Love, me.

Your princess, Saffiyah

My darling husband,

The pain that came with losing you still shatters me completely. I look at our children and my heart clenches, seeing your habits, your character, your beautiful smile blossoming in them. It's been 3 years since you've left me, but the love in my heart is still alive, its lustre brighter than the 15th moon. Tonight is the night that our baby boy turns 3. Tonight is the anniversary of the night you left me. Tonight, Abu Layth sent a marriage proposal for me. I thought about it long and hard before coming to my decision. I thought about our marriage, those beautiful 9 years together, about our children, so young and delicate.

I remember the first time I saw you. It was the gloomiest, most horrible winter's day. Thick, angry grey clouds spread across the horizon, rain poured from the angry sky, soaking me to the bone, and the icy air sent violent shivers through my body. I was caught in the retched storm, leaving the park with my father when I caught a glimpse of you. The first thought that crossed my mind was that you were insane. Bloody damn insane. You had the brightest smile on your face as you sat beneath a tree, munching happily on an apple. Under a tree. In a storm. You looked up and saw me staring and I looked away, hurriedly following my father.

The next time I saw you, you were sitting in my lounge wearing a crisp white thobe*, asking to marry me. I didn't recognise you until you smiled. It had always been that smile. We were married in less than a week and I still hadn't spoken more than the salaam to you. You were so handsome, with your curly black hair and light grey eyes.

After our nikaah*, your sister rushed me into a room and left, giggling to herself. I didn't know what was happening. What was I? 19 years old? I was so scared that I had done something wrong. I remember sitting on that chair, trembling with worry.

Suddenly, the door opened. That smile. You walked up to me confidently and asked me to pray with you. In sujood*, I cried to my Rabb*, thanking Him for you. I didn't know you, but the moment you asked me to pray with you, before anything else, I knew you'd lead me to Jannah*. Bilal, did you keep a place in Jannah for me?

You were so confident. So carefree. So loving. You let me be that night, didn't pressurize me into anything. You held me when I cried for my parents, mumbled sweet nothings. I loved you already. I can still see your sheepish grin, scratching the back of your neck as you explained that my bags had been loaded into your brother's car and were on their way to London. Again, it was that smile. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the news. You gave me your T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. I still sleep in those. They still smell like you.

Bilal, your scent, your sight, your everything is still in me. If I close my eyes hard enough, I can still imagine that you're here with me.

I was shy, getting used to the fact that it was halaal for you to hold me. You let me be. I think you loved me, too, already. We were so young. I went to sleep with my hijaab on. You didn't know that I was a light sleeper and I woke up to you trying to pull it off. I laughed at the absurdity of my husband trying to see my hair at 1am. You laughed, too, clearly embarrassed. Your cheeks were bright red when I hesitantly unwrapped the hijaab, letting my wild brown curls loose. You cried. I panicked. I was so tired. When I asked why you cried, you told me that I was perfect. I wasn't. I'm not. I told you that and you caught my hand, telling me that I was perfect. I was perfect for you.

Bilal, why'd you leave me? When I woke up crying in the middle of the night because of menstrual cramps, you'd wake up, too, and wipe the tears away. When I burnt the food and stressed about it being wasted, you insisted that it was fine and you'd eat it happily. When I felt like throwing a vase because I was pregnant at 20, you made me pray. I don't remember seeing you so happy.