Muawiyah Holmes

Her Relief His Distress #14.3

"Your father was a Barelvi?" Mu'awiyah inquired, his gaze fixed intently on Saqlayn.

Saqlayn offered a small nod, his thoughts drifting back to the day his father passed away. He turned his gaze away from Mu'awiyah as a solitary tear slipped down his cheek. The pain in his heart surged with the weight of memories long buried, and his throat tightened with emotion. It was the first time in years that something had stirred those recollections. Along with those memories, a Hadith surfaced in his mind—one that had profoundly affected him, leaving an indelible mark on his heart and spirit. It served as a reminder, a constant echo of a truth he had witnessed in his own life.

The events of that tragic day were etched in his mind like a permanent scar on stone.

"Every servant will be raised (in the same very state) in which he dies."

As he wrestled with the tumult of emotions within his heart, Saqlayn refocused on his friend. If the incident hadn’t been so rich with lessons and reminders—especially considering the state Mu'awiyah was in—he would never have unearthed the only memory that crashed into him like a tidal wave. "He was extreme in that regard; his beliefs and actions were as clear as daylight."

Saqlayn fell silent for a moment, an image of a Dargah flashing vividly in his mind.

Breaking the heavy silence, he continued, "I never discussed it with anyone before. There was no need; it was all in the past." He met Mu'awiyah's gaze. "But today, I believe there’s a need to speak about it."

"When Hud recounted how everything unfolded—your declaration of Islam to your parents after such a long wait, their passing the very next day, and how it affected you—it felt like I was listening to my own story from the past. Subhān Allāh, I was utterly shocked," Saqlayn said, pausing to place a reassuring hand on his companion's shoulder.

Mu'awiyah was left speechless, unable to articulate his thoughts.

Saqlayn had been through it all; he faced the struggle, endured the pain, and most importantly, he understood. He refrained from telling Mu'awiyah that he had lost his mind like Hud, or labeling him an emotional fool like Jacob. Instead, he remained silent because he comprehended the depth of Mu'awiyah's turmoil. Sometimes, a person simply needs someone who has weathered the same storm, even if that person is a stranger. They had only met once, and their online interactions had been sparse.

"What happened?" Mu'awiyah finally asked, curious about Saqlayn's past.

"I was seventeen, completing my last year at SABS (Seekers Abode Boarding School)—"

Mu'awiyah's eyes widened in surprise. Saqlayn chuckled lightly.

"Yeah, the typical Indian mindset. They want their children to study abroad, especially in the US."

"It was during this time that I met Aslam," he continued. "He was born and raised a Salafi—may Allah bless him. He was the quiet type, yet incredibly intelligent, while I was just your average teenager. At first, I thought he was simply shy, but he would engage with teachers when called upon and answer questions when prompted. He greeted other boys with a warm smile, exuding an air of friendliness while simultaneously keeping to himself. I often spotted him with AirPods in or engrossed in a book."

"How did you become friends then?" Mu'awiyah asked, his curiosity piqued. He wanted to know how they became friends, he was more eager now. How two individuals from such polar opposite beliefs; despite being born into Islam, could forge a friendship.

Saqlayn chuckled softly again, then began to recount his past.

Flashback.

As the morning sun ascended into the azure sky, its golden rays poured through the S.A.B.S. window, casting a warm glow across the classroom. Outside, the world came alive with vibrant colors; lush green trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves shimmering like emeralds.