Leilah Usman awaits an acceptance from a university abroad so she can leave the country she never loved when she stumbles upon an ancient diary. Through the eyes of Mahrosh Irfan, she finds herself in a world so completely different from hers.
One w...
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A single prayer can fix the internal state of your heart. A single dua of forgiveness may be sufficient to save you from the darkness of your own nafs; and two nafal of truly turning to Allah hold the power to subside your fears and grant sakina to your heart.
So do not underestimate your duas. Do not underestimate a single sujood, or the flicker of faith within you, no matter how light.
Mahrosh learned that the night she spent on the musalla and broke down in front of her Rabb.
But while the rope of tawakkul returned to her hands, the consequences of her actions could not be undone. The fragility of the distance between her and Walid turned her heart into a porcelain dish. She wished that his anger was loud; that he did not turn to his books in his silence. Mahrosh was used to getting scolded. She could deal with Ammi's daant, or Abbu's anger — but Walid's silence made her cower deeper into herself, unsure of what to do.
She knew she had to take the first step, but with what words? Through the promise that he had asked of her? Her heartbeat sped up as she heard the door open and close shut. Her back was towards it and she was torn between the urge to turn around, or remain still. Fix it now, a voice said. But she faltered. If she made the promise now, would it be mere words or did she trust herself to fulfill it?
No one said a word that night. Ya Allah. Her eyes squeezed shut. Show me how to fix this.
Mahrosh awoke in better spirits. Walid had already left for work, but the tsunami of emotions from the last two nights had transformed into self-realization and a kindle of optimism. She was determined to make it up to him, and she decided she would cook his favorite dish in apology. It was another thing altogether that she did not think her skills competent enough for biryani, but she was determined to try.
Aleena, gratefully, left her to it, though Mahrosh noticed the relief flicker across her face. The night it had rained and the looming darkness of the day that followed it had cast long shadows over the house. A pang of guilt cut through her heart, but Mahrosh was determined to at least try bringing some of that sunshine again.
Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen. Aleena popped in a few times, concerned, but Mahrosh insisted she needed no help. She spilled the rice twice, and burned her index finger. It was no easy feat- but she was determined to pull through.
The chicken was cooked. The spices were added. A rich aroma filled the kitchen, and by Maghrib, a fairly presentable dish on the kitchen counter could have surprised anyone who doubted Mahrosh' cooking skills, herself included.
"Allahumma Barik, Mahrosh, this tastes wonderful-" Aleena grinned and Mahrosh smiled shyly.
"You think so?"
"Absolutely." Aleena's eyes softened and she looked reassuringly at Mahrosh. "Bhai will love it."
Mahrosh could only hope he would. She did not have any speech prepared; nothing but a dish of biryani she hoped was enough.
