𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐫♡~

"Want me to read to you?" he asked,
voice barely above the hush of dawn.

She nodded, nestling closer.
So he began, the words spilling into the room, wrapping around them like silk.

"Wa min ayatihi an khalaqa lakum min anfusikum azwajan..."
(And of His signs is that He created for you from yourselves mates that you may find tranquility in them...)

Alya's lashes fluttered.

She could have lived a thousand lifetimes right there,
each one spent simply listening to this.

When he finally closed the mushaf,
he looked over at her with eyes so gentle

"You look like your heart is somewhere else," he teased,
thumb brushing her cheek.

"It's right here," she whispered.
"With you. With Him."

~

She didn't fall in love.
She fell into silence.
The kind that comes after you've cried so much, your tears forget how to fall.
The kind that lives in the space between heartbreak and healing.

Then came Zaid.

He didn't arrive like lightning.
He arrived like the adhan-soft, calling, certain.
He never looked too long.
He never said too much.

Alya didn't believe in fairy tales.
Not after the things she'd endured.
She had every reason to run
But when the proposal came
when he asked for her hand the way a believer should-
it wasn't her heart that said yes.
It was her sabr.

She said yes,
Not because she was ready.
Not because she wasn't scared.
But because something about him felt safe.
Not the kind of safe that promises no pain-
but the kind that holds your hand through it.

Their marriage wasn't fireworks.
It was healing in hushed tones.

He asked with intention.
She answered with trust.
And together,
They built a sanctuary with their Lord at the center-
Where Qur'an echoed louder than the world outside,
And love felt like sujood after a storm.

This isn't a story of falling in love.
It's a story of choosing love.
Of trusting Allah more than your fears.
Of a girl who thought she was too broken to be loved,
and a boy who believed healing begins at marriage.
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~♡