The cell phone started vibrating, pulling me from sleep. I reached for it, squinting against the bright screen, and set an alarm for thirty minutes later. Mornings were never my favorite.
Through the haze of early light, the sky glowed in golden hues, the sun and mist swirling together. The beauty of it all took my breath away. Who would have thought such magnificence could be created so effortlessly, except by Allah?
It was 6:00, and I realized I had missed my tahajjud. I rushed out of bed for my Fajr prayer, feeling a wave of relief wash over me as I finished my conversation with Allah. Rising from my prayer, I noticed everyone was awake. I hurried downstairs, tying my hair into a neat bun while preparing meals—sandwiches, a last-minute plan turned into an order.
"Assalamualaikum, Aunt," I greeted my stepmother. I didn’t want to call her "Mom" at all; she couldn’t even smell like one.
"Hmm... Is the breakfast ready?" she questioned, not exactly but to confirm whether I had made it.
"Yes, it's all on the table," I replied.
I prepared some hot chocolate for Haaniyah, then cleaned the house, dusting everything thoroughly. Once I was finished, I walked upstairs with two pieces of sandwich and opened the wardrobe. Selecting a dress was the hardest task of all in my daily routine. At last, I settled on a pink skirt, a sky-blue blouse, and a light yellow shawl—just a casual look for today.
I loved simple chains, though I only had one or two. I had plenty of dresses and footwear brought by my uncle, Mr. Abdul Haq, my mother’s elder brother from Dubai. He loved me more than a child, as he didn’t have one of his own. He never married because he lost the girl he loved since childhood in an accident, and he remains single. He always told me he dreamed of a baby girl who looked just like me, and he was the one who urged my mom to name me after her. He treated me more like a daughter than my dad ever did. He always wanted me to come to Dubai, but I’m waiting to finish my A-levels.
I walked to the bus stand even though Dad had a car. My aunt doesn’t want me to go, saying, 'It’s good for her health. Can’t she even walk to the bus stand?' I don’t know how her mom taught her, but I’m different. I don’t want to waste money... blah, blah, blah." i hate that stupid witch who always pull my mom to every fault.sometimes I feel to push her down and punch her on face, sabr says my heart
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HABIBI AND HABIBATI
Romansa"But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more." ― Hans Christian Andersen. You see? she laid her burdens down, And he just picked them up, Threw them over his shoulders, Reached for her hand, And boldly walked out, Into t...
