking him away. Indeed, there must be greater good in this decision for me.”
Her breath hitched, her voice barely above a whisper now.
“O Allah… You are the Turner of hearts… Not for me, but in the name of Your limitless mercy, forgive Ahyan for his malicious intentions. Forgive him for his wrongdoings.”
She wept and supplicated. Again and again. But no matter how much she turned to gratitude, her heart still bled.
The sound of Allahu, Allahu, Allahu filled the room, seeping into her very bones, pushing her deeper into her grief until it flowed in her neural veins.
Her cries grew louder, harder, uglier.
She had never cried like this.
Her pain wasn’t quiet anymore.
It screamed. It shattered. It tore her apart.
Outside, Shalabiyya rolled her eyes. “Turn it down! What’s with her?”
Her friends chuckled, oblivious.
They couldn’t understand. No one could.
Her sobs became silent convulsions. Her body shook, but no sound escaped her lips anymore. She was emptied, hollowed out.
Her lips parted, and without thought, without force, her tongue began moving on its own.
Ibqi Qawiyya. (Stay strong.)
Fa Inni Qareeb. (For I am near.)
Ibqi Qawiyya. Fa Inni Qareeb.
Again.
And again.
And again.
“Remember Me; I will remember you. With every difficulty, there is relief. Indeed, we belong to Allah, and indeed, to Him we will return. And He is with you wherever you are.”
Her breathing slowed. Her heartbeat settled. Her pain remained.
But so did He.
Her lips trembled, but this time, it wasn’t a cry.
It was acceptance.
She wiped her face. Her fingers brushed against the soaked fabric of her sleeves. She had cried enough.
And now, she would rise.
“I shouldn’t have cried this much,” she whispered to herself. “I should have known. You’ve already told me everything, Rabbi. You have been preparing me for this very day when I’d be betrayed by everything and everyone but You.”
She inhaled deeply.
“Fill my heart with Your love and Yours alone, O Allah.”
For two days, she remained silent. Steady. Preparing.
Then, she picked up her phone.
And sent the message.
She wanted to meet Ahyan.
They agreed on the seaside.
The sea stretched endlessly before them, waves lapping at the shore with a rhythmic calmness that contrasted with the storm inside Amatullah’s heart. The salty breeze tousled her scarf as she stood there, watching Ahyan take in the scenery.
They weren’t here for coffee or casual conversation. This was the end of something, something she had once believed would last forever.
Ahyan turned to her, his sharp eyes scanning her face with quiet concern. “Are you okay? You look tired.”
There was genuine worry in his voice, and for a fleeting moment, it almost softened the ache in her chest. Almost.
She forced a small smile. “Yeah, I’m good, Alhamdulillah. How about you?”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Not rested enough, but not wasted either, as you can see.” He stretched his arms open, inhaling deeply. “It was a good idea to bring me here, away from all the tension.”
She studied him, memorizing the way the wind ruffled his hair, the ease with which he carried himself, the faint shadow of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
“Ahyan…” she started, her voice steady but laced with something unreadable. “Do you ever wish to escape it all? Just… leave the burdens behind?”
He let out a dry chuckle. “I’d love to. But there’s too much to do. I don’t even have the time to think about a break.” He glanced at her. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have agreed to meet today if I hadn’t gone so long without seeing you.”
For the first time, she saw Muhaddis inside of Ahyan, a man who would give the world to his children but no substance, no Holy Love, no faith.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah… you’re the only son. You have a responsibility to share your father’s burden, don’t you?”
He groaned. “Don’t remind me that I’m going to be stuck in this cycle for the rest of my life. It sucks.”
She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “What if… you were offered a way out? A life where you wouldn’t have to work, where you’d have everything you need, three meals a day, a roof over your head, without doing anything in return?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Who would do that? There’s no one that generous. The world doesn’t work like that, Am.”
She took a deep breath. “It does… if you come with me.”
His gaze sharpened. “Come with you? Where? And who is this mysterious benefactor?”
