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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Miles between us physically. Oceans between our hearts. And yet, I can think of no one but you. Is my agony due to my hurt? Or due to my worry for the storms you face while I am here — or is it that I cannot bear the distance between us? Where do I place myself in this world if you are not by my side — Mahrosh wrote.
Her Mamu's house was vibrant and loud; with one too many cousins sharing rooms that were too small for them, as the preparations for the wedding brought a certain buzz that was unmatched. Dresses had to be finalized, the bidd *to be made, and the wedding songs to be practiced and memorized for the mehndi.
Somehow, everyone fit into the chaos of a shadi wala ghar*; older cousins with practice, younger, excited girls and even children who ran about in their own games. Everyone but Mahrosh.
She was quiet. Distant. Any chance she got, she would escape to a quiet spot on the roof of the house where no one would find her and she would write. Sometimes, she would try to read but Mahrosh found that it was harder to consume when she was overflowing herself; with thoughts, with emotions, and with worries.
Her absence was mostly unnoticed. Wedding houses- in their buzz and business- seldom do focus on individuals except those who possess vital skills. Mahrosh could (and would) not play the dholak, she had a good voice but it was too low to really become prominent in groups, and her henna-putting skills were as good as her embroidery skills. (In the words of Dadi; hopeless)
And she was grateful for it. She was grateful to be left alone when her heart weighed heavy. When a thousand worries lay over her chest. When homesickness hit her like a tsunami and her eyes filled with tears. When she lay awake at night, wondering if Walid was asleep as she turned and tossed and failed to find comfort in his absence.
When she felt so terribly alone in all of her grief- her tears wetting her pillow till she felt the night draw into its final part -her hands fisted around her bedsheet and her lips moved; inaudible.
To the One who knows of every leaf that falls, of every ant that crosses a patch in the darkest of night, who is aware of every irregular beat of your heart and every tear that glimmers on your lashes, of every burden that suddenly becomes too heavy for you to bear, and every guilt that weighs over your chest —
"Ya Allah. I need You."
So what if your voice shakes? If you wish to speak and yet no word can pass the lump in your throat — but your heart speaks. Ya insaan, that is enough. That is sufficient for the One who knows the things tucked inside your heart; He is closer to you than your jugular vein.
And He who never leaves you. Not when you are ashamed of your sins, cowering in your guilt, but He is waiting to forgive. When the entire world shuts the door at your face; the door of Al-Fattah is always open. When the world around you turns dark and black, Al-Noor never leaves. And if you take one step towards Him, He takes ten.
