Our Stormy Ride

*35 °Only You

Nadia

After the long taraweeh prayers, I remain seated in my spot to listen to the imam's du'as, as people begin to trickle out of the mosque. The imam's voice rings out loud and clear, now that a sound system has been made available, it's no longer a hassle trying to pick up his recitation from the back row. When Ramadan finally comes to end, I'm definitely going to miss these late night salaah, the admonitions, recitations and most of all, being in the midst of other muslims at such hours.

I stretch out my legs on the plush mats and run a hand through the soft fibers, glad for the warmth. Seeing as the weather gets unusually colder at night, I wonder if someone had noticed and decided to donate them  plus the new standing air cons that to cool the air during the dry afternoons.  It's like the mosque went through a makeover overnight with the help of a sponsor. May Allah reward you abundantly, whoever you are. Taking note of the time, I continue with my recitation till the clock strikes 11:30pm before heading out. I'm about to step out of the mosque when an elderly man approaches me.

Immediately recognizing him as one of the regulars, I greet him respectfully and wait to hear what he has to say. He points to the spot where the imam is sitting, and I notice Jamal is with him as well, both conversing in hushed voices.

"That young man over there is your husband, right?" He asks with a smile.

I reply politely, "He is, sir."

He nods slowly, and I start to ponder over the reason behind the question, while still waiting to see if he has more to say.

"Well, he's a wonderful man. BarakAllahu lakuma, I pray Allah continues to fill both of your hearts with love and rewards you abundantly." He takes my hand, and pats it before walking away.

His kind gesture leaves me feeling a bit puzzled, and at the same time, touched. I know most people would find it suspicious to have a random person making du'a for you, but his expression was so sincere that I couldn't have doubted his intentions.

I look back at the spot where Jamal and the imam were moments ago, but only the latter remains seated. As if he can feel my eyes on him, the imam turns his upper body a bit and smiles softly at me. I return the smile, bowing my head a little as a way of greeting and he acknowledges it with a nod before returning his attention to his previous task.

I guess Jamal must be outside then. With that, I make my way towards the door and step out into the cold night air. Grateful that the car is parked close-by, I walk towards it after noticing Jamal's form leaning against the car. His legs are crossed casually, with one hand dipped into the pocket of his sweatpants and the other scrolling through his phone. I'm barely ten steps away from him when he raises his head and smiles at me, as if he'd sensed my presence.

Sneaking up on him is something I doubt I'll ever be able to accomplish, and the few times I'd tried ended as epic fails. He'd always pretend to be distracted, only for him to turn around the second I'm about to claim victory, displaying that lazy smile of his. Nonetheless, I love how tuned in we are to one another, especially when we are in the midst of other people. It's like being in a crowd, but still able to catch one another's gaze or movements, and it's special sharing such a connection with someone.

I say my salaam and he replies, pulling his hand out of his pocket and stretching it out to me. I put mine in his and he draws me to his side, rubbing my arm absentmindedly as he types on his phone. We get curious stares as people walk by us, most of them taken aback by the PDA. I've gotten almost used to them, since Jamal never seems to have a problem with showing his affection in public, no matter how much I chide him for it and he tells me that such things are normal abroad. I guess he'll never understand how foreign and rare it here, even among married couples.