She met his eyes. “To a place where we can live our lives in peace. Where there is no need to chase after the world, because the One who provides needs nothing in return.”
His expression darkened as realization set in. “Let me guess, you’re talking about abandoning society. Living in a self-imposed exile, sitting in lifelong I’tikaf.”
“More or less,” she admitted. “But it wouldn’t be exile. It would be devotion, together.”
His laughter was hollow. “Am, please tell me you’re joking. I have a business to run. A family to care for. A normal life to live.”
She held his gaze. “Business is for earning, earning is for food. But food can come without toil. Family is temporary, Ahyan. They will leave you one day. And life? Life is in Allah’s Hands. What if He takes it back tomorrow?”
He took a step back, eyes narrowing. “Am, what’s wrong with you? Can we talk about something else? I don’t want to waste time on things that make no sense.”
The words struck her like a dagger.
She swallowed the hurt and simply nodded.
Ahyan exhaled sharply. “Look, I respect your devotion. I’m not stopping you from practicing your faith as firmly as you want. But you can’t force me into this.”
“I’m not forcing you,” she said quietly. “I just wanted to know what you truly want.”
“Can’t you act like a normal fiancée for once?” His voice was edged with frustration. “I agreed to come because I needed a break, not a lecture.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Ahyan, I love you so much…”
“Finally,” he muttered. “Something refreshing.”
“…but my heart is changing. Every day, it’s drawing closer to Allah. And the future I see for myself—there’s no room in it for worldly distractions. I won’t be the kind of wife who enjoys outings and gatherings. I’d rather spend my time in prayer, in remembrance of Him.”
His expression shifted from irritation to unease. “What are you saying?”
“I see you, Ahyan,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “And I see that you belong to this world. You want to be a part of it.”
He frowned. “Am, you’re not making sense.”
“This difference between us… it’s a wedge. And it’s growing.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a small purse. “A wedge so deep that we won’t be able to bridge it.”
A sudden fear flickered in his eyes. “Please stop, Am. You’re scaring me.”
She handed him the purse. He opened it with trembling hands…and then dropped it as if it burned him. The small velvet box tumbled onto the sand.
“No…” His voice cracked as he stared at the engagement ring inside.
She knelt and picked it up, placing it gently in his palm. “This ‘us’… it won’t work anymore.”
He looked at her, eyes pleading. “Wait. Are you…?”
She took a deep breath. “We are free from each other’s ties.”
His jaw tightened. “What? Just like that? You’re throwing me away?”
She shook her head. “I’m not getting rid of you, Ahyan. I’m freeing you from me.” She turned away. “Allah Hafiz, Ahyan.”
“Am, stop. Please. Just listen to me.” His voice wavered as he reached out, as if trying to hold on to something slipping through his fingers. “Am, we can talk about this. Ah, please, don’t do this to me.”
But she didn’t turn back.
The roar of the ocean drowned out his words as she walked away, leaving behind footprints that the waves would soon wash away just like the love they once thought was unbreakable.
Ahyan stood there, frozen. His hands clenched around the ring, his heart aching in a way he had never felt before. Ready to explode.
He told no one.
But he was deeply, deeply broken.
Ahyan wrestled with himself. He wanted to understand Amatullah, but he simply couldn’t. Why couldn’t she just behave normally? Why did she always have to complicate things?
Yet, despite his frustration, he found himself calling her multiple times. Each time, her phone was off. He didn’t have the luxury of time to track her down, not with the relentless demands of work. But he told himself he would deal with it soon. As soon as he could.
Meanwhile, the very next evening, Amatullah arranged a dinner gathering. She invited Su’ad, Zarqa, and Muhaddis. She had tried to find Janan too, but she was unreachable.
The table was adorned with steaming plates, fragrant rice, and delicate dumplings, each carrying the warmth of Amatullah’s hands.
Zarqa took the first bite and froze. Then, with wide eyes, she turned to Amatullah.
"Oh my God. What is this? This is amazing! I’m blown away!" she exclaimed.
