51. Path to growth

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A/N


The entire world is crumbling. The Palestinians are being brutually murdered. Muslims in Yemen and Kabul are suffering. The covid spreads like wildfire. What are we to do? Pray. Pray to Allah. Pray for this whole Ummath. What are we if we don't shed tears of prayer hearing such news?

Ask forgiveness from Allah. Cry to Him. The doors of forgiveness are readily accessible. Our one 'Asthaghfirullah' can make a difference. Our duaas must be strong enough to make a difference. A difference that will bring tranquil to this whole mankind.

"And never think that Allah is unaware of what the wrongdoers do. He only delays them for a Day when eyes will stare [in horror]" Al-Quran 14:42

~*~

~ Life is a balance of holding on and letting go.

Shehzad

I grimaced seeing Bushra reading. In some app called what-pack or something.
Like what even is that?

I grudgingly opened the room door. Bushra just raised her brow and went back to her excited reading and blabbering again.

"Awww, she's an angel. My cutie pie, hunny bunch, yumky kumky pumpkin, the apple of my eye, and I love you so--- wait--- something's wrong---"

Okay. I get it that whosoever that is, is cute, but maan!

"I can't believe he kissed her right on--- ohmygod Shehzad when did you come!?"

Well, darling, I was here this full time.

With a huff I left the room.

***

I walked to the store room, which I hadn't visited for months. I wanted to show Bushra my old family pictures. ONLY the cute ones, though.

Definitely not the the two-year old me in a bathtub (actually bathing), or the four-year old me crying because I lost in the kindergarten race or the five-year old me dressed up like a girl, with a frock, pigtail-wig and lipstick. Hilarious, I know. But what can I say? My older sister had wanted to play dress-up.

From the couple of albums, there was a much smaller one. I opened it with a heavy heart. It was Shahid's. My twin. Our pictures from the day we were born to almost all the special events till the age of seven, the year he passed away.

One picture was with his hand around my shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. The other was the two of us in a racing arena for kids and so on.

I remember the time we had our annual sports meet at school in primary grade. In the lime and spoon race, my lime had fallen off at the final line, to which I almost cried. Shahid then had purposely dropped his lime, then hooked his hand on mine and left the race with a everybody-is-not-a-winner look.

He was my only friend.

I wish he'd grown up with me.

I wish he hadn't ridden the bicycle that day.

I wish my brother had looked forward, instead of looking back just to wave at mom and me.

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