Rabiya 

A bristle of wind swept through the cotton of her salwar kameez (traditional Bengali dress), an ensemble of minty green, illusions of vines wrapping up her waist and pink blossoming buds springing to life. The small, simple designs engulfed her outfit in a mass of green, a nurturing color to emulate the coming of seasons, the dawn of a new era, the dissipating sorrows that leaked from the skies. 

Rain showered the lands for weeks, very typical of her country's weather. Rabiya often found herself staring into the thundering storms, the howling of vicious winds, and the massive floods that ran through dirtied roads. There was something peaceful about the weeping of the world, something sweet, something bitter. When the crackling skies burst into a series of whooshing falls and trembling roars, she found every aspect of life reflecting back at her, the reminder that her calamities would pass and the sun would once again rise.

Perhaps that was the reason why rain was praised in Islam. Allah gave Muslims a sign through nature that all their duaas (small prayers) would be accepted under a drizzling sky. These soft whispers of breeze, these gentle passings led to a greater destination, a better home, a new beginning. 

Rabiya brought her legs to her chest, heat thumping at the rhythm of the whimpers of a clamorous rainfall. Slowly, tears began to well her eyes, breath short in abrupt pants. her chest ripped like the thunder, hurt like the stabs of water piercing into her skin as she sat on the steps of her grandfather's estate, his legacy in ruins behind her. 

Ya Allah, she pleaded, eyes ripe with grief. Save me from my misery. I am only but a living corpse as my family collapses under my touch. Only Your love can set me free. Only You can ease this agonizing ache. Save me, Allah, because I fear I may crumble into insanity.

The shackles of her mind chained her to an alluring desire, the need to be at the hands of another, the longing to be wrapped in his embrace, to feel the soft press of his lips and body. A cry escaped her lips as her body trembled. She desired love from a man in her waking hours of grief. 

How could she be so pathetic? 

Rabiya sent that forsaken letter to the son of a man who sought to eradicate her family's existence. Instead of grieving with her family, she fell into the devil's trap, into his greedy claws. Guilt trickled her skin like a sticky sap, gluing to her skin. No matter how hard she scrubbed at the feeling, it only intensified, and Rabiya was helpless against it. 

Her tears merged with the rain, her repentance growing with spring. The blossoming of love between Adar and Rabiya was only a test from Allah. She had to stay strong or else he'd charm her into oblivion. Although Rabiya accepted his feelings, she could not trust that he would do the right course of action.

She could not rely on him.

As her mother always said, Allah was the Creator of all things, and only Allah could change the course of fate and destiny. When there was no one to turn to, there would always be Allah. For that reason, she only relied on Him. 

If Adar is the man You decreed for me, make a path for us, she prayed, but if he is a man much more harmful to me, put obstacles between us.

Her thoughts fluttered into images of her childhood, the warmth of her uncle's embrace, the ease in her grandfather's voice. She dwelled on the past, drowned her her memories. 

Like father like son, both men gave their life to those in need, even when the villagers gossiped behind their backs. Her uncle and grandfather were so fearless and full of generosity that they would give money to anyone to asked. If someone needed new clothes or more food, her family would always be at their doorsteps with more than what anyone could ever ask more. 

Wealth meant nothing amongst the smiling faces of orphan children and disabled people. Through their sacrifices, her uncle and grandfather built their legacy in a village shrouded under the veil of animosity. They crafted a small business of herbs, fruits, livestock, and fish. Never did her family ever let the opinions of other bother them. 

"Rabiya, if someone treats you as their inferior, remember that they will have to answer for their actions on the Day of Judgement," her grandfather softly said when she felt tormented by her peers. "Allah will give them what they deserve, but do not ever fall into the same patterns as those who are led astray."

A shuddering breath escaped her. 

"Take care of your mother and grandmother," he sadly smiled the day before he was taken to the hospital. "They need you in ways that you will not understand until you grow older."

Her eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't cry. Your tears hurt me more than anything else," he whispered, voice so soft that she barely heard him. "Please, don't weep for me."

Rabiya screamed at the same time that another clap of thunder lit the sky, outlining the estate in a blinding light amidst the darkness, just another strife to a wounded sky, another tear to a broken world. 

A hand flew to her mouth, muffling the anguished cries that filtered into the sticky air. Her heart lurched, threatening to jump out and fall at her feet. Blood rushed to her ears, a deafening noise that took her away from the present and into fragmented memories, one after another. 

After everything that occurred, nothing tortured her more than the death of those she loved the most. As the rain continued to pour, Rabiya drifted somewhere far from reality, and she couldn