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It was early in the morning, the time of Fajr, when I woke up. The stillness of the world outside felt like a whisper to my soul. I performed my ablution, feeling the cool water cleanse not just my body, but my mind. I stood up to pray, and as I did, the words of solace echoed in my heart: "Fainna ma’al usri yusra" – “Indeed, with every difficulty there is ease.” These words were like a balm for my spirit, a reminder that no matter the struggles, there is always a way forward.
Once my prayers were done, I felt a sense of calm take over me, the quiet serenity of the early morning wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. I reached for the Quran, hoping its words would provide me with some guidance, a source of strength to face the day. As I read, the verses spoke to me, each word resonating in the deep recesses of my heart. After some time, I put the Quran down and decided it was time for my usual morning ritual: making a cup of coffee.
I loved doing things for myself, especially in the mornings. There was something peaceful about taking my time, feeling the warmth of the cup as I held it, the aroma filling the air, and the quiet moments to myself before the world began to stir. But just as I was about to make my coffee, I heard footsteps behind me.
“Assalamualaikum Fari bhai,” came a small, familiar voice. I turned around to see Zara, one of the children I adored so much. A smile spread across my face, and I quickly walked over to her, pulling her into my arms. She was so small, so delicate, and I loved having her around. Her innocent smile always managed to brighten my day.
“Walaikumassalam, Zara,” I replied, my voice soft with affection. I asked, “Kuch khaoge aap?” wanting to make sure she was well taken care of. She thought for a moment before answering, “Haa, bread aur jam.” I chuckled at her simplicity and placed her on the kitchen counter, preparing the bread and jam she requested.
As she ate, I took my own coffee and sat beside her. She looked up at me with those big, innocent eyes and said, “Aap bohut ache ho, aap mujhse shaadi karenge?” I laughed, shaking my head, not sure how to respond to such a childish, yet endearing, question. “Abhi toh aap bohut choti ho,” I said, trying to keep the moment light-hearted. But Zara was insistent, scoffing, “Nahi, apko mujhse shaadi karni padegi.”
Her determination to make me laugh was impossible to ignore, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at her cuteness. But before I could say anything further, I heard someone walk in. “Kiski shaadi ki baatein horahi hai?” It was Tahera, Zara’s older sister. Zara immediately shouted, “Meri aur Fari bhai ki!”
I couldn’t help but smile at the innocence of it all. But as I looked at Tahera, something stirred in me. She was beautiful in a way that was impossible to ignore. She had a laugh worth dying for — I muttered to myself, barely aware of the words slipping out. But the moment I realized what I’d said, I quickly lowered my gaze, hoping she hadn’t heard me.
