Hearts Anointed

10

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The room was cloaked in stillness, the faint chill of late autumn lingering in the air. Outside, the world was still wrapped in pre-dawn darkness, with only the barest suggestion of light beginning to creep along the horizon, muted by the heavy curtains.
Her alarm hadn't gone off yet, but her body instinctively stirred, her internal clock already attuned to the rhythm of Fajr prayer.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand. 5:15 a.m. With a small stretch and a quiet dua, she rose, padding softly to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and performed her ablution with practiced ease, the cool water refreshing her senses. Moments later, she stood on her prayer mat, the faint rustle of her hijab the only sound in the serene stillness.

The peace of Salah enveloped her, each movement grounding her more firmly in the present. After finishing her supplication, Fayrouz reached for her Quran. This was her favorite time of day—a quiet moment to connect, reflect, and prepare her heart before the world intruded.

The soft rustling of pages accompanied her recitation as she immersed herself in the familiar verses. Outside, the sky began its subtle shift, hues of indigo giving way to pale gold. By the time she set the Quran aside, her room was bathed in the first gentle light of dawn.

She glanced at her phone again. It was still early, but Fayrouz knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. A morning stroll sounded like a good idea—Edinburgh's streets were especially tranquil at this hour, the city not yet fully awake.

Rising, she gathered her towel and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. The warm water chased away the lingering chill of the morning, leaving her refreshed. Back in her room, she dressed simply but warmly, wrapping a neutral-toned scarf snugly around her head. The late-autumn breeze in Edinburgh was sharp, even in the mornings.

As she prepared to leave, her phone buzzed with a notification. Pausing mid-step, she reached for it. Her brows furrowed slightly as she read the email from the clinic:

Subject: Therapist Reassignment Request

Dear Dr. Fayrouz,
This is to inform you that Salman Abdulmanan has requested a change of therapist. He cited no issues but expressed a preference for a male therapist moving forward. Kindly let us know if there are any notes you'd like to provide before we process the reassignment.

Fayrouz blinked, rereading the message. She had received transfer requests before, but this... this one stung in a way she hadn't anticipated. Salman had never given her the impression that he was unhappy with her guidance. If anything, they'd had a pleasant and candid interaction at the wedding yesterday.

Her thoughts drifted unbidden to his smile from the day before, the warmth in his eyes when they spoke. He hadn't seemed distant or dissatisfied then. So why now?

Setting her phone down, Fayrouz slipped on her jacket and shoes, trying to shake off the unease the message left behind. The air outside would clear her mind. She needed to walk, to think, to piece together why this request bothered her more than it should.

The crisp morning air brushed against her cheeks as she stepped outside, Edinburgh's cobblestone streets cloaked in a faint mist. Fayrouz pulled her scarf tighter, her steps slow and steady. The email lingered in her mind, a faint thread tugging at her thoughts despite her best efforts to focus on the serene surroundings.

Why now? Her shoes clicked softly against the stones as her mind sifted through possibilities. Salman's sessions had been progressing well—or so she thought. His openness, though gradual, had felt genuine. And yesterday... yesterday had been different.

She tightened her scarf against the breeze, her breath forming small clouds in the chill. As a therapist, she had learned that clients often requested changes for reasons they didn't always articulate—comfort, unresolved emotions, or something entirely unrelated to therapy.

But this felt different. Personal.

Her thoughts flickered back to the wedding: his jokes, the ease in their conversation, the way he had seemed... present. Whatever prompted the request hadn't shown itself then. Had she misread something?

Fayrouz paused by a small park bench, her fingers brushing the cold iron as she rested briefly. You're overthinking it, she told herself, exhaling a measured breath. It wasn't unusual for her to second-guess situations like this, especially when the answers weren't immediately clear.

Still, the question lingered: Had she crossed an unspoken boundary? Or had something shifted in him overnight?

Her fingers grazed the phone in her pocket, tempted to reread the email, but she resisted. The city's stillness felt sacred, a better opportunity to ground herself than to spiral into unnecessary speculation. She could analyze the situation later, when her mind was clearer.

With a deep breath, Fayrouz resumed her walk, her pace quickening slightly. Whatever Salman's reasons, she would respect them. But the faint tug of unease remained, trailing behind her like the mist that clung to the edges of the street.

If nothing else, she thought, this was a reminder: no matter how much a therapist observes and analyzes, people remain mysteries. Salman, it seemed, was no exception.

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