Su’ad, savoring his own portion, nodded in agreement. “Dad, you have to taste this. It’s meat, but it’s like… next level. What did you do to make it taste this good?”
Amatullah smiled, pleased with their reactions. “It’s called Manto, meat dumplings. I’m so happy you guys love my cooking! It’s just a simple recipe, really.”
Zarqa scoffed. “Simple? Oh, please. I could never make meat taste this good.”
Muhaddis took another bite and looked at Amatullah with curiosity. “Seriously, where did you learn to cook like this? And why haven’t you cooked for us before?”
She laughed lightly. “Well, I used to visit a lot of different restaurants back in the U.S. Every time I praised the chefs, they’d share their recipes with me. The Manto recipe? I got it from a chef at Gyros Kabob House. And this Turkish tea…” She paused, trying to recall. “It was a place on Third Street. Can’t remember the name, though.”
Zarqa smirked, nudging Su’ad. “Would you like me to cook something for you too?”
Su’ad chuckled. “Are you kidding? I’d love that.”
Amatullah grinned. “Wow, that’s pretty romantic.”
Zarqa turned to her. “Amatullah, you better share your recipes with me. I want to see Su’ad make the same expression for my cooking.”
Amatullah teased, “Hit his taste buds hard, Zarqa.”
Zarqa winked. “Oh, I intend to.”
Su’ad leaned back, shaking his head with amusement. “Ahyan is one lucky guy. We’re handing him a masterpiece of perfection.”
Amatullah lowered her gaze slightly. “I wouldn’t call myself a masterpiece of anything.”
Zarqa frowned. “Oh, come on. You rock at everything you do. Is there anything you can’t do?”
Amatullah exhaled softly. “There’s a lot I haven’t tried.”
The conversation carried on with laughter and playful banter, but Amatullah was building up to something else. She was preparing herself to tell them.
After a few moments, Su’ad noticed her change in demeanor. “Hey, Am, you okay?”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, I’m great. It’s just… nice to be appreciated.”
Zarqa nodded. “It is. Last time I gained two pounds in a few days, my friends were shocked. I didn’t even realize I had gained some weight. And Su’ad here never tells me anything.”
Su’ad raised an eyebrow. “Do I ever interfere in your cosmetic or appearance matters?”
Zarqa rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point.”
Amatullah took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something.”
Su’ad and Zarqa exchanged glances before looking back at her. “Okay, we’re listening,” Su’ad said.
“Yeah, go on. But don’t think we’re dropping our conversation,” Zarqa added with a smirk.
Amatullah hesitated for a moment. Then, softly, she said, “I’ve been missing my friends… and Aunt Tabeer’s family.”
Muhaddis smiled warmly. “Aww, sweetheart, if you miss them that much, you should go visit them.”
Su’ad nodded. “He’s right. A trip might be good for you.”
Zarqa’s eyes lit up. “And while you’re there, you should check out a fashion event. Remember your engagement dress? That was the result of one of those trips.”
Amatullah gave a small smile. “Yeah, I remember… I’ll think about it.”
Then, as if making up her mind, she said, “It’s settled. I’m going to the U.S. But I’ll be staying for a few months.”
Muhaddis nodded. “If that’s what makes you happy. Business can wait.”
Su’ad leaned forward. “You better bring back some souvenirs for us.”
Then, Zarqa frowned slightly. “Hey, is Ahyan okay with this? You must have talked to him before deciding.”
Amatullah glanced away for a second.
Su’ad turned to Zarqa. “You see, this is how decisions should be made. Unlike someone who just goes ahead with things without consulting her husband.”
Zarqa smirked. “Didn’t I ask for your opinion before choosing the color for my office walls?”
Su’ad pointed at her. “Exactly. You did ask me. Point proven.”
Their debate quickly escalated into playful bickering, and the question of Ahyan’s approval faded into the background.
But Amatullah knew the truth. He didn’t know.
