Between Wealth and Worship

Chapter 5 - Memory Lane

The morning after Jummah, the Siddiqi family gathered in their living room, still digesting the meal they'd shared. Hassan, sitting at the head of the table, cleared his throat and looked at each of his children.

"We're going on a journey," he said quietly. His voice had a weight to it, one that drew everyone's attention.

Layla glanced up from her phone but said nothing, Zayd raised an eyebrow, and Amina smiled, always eager for a bit of family history.

Hassan continued, "Tomorrow, I want to show you where it all began—the first shop, the first house, the origins of this family's story."

Zayd shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. "Is that really necessary? We have the business to worry about. There's no time to—"

"It is necessary," Hassan cut in, his gaze steady. "You need to know where the legacy started, Zayd. You can't carry it forward without understanding it."

Zayd's jaw clenched, but he nodded, understanding that arguing wouldn't change his father's mind. Amina, always the peacemaker, chimed in. "I'd love to see it."

Layla remained silent, her phone buzzing quietly on the table. She'd distanced herself long ago, and now, she didn't feel like she had much to say about the family business.

The next day, the Siddiqis jumped into 2 cars, driven by chauffeurs, their journey taking them to the first corner grocery store where Ameer Siddiqi had started everything. The place was now a modern retail complex, but the memories of a small man, standing behind a wooden counter selling basic goods, lingered in the air.

"This is where it all started," Hassan said softly, his eyes tracing the facade of the building. "Your grandfather didn't have much, but he had vision."

Zayd stood still, absorbing the history, but his mind was clouded with the weight of his father's words. He could see his grandfather now—Ameer had started small, but the business had flourished when customers began requesting imported goods. Ameer had taken a risk, moving into import-export with just a few items, but it had paid off. The shop had eventually expanded into a business empire.

They moved on to the first house—a modest home in Overport, in a predominantly Muslim area. The house still stood, though it had been renovated several times. Hassan stood in front of it, his gaze soft. "This is where your grandfather lived, where I grew up, where he built the foundation of this family's strength."

Zayd felt the pressure of the words weighing on him as they stood there. He couldn't help but think about his own role in carrying this forward. What if he wasn't ready?

Layla, meanwhile, was distant, as always. Her phone buzzed again, a silent reminder of the unfinished business in Paris. She stepped away from the group, her back turned, not wanting to explain herself again. Hassan watched her for a moment, but said nothing. He knew better than to push her now.

They continued their journey, visiting key spots in the city—small places that had meant so much to the family. But Hassan's body was growing weaker with each stop, and the weight of his words hung in the air. This wasn't just a trip down memory lane for him—it was his way of passing on a legacy that now felt too heavy for him to bear.

"Remember," he said softly to them, as they stood at the last site, a silent memorial to their father's journey. "He built this with faith and hard work. It's not just about business—it's about who we are, who we've always been."

Zayd nodded, though the weight of the responsibility already felt too much to bear. Layla, still lost in her phone, didn't say a word.

Hassan looked at his children one last time, his heart heavy with a silent truth they couldn't yet see: his time was running out. This was his way of giving them a glimpse of what was to come.