Justice For His Love || JJk

⚜ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟗 - 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭 [𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲] ⚜

As the final moments of the night faded, he stirred, his eyes slowly opening, still heavy from the weight of a restless sleep.

The distant call to prayer echoed softly through the cold morning air, its familiar melody stirring something deep within him. The sound pierced the fog of his slumber, awakening his heart to the dawn of a new day, urging him toward strength and purpose.

He rose from the floor with unsteady steps, his legs trembling like those of a newborn fawn. The chill of the tiles beneath his feet sent a shiver up his spine as he made his way to the bathroom.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he barely recognized the man before him—his eyes red and swollen from crying, his lips cracked and dry. Dark circles framed his sunken eyes, and his unkempt beard only added to the weariness etched across his face. He looked older than he was, burdened by the weight of his sins, regrets, and the ghosts of his past.

Tears welled in his eyes as memories flooded back, each one more painful than the last. He remembered the faces of those he had wronged, the hurt he had caused, and the chances he had squandered. His heart clenched with guilt, the weight of it crushing him.

"How deeply do our mistakes scar us?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, drowned out by the sound of his tears. His disheveled appearance mirrored the chaos within him.

Stepping to the sink, he began his ablutions, carefully performing each step as Ms. Marie had taught him. The water was ice-cold, biting into his skin, but he didn't care. His mind was consumed by regret.

As the cold water touched his face, it felt as though with each splash, he was washing away a small part of his sins. When he finished, his eyes were still red, but his heart felt a little lighter.

He took a deep breath and moved toward his prayer mat, his steps heavy with remorse, yet his soul yearning for mercy.

Standing before Allah, a wave of humility washed over him. He raised his hands in supplication, palms facing upwards, and began to pray.

"Oh ALLAH, forgive me for my sins, my arrogance, my pride. Cleanse me with Your mercy and guide me back to the straight path," he whispered, tears beginning to spill over, trickling down his cheeks like a silent river.

His voice faltered as he continued, "You are my Creator, my Sustainer, my Guide. Without You, I am lost. You gave me life, health, and wealth—and a second chance to make things right."

The weight of his guilt pressed down on him, and he fell to his knees, his body shaking with sobs as he pleaded for forgiveness.

"Forgive me, Ya ALLAH, for my neglect, my laziness, my disobedience. I am nothing but a servant seeking Your mercy, Your grace, and Your forgiveness." His forehead touched the prayer mat, his tears soaking into it as he whispered, "Please, Ya ALLAH, accept my prayer and lead me back to You."

In his prayers, he felt a sense of release, as if the burden of his sins was slowly lifting from his shoulders. A quiet peace began to settle in his heart. Though he knew there was still a long road ahead, he was ready to face it, step by step, with ALLAH'S guidance.

After a long while in prostration, his body finally exhausted from the outpour of emotions, he stood, legs trembling, and left the house.

Pulling out his phone, he searched for the nearest mosque, determined to pray Fajr properly this time. His previous prayers had been disjointed, incomplete, and he had stumbled over the verses.

The morning air was biting, the chill hitting him like a slap. It was 5:00 a.m., and the streets were coated in a thick blanket of snow, the icy cold wrapping itself around him. The world was silent, save for the soft crunch of his footsteps in the snow and the faint echo of the azan calling him toward the mosque.