The evening breeze carried the scent of the ocean as Amatullah drove through the softly lit streets, the gentle hum of the jeep filling the comfortable silence between her and her friends. It had been a long day; shopping bags filled the backseat, and laughter still lingered in the air from their earlier outings.
As they cruised toward home, Anabia suddenly leaned forward, eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Ice cream!" she declared as if she had made the most important discovery of the night.
Amatullah chuckled and pulled the jeep over to the side of the road near a small, brightly lit ice cream stand. "Alright, go ahead. But be quick, you two," she said, watching as Anabia and Ummid eagerly hopped out and made their way to the counter.
Safeer stayed behind, leaning back against the headrest, his eyes following Anabia. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he watched her animatedly point at different flavors, practically bouncing on her feet.
"She’s like a child," he murmured, more to himself than to Amatullah. "And I love that about her."
Amatullah glanced at him from the driver’s seat, her expression unreadable.
"You only just realized?" she asked, a teasing edge in her voice.
Safeer exhaled, shaking his head. "Why couldn’t I see that before? She’s so easy to talk into doing anything. I should have convinced her to love me back instead of sulking alone."
A quiet moment passed before Amatullah spoke again, her voice softer this time.
"She’s going to be with you for the rest of your life, Saf. Don’t blow this chance. Protect her in every way you can, not just from the dangers of the world but from your and her own decisions, too."
Safeer let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, her decision-making skills could use some polish."
Amatullah smirked. "Say that to her face, and you’re done for."
Safeer laughed, shaking his head. "I’d miss you, Amatullah. Don’t shut us out this time."
"I won’t," she assured him. "I’m going to stay in contact with you for the rest of my life, Safeer. In fact, I’ll come to your house tomorrow. There are some things I need to tell you."
Safeer’s smile faded slightly. There was something in her tone, something final, something heavier than she was letting on. But before he could press, she turned her head toward the ice cream stand.
"They’re coming back," she said.
Anabia and Ummid returned, hands full of colorful cups and cones, their chatter filling the jeep once again.
"Alright, who’s getting what?" Ummid asked, balancing the ice cream carefully.
"Oh, that’s easy," Anabia grinned, handing Amatullah a cup without hesitation.
Amatullah peeked inside and smirked. "Chocolate, of course."
"Was there ever any doubt?" Safeer chuckled.
As they continued their journey home, laughter and conversation filled the air, but in the quiet spaces in between, Amatullah’s mind was elsewhere, already planning for what came next.
Amatullah walked down the dimly lit hallway, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee curling around her like a warm embrace. In one hand, she carried two steaming mugs, and in the other, a stack of papers, documents she wasn’t sure she was ready to share just yet.
She paused outside her mother’s room, inhaled deeply, and stepped inside.
Janan was sitting near the window, a glass in her hand, the amber liquid swirling lazily as she took a slow sip. The sight made Amatullah’s chest tighten.
"Mom…" Her voice was gentle but firm as she placed the papers on a nearby shelf and walked in further. "What are you doing? You’re ruining your health."
Janan exhaled tiredly, setting the glass down on the side table. "I’m not going overboard with this. It’s all under control."
"Come on, I brought us coffee." Amatullah sat down beside her, offering the mug with an encouraging smile.
Janan hesitated. "I’m not in the mood."
"Yes, you are. I made it special for you."
Janan sighed, then took the mug from her hands. "Thanks," she murmured, taking a tentative sip. After a moment of silence, she glanced at the clock. "Your dad is taking too long today."
Amatullah leaned back slightly. "He must be enjoying some party with his friends."
"Yeah, I know," Janan said, shaking her head. Her voice was softer now, almost weary. "Urshia… I’m sorry I couldn’t control things better."
Amatullah frowned slightly. "What are you talking about?"
Janan’s fingers tightened around the mug. "I’m talking about everything that happened here, with Hani and Shalabiyya. I’m sorry for their behavior."
A small, knowing sigh escaped Amatullah’s lips. "Mom, that’s not on you. Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do."
