My Qadr

One

Edited:
2nd May 2020

********

When Farrah woke up to a call that morning, she almost cursed at the person on the other side. In her post-fajr haze of sleep, she just wanted to be left alone to savour her sweet, sweet oblivion.

Luckily for her, her home-training and identity as a Muslim, who shouldn't be found saying all the foul words she had trapped in her mouth, stopped her. And was she lucky that they did...

Farrah picked the call, and was instantly rejuvenated. Neither her father who'd gone to work, nor any of her classmates from college would be speaking to her in such a formal, calm manner. She pulled the phone from her ears, staring at the contact with clearer eyes now. Unknown number, it said.

Unknown, meaning unsaved. Meaning a potential call-back for an interview. Farrah sat up straighter, smoothing her hair down and her clothes right as if the person on the other end of the call could see her. She felt like they could.

The call was brief and to-the-point. Telling her she'd been called in for an interview at 8am the next morning, and that promptness was required of her. Farrah thanked the woman repeatedly, and hung up the phone. Beside her, Fareedah was peering at her curiously, the gossip.

"I got a call-back", she said the second she got off the call. Fareedah had the same look of confusion she'd had when she picked up the call, but soon Farrah was being tackled into the bed with a hug and scream. "Say wallah!"

"Wallah!", Farrah giggled, trying to heave Fareedah off of her.

"Stop crushing me. I need to call dad", Farrah said, still laughing, in one last attempt to get Fareedah off her. Her older cousin had ten pounds on her, and worked out more. Farrah could only beg. "Fine!", Fareedah huffed. "Call him".

Her call to her dad was as expected. He was happy enough for her that his voice had softened with what sounded like pride, but hesitant enough to not say much more other than an 'alhamdulillah'.

Maher, however was a different case. The second he stepped through the door, all muddy shoes and toothy smiles, Farrah told him she'd gotten an interview. She'd been thinking of waiting to tell him after she'd actually gotten the job, but had decided she'd rather use his approval as a motivation for her to do the best she could in her interview.

******
Farrah couldn't sleep the entire night. And by the time the roosters showed up to start their incessant screams at the world, she had already prayed and dressed up.

There was a spring in her steps as she slung her bag over her shoulders, appraising herself in the floor-length mirror. She stared herself through the gaze of the interviewer: 5'8 Muslim woman of African-American descent, well-dressed, confident stride with a barely noticeable limp in her left leg. Satisfied, Farrah set out quietly, trying not to wake anyone.

Her Uber was waiting for her out front; a luxury she hadn't enjoyed in so long. For all the positivity Farrah was projecting, the fourty-something year old man wanted none of it. Farrah slipped into the car quietly, saying a quick greeting as she did. The man answered her with some annoyed sound from deep in his chest. Farrah felt her irritation start to rise, but quickly quelled it. If she'd been the one to wake up at the crack of dawn, to drive to a shack-house down a muddy trail, she probably wouldn't be all too happy either.

The ride came to an end soon, thankfully, and she wired the grumpy man his money, and said a half-hearted 'thank you' to him.

***
Farrah silently prayed as she walked into the building. She tried not to feel too self-conscious, but couldn't help it. She was dressed in the most formal-looking gown she owned. Plain black, with a brown scarf and shoe to match; but everyone else wore suits. Farrah tried not to mind them, and walked towards the woman she'd dropped her resumé with the first time she'd come.