Between Wealth and Worship

Chapter 6: The Unseen Illness

It was rare, these days, to find Hassan and Mariam alone. With the children scattered across the house or off with their own pursuits, it felt like a quiet moment in a storm that was always brewing beneath the surface. Hassan sat at the kitchen table, sipping his tea, his gaze distant as he stared out at the garden. Mariam, always observant, noticed the weariness in his posture, the faint dark circles under his eyes that had not been there before.

She set down the plate she had just wiped clean and joined him at the table, her voice soft but direct. "You've been distant lately," she said. "The trip yesterday... visiting all those old places, the first shop, the first house. It's not like you to reflect on the past like that. What's going on, Hassan?"

Hassan's eyes flickered toward her, his lips pressing into a thin line. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken words. Mariam's heart tightened as she waited for him to answer. She had always known when something was wrong. Hassan had a way of carrying burdens that no one else could see, but she had come to know his signs—subtle shifts in his demeanor, the absence of his usual energy.

Finally, Hassan set his cup down, his hands trembling slightly, and met her gaze. "I have cancer, Mariam."

The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud. Mariam's breath caught in her throat, her face paling as she leaned back in her chair. "Cancer?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "How long have you known?"

Hassan's face softened with a quiet sadness. "A while. The doctors gave me a year at most, maybe less."

The words felt like a punch to Mariam's chest, a devastating truth that had been hiding right before her eyes. Her hand instinctively reached out, grasping his, but Hassan pulled away gently, his eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and resolve.

"Mariam, I need you to promise me something," he said, his voice steady, though his hands were anything but calm. "You cannot tell the children. Not yet."

Her eyes filled with tears, but she nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Hassan... how can I keep this from them? They deserve to know."

He shook his head. "Not yet. I don't want them to see me like this. Let them remember me as I was—strong, full of life, before they know the truth. There's... there's too much at stake."

Mariam sat in stunned silence, absorbing the weight of his request. He was asking her to carry this burden alone, to shield their children from the truth. But she understood, in that moment, that Hassan had made his peace with the situation. He had chosen to face it with quiet dignity, keeping his illness hidden, even from the people who loved him most.

"I will respect your wishes," she finally said, her voice heavy with sorrow. "But you can't do this alone, Hassan. We'll get through this together."

For the first time in days, Hassan allowed himself a small, faint smile. "I know. But for now, I need to focus on the future... on securing everything for the family."

Later that afternoon, Hassan met with his lawyer in the study, the room dim and quiet. The lawyer, an older man with graying hair and a calm demeanor, spread out several documents on the table.

Hassan sat across from him, his expression resolute. "I need to make preparations. The business needs to be sorted. I want to ensure everything is in order for the children... for the future of the Siddiqi legacy."

The lawyer nodded, his pen poised over the legal documents. "Understood. We'll draft the will to ensure everything is handled according to your wishes. But there are matters to consider regarding the family business—"

Hassan cut him off, his voice sharp. "The business must remain intact. The values we've built must remain at the core. My children may not understand it now, but they will—once I'm gone."

The lawyer paused, sensing the finality in Hassan's tone. "And the inheritance? Shall we distribute it in the way that's outlined in your previous drafts, or are there any changes?"

Hassan's eyes darkened, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath the surface. "No changes. It must follow the same path—the Islamic way. They will understand... eventually."

That evening, after the meeting, Hassan sat in the study alone, contemplating his legacy. He knew he didn't have much time left, but he wanted to make sure his family understood the weight of his decisions. He needed them to see the bigger picture, the importance of family unity, faith, and the values that had built the Siddiqi empire from nothing.

His thoughts then turned to something he had been planning for weeks—a trip for the entire family to Makkah. A journey to perform Umrah, something he had always dreamed of doing with his children.

Despite everything, despite the illness that was slowly taking him, Hassan's heart yearned for a final chance to bring his family together in a meaningful way.

He picked up the phone and dialed the travel agent. "Book it," he said quietly. "We're going to Makkah, soon."

That night, as Hassan lay in bed, Mariam beside him, he closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. The path ahead was uncertain, but he knew one thing for certain: he had to make the most of the time he had left. He would ensure that the legacy of Ameer Siddiqi lived on, and that his children would be ready to carry it forward—even if they didn't understand it now.

For Hassan, this was the most important task he could leave behind. His family would learn to navigate their future, with all its struggles and triumphs, just as he had. And in that, he would find peace.