Janan looked away, her expression clouded with something heavier than regret. "Then I’m apologizing for the things that I did."
Amatullah didn’t ask what she meant; she didn’t need to. The unspoken weight of her mother’s past choices lingered in the room like an unfinished conversation. She could see it in Janan’s eyes, the shame that settled in the lines of her face.
"You didn’t do anything," Amatullah said quietly. "Don’t sweat it. I should be the one asking you for forgiveness. I’ve never done what you told me to."
Janan let out a small chuckle, shaking her head. "And I’m happy that you didn’t. It irritates me at times, but I still love you." She reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Amatullah’s face. "You’re my firstborn, and I can never forget how happy you made me when you came into this world. I admit… I didn’t see you turning into the ‘you’ you are now, but—"
"Mom."
Janan hesitated, then sighed. "I just want you to blend in, Urshia. Fit in with society. I don’t want you to be left alone or… called a weirdo."
Amatullah smiled softly, looking down at her untouched coffee. "I understand your concern, Mom. But with the way things are changing so fast, I’ll always be a weirdo. Ana gharibatan atwar. And that’s okay." She met Janan’s gaze, her expression calm yet unwavering. "The Prophet Muhammad (SAW) said that Islam began as something strange and will end as something strange. It stands to reason that those who stick to it in these times, maybe even in the times to come, will also be called strange. If anything, it just proves I’m holding onto the version of the deen that Muhammad (SAW) himself taught."
Janan sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. "You never get bored of talking about history, do you?"
"History paves the roads to the present," Amatullah said, setting her mug down. "And those roads help us climb the ladders to the future. I’m just making my way up."
Janan took another sip of her coffee, her expression softening. "It’s delicious."
"Jazakillah Khayran." Amatullah stood up, stretching slightly. "I’ll let you rest."
Janan nodded, a quiet gratitude in her eyes. "That’d be nice."
"Allah Hafiz, Mom." Amatullah leaned down, pressing a kiss to her mother’s head before gathering the mugs. As she reached for the papers on the shelf, her fingers hesitated over them. She wasn’t sure why, but she couldn’t bring herself to hand them over just yet.
Instead, she quietly left the room, her mind clouded with thoughts.
Back in her own space, she placed the papers down and glanced at them. Her passport and visa lay on top of the stack.
Her fingers traced over the embossed cover of her passport, and for the first time in a long while, she wondered, was she really ready for this?
She stood before the towering gates of her home, the grand structure behind her cast in the soft glow of the streetlights. The night air was cool. This was the house where she had grown, where she had dreamed, where she had struggled. And now, she was leaving it behind.
Her grip tightened around her cellphone as she stared at the screen, the cursor blinking at the end of the message she had just typed. For a moment, she hesitated, her thumb hovering over the send button. Then, with a deep breath, she pressed it.
Assalamo Alaikum, Ahyan,
Although I don’t need to, I want to tell you that I’ll be living with Aunt Tabeer and her family for a change. It might be for a few months—or maybe not.
I never thought I’d have to say goodbye to you like this. No matter what’s inside your heart, I have always loved you, and I always will.
May Allah (SWT) bless both of us with our own protected futures and afterlife.
The message sent. She stared at the screen for a beat longer, then exhaled and powered off her phone. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to wait for.
Behind her, the house loomed, silent and indifferent. No one had come to see her off. No grand farewells, no lingering hugs. And she didn’t need them.
Su’ad was waiting for her by the car. He was alone. His presence was the only quiet acknowledgment that her departure meant something to someone.
Meanwhile, miles away, Ahyan sat in a conference room with his delegation, his phone face-down on the table, its screen dark and unread. The message she had sent, filled with unspoken goodbyes and unreturned love, remained unseen.
For now.
Ahyan barely stirred during the flight, his exhaustion pulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep. The weight of the past few days, meetings, travel, and the haze of his own distractions, kept him unconscious until the plane touched down in Pakistan.
