Him & His Muslimah

6

Zaib

"I told you I didn't want to pick up your phone. What in the world is wrong with you!?"

Zaib was fuming, his eyes wide and anxious before he chucked another sweet date into his mouth. Poor Zoya. She had no idea it was him when she blabbered and talked adorably. Zaib couldn't help but feel completely miserable.

"Okay bro, calm down. it's just a short phone call." Bilal gestured his hands up and down as if it would take away Zaib's erecting frustration.

"That was not just a phone call. I-" Zaib cut himself short of the sentence when he saw Bilal's confused expression. He wouldn't say it out loud. He just couldn't bring himself to.

Bilal waited expectantly for a couple of minutes for a valid explanation towards his outburst, but he was left disappointed. "Okay whatever it was, I hope you figure it out." Bilal started taking measured steps backwards towards the door.

"I'm gonna retire for the night; today was a long, hectic day, and I need to pick up Zoya early tomorrow morning."

"As salamu alaykum," Bilal announced, then headed out the door on his way to the color-coordinating furnished guest room.

Well, the entire house was admirable. Zaib's mother was a trend-setter, fortunately an experience one. She had pursued her dream and achieved a degree in interior designing. After professionally working for six to seven years, she retired to pledge all her time to her beloved family because they were her ultimate happiness. She never regretted it. Though, she still loved adorning her little home where Allah blessed her with more than she could thank.

Zaib shut the door as soon as Bilal left, then retreated to his bed and sat down, his head in his hands. "I can't do this," He mumbled before pinching the bridge of his nose in despair.

He was desperate to hear more of her, that pleasing sweet voice, spilling beautiful nonsense to him. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Every second which passed in her remembrance seemed wrong. He wasn't supposed to think of her at all.

The wise words she had spoken to her friend resulted in both their friends' happiness. He had just heard-barely seen- her the entire lengthy today, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. The phone call got his heart beating out of excitement, wonder and amusement.

The way she rambled on and on intrigued him immensely: was she always like that? If she was, how entertaining must it be to just talk to her? If he had the chance, he would do it for an entire day and night. Zaib's heart thunderously thudded against his chest. This was a feeling he was immune to. What was it about her?

Zaib was afraid, if Bilal hadn't asked him who had called, he may have just continued listening to her words spilling out with a silly smile on his face. How fascinating!

What was it about her though?

"Astaghfirullah."

He shook his head vigorously, an attempt to sway those tempting thoughts away. Shaytan wanted him to fantasize about her. Unluckily, Zaib was giving in! He was letting Shaytan defeat him: all because of the way she spoke.

No wonder there were numerous kinds of restrictions and boundaries in Islam; if there weren't, what would everyone have come to?

Zaib sighed, averting his mind from her. He had already prayed Isha, so the wise choice would be to set the Fajr alarm and let his soul wander for the night. He did just that.

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"As Salamu Alaykum Wa Rahmatullah.
As Salamu Alaykum Wa Rahmatullah."

First, Zaib turned his head to the right, reciting the divine Salam, then continued turning onto the left. Every Fajr Salah prayed congregated, lit an attaining freshness in Zaib's beating heart. The three tight knots bind together were untied and long gone the moment he had uttered, "Allahu Akbar'. Then it was him and his Lord in a lovely conversation. The conversation was as always blissful.