As soon as he switched on his phone, a flood of notifications greeted him. Messages from colleagues, missed calls, reminders. But one message stood out.
Amatullah.
Frowning, he opened it, skimming the words quickly at first, then again, slower.
What!? Come on, Am. What are you talking about?
Without wasting a second, he hit the call button. The line rang once. Twice. Then—
“The number you have dialed is currently switched off.”
His jaw clenched. “Are you kidding me?” He tried again, but the result was the same.
Frustrated, he dialed another number.
Su’ad picked up almost immediately. “Hey, Ahyan. Sad already?”
Ahyan ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, Su’ad… Have you seen Am? She’s not responding to my calls.”
“That’s peculiar. Didn’t she tell you about her flight?”
“Oh, no, she did tell me, but I thought…” He exhaled sharply. “I was stuck in a meeting and lost track of time. Has she already left?”
“Yes, she has. I’m already missing her.”
Ahyan shut his eyes briefly. “She’s worth missing.”
Su’ad chuckled. “Don’t sound so gloomy. She’ll be back soon.”
But Ahyan wasn’t so sure. The line went dead before he could respond, leaving him with an unsettling weight in his chest.
He set his phone down, rubbing his temples. What’s wrong with you, Amatullah?
She had blindsided him with that confession, shaken him with the way she showed different sides of herself. And then, just like that, she had walked away.
Breaking the engagement just because I’m not as religious as you are? His fists clenched. That’s not fair, Amatullah. Not fair at all.
Despite his frustration, a deeper emotion gnawed at him, worry. He tried calling again, knowing her flight should have landed by now. But still, no answer.
The silence on the other end of the line only made his irritation grow.
Amatullah drifted into uneasy sleep as the hum of the airplane engines lulled her into a dream, one that felt too vivid, too real.
She stood in the middle of nowhere, an endless expanse stretching in all directions, neither land nor sky offering her a place to belong. Shadows slithered around her feet, and when she looked down, she saw them, snakes. Dozens of them, their sleek bodies twisting and coiling, their forked tongues flicking in and out, tasting the air.
Panic surged through her as the serpents circled closer, their unblinking eyes fixed on her like she was prey. She turned wildly, searching for an escape, but there was nothing. Nowhere to run.
Then, from above, something caught her eye, a ladder, its wooden rungs swaying as if suspended from the heavens. A way out. A way up.
Hope flared in her chest. She reached for it, but just as she did, the largest snake of them all emerged. Its massive body coiled and rose like a tower of muscle and menace, its dark scales glistening in an unseen light. Its jaws parted, fangs gleaming, ready to consume her whole.
Heart pounding, she leapt.
But instead of falling, she soared.
A weightless sensation rushed through her as she left the ground entirely, rising higher and higher, past the snapping jaws, past the writhing mass below. The air felt cool against her skin, the fear melting into something else, something lighter.
She had reached for survival, but she had found freedom.
The dining room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the chandelier casting long shadows across the polished wooden table. The clinking of cutlery echoed in the otherwise silent space, the absence of the rest of the family making the house feel unnaturally still. They had all gone to a party, leaving Ahyan and Nuran alone for the evening.
Ahyan pushed his food around his plate, his appetite failing him. He had tried calling Amatullah again, but her phone remained off. A part of him wanted to involve Aunt Tabeer, but something held him back. This wasn’t a matter he wanted to share with anyone, at least not yet.
Nuran leaned back in her chair, watching him with a knowing smirk. “Why didn’t you go to the party with everyone?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she popped a piece of grilled meat into her mouth.
Ahyan exhaled, barely meeting her gaze. “Didn’t feel like going.”
A slow grin spread across Nuran’s lips. “How are things going with our gorgeous girl?” she teased, her tone light but observant.
“Huh, awesome,” Ahyan muttered, stabbing at a piece of rice with his fork.
“You hesitated there.” Nuran leaned forward, her playful demeanor shifting to something more serious. “Is everything okay?”
For a moment, Ahyan hesitated. He thought no one was around, so maybe… maybe he could talk to Nuran.
“Yeah, I’m just jetlagged. It’s nothing much,” he deflected, but even he didn’t sound convincing.
Nuran rolled her eyes. “Okay, eat up and rest. You need all the energy you can get before Dad’s here. Your meetings with him take longer than a revolution.”
Ahyan chuckled, shaking his head. “Haha! That’s so true.” He paused, tapping his fork against the edge of his plate. “How’s Mari doing, Nuran? She doesn’t even talk to me.”
Nuran sighed, swirling her spoon idly in her bowl. “She’s been learning about her parents.” She glanced at him meaningfully. “You know, Ahyan, we can’t blame her for whatever happened. True love can hit you anywhere, making you fall for anyone. I hope you don’t hate her for this.”
Ahyan looked down at his plate, his expression unreadable. “I actually don’t. I know she’s not to be blamed for something that just happened. But I don’t want things to remain as they are between us. I can’t see her as anything but a sister, and she hates that. What am I supposed to do?”
“Not much,” Nuran said with a shrug. “Just work things out with her without reminding her that you see her as a sister. As a matter of fact, stop thinking of her as a sister. Think of her as a cousin, which she actually is.” She took a sip of water, then added, “Oh, and I don’t have to mention that you also need to tell her that you can’t see anyone else besides Amatullah as your girl.”
“I most definitely can’t,” Ahyan murmured under his breath. But deep inside, a troubling thought gnawed at him. What if Amatullah doesn’t agree to work things out? What if she has already decided to leave me behind?
Nuran tilted her head, observing him closely. “Ahyan, is there anything that’s bugging you?”
He hesitated, then looked up at her. “I’ve been wondering… Nuran, you can’t tell anyone what I’m about to say.”
“My lips are sealed,” she assured him, crossing her arms.
Ahyan sighed, choosing his words carefully. “Have you noticed that Amatullah has been getting more and more attached to the spiritual side? She doesn’t even go out now.”
Nuran leaned back, her brows knitting together. “Has she? I haven’t noticed since I’ve been drowning in work.”
“Well, she has,” Ahyan confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I don’t mind it, not really… but is it important for a girl to marry someone who is as religious as her?”
Nuran considered his question, drumming her fingers against the table. “Huh, I wouldn’t know about that, but I think it could create some compatibility issues after marriage. Let’s say Amatullah is very religious, and you… aren’t as much. After you two get married, you’d want to enjoy parties and outings while she’d want to stay away from unnecessary socializing or something like that. That could cause problems.”
Ahyan exhaled, slumping back into his chair. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I think it will. Maybe it already has.”
Nuran narrowed her eyes slightly. “Hey, are you rethinking your engagement with her?”
“No, not at all,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I really lo—” He stopped himself. “Like her. I just don’t wanna hurt her in any way.”
Nuran smirked, leaning forward on her elbows. “Oh, don’t worry. You can’t hurt anybody. It’s like you’re a less religious, male version of Amatullah.”
Ahyan scoffed. “What are you talking about? I am nowhere near who Amatullah is and what she can do.”
“Hey, pass me the dish. I want some more rice,” Nuran said, changing the subject.
Ahyan handed it over absentmindedly, his thoughts swirling.
After dinner, he retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him. The silence felt heavier now. He sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair.
What would Am do if she were in this situation?
The answer came almost immediately.
She would… ah… pray and ask Allah for help.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. That’s the most obvious thing about her. But it’s also one of the most beautiful things about her. It’s like everything she does starts from Allah and ends with Allah.
He exhaled slowly, deciding to take his time to think rather than react emotionally. Opening his laptop, he began researching, trying to understand.
As he read about psychology, he realized something that made him pause.
I was wrong, huh? I don’t even know her well enough to decide whether I should give her space or talk things out with her.
Reaching for his phone, he dialed her number again.
No answer.
A tight knot of frustration coiled in his chest. He redialed. Still nothing.
The muscles in his jaw clenched. This is not how you treat such relationships, Am. You’re such a child.
He threw the phone onto the bed and leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time, uncertainty crept into his heart.
Would Amatullah even come back to him?
Or had she already decided to walk away?
Story timeline back to present:
The chopper’s rotors sliced through the heavy air, the sound drowning out everything except the pounding in Ahyan’s chest. He sat stiffly, gripping the strap of his bag, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of ocean beneath him. The islands stretched across the horizon, isolated fragments of land lost in the vast blue.
Spain.
He was in Spain.
And he was flying towards the place where she had been left alone.
His fingers curled into a fist, jaw tightening as anger and disbelief warred inside him. He left Amatullah alone on an island, this far from the world? The thought sickened him. What are you doing, Am? This is no time to be playing Island Princess.
He turned abruptly to the pilot. “Which one?”
“The third from here.”
His eyes darted forward, tracing the scattered islands. “What’s the distance between the last two? Average?”
“About four kilometers.”
“Does anyone come here?”
The pilot shook his head. “No. I last came here to drop the lady before long. Master doesn’t allow anyone to come here, neither does he come himself.”
Ahyan inhaled sharply. His throat felt tight, his breath short. He closed his eyes for a second, forcing his mind to clear.
This was it.
He had spent months chasing shadows, drowning in uncertainty, clawing through dead ends, only to find himself here, flying toward what could be the cruelest truth of all.
He clenched his jaw.
“Land on the second island,” he ordered.
The chopper descended, the wind whipping through his hair as he stepped out onto the rugged land. Without wasting a moment, he threw his bag over his shoulder and sprinted toward the water. The waves lapped aggressively at the shore, but he didn’t hesitate. He dived in, the icy shock of the ocean cutting into his skin.
I’m coming, Am.
The swim was brutal. His muscles screamed, his lungs burned, but his mind was deaf to everything but the thought of her.
He should have been there from the beginning. He should have gone with her when she asked. He had been a fool to refuse, dismissing her desperation as a moment of weakness.
It wasn’t weakness.
It was her way of asking him to fight for her.
And he had turned her down.
“You were going through an extremely tough period of your life. And I,” His arms cut through the water, his strokes fueled by regret. “I let you go without a fight.”
The moment his feet hit the sand of the third island, he stumbled forward, gasping, his wet clothes clinging to his body. He dropped to his knees, reaching into his bag for a bottle of water. He drank in heavy gulps, then stood up, taking in his surroundings for the first time.
The island was breathtaking.
The sky stretched endlessly, unmarred by city smoke. The trees swayed gently, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. The water shimmered under the sunlight, as if nothing in the world was broken, as if life had continued without a single crack in its surface.
But none of it mattered because she wasn’t here.
“Amatullah!” His voice tore through the silence, desperate, raw. “Amatullah, where are you? Answer me, Am! It’s Ahyan… the loser who let you go without a fight.”
Silence.
He took a step forward, then another. The sand crunched beneath his boots.
Nothing.
The minutes turned to hours. He searched every clearing, every shaded grove, calling her name until his throat burned.
Then—he saw a lake, a small house beside it.
Ahyan’s breath hitched. His heartbeat roared in his ears. She’s here.
He ran. His boots dug into the earth, his pace frantic, reckless. The house, so small, so simple, stood in front of him, the only sign of civilization on the island.
But something was wrong. His steps slowed.
The place wasn’t clean. Dust gathered in the corners of the wooden panels, the door slightly ajar as if forgotten by time.
His stomach twisted. It looked… abandoned.
His hands shook as he reached for the door, but before he could push it open, something caught his eye near the lake.
A piece of fabric. Torn. Tangled around a tree, floating in the water.
He walked towards it heavily. He crouched, trembling fingers reaching out to touch it.
The moment his skin brushed against it, something inside him shattered.
It was hers.
A piece of her jilbab.
But it was no longer hers. It carried no trace of her scent. It was soaked, dirty, forgotten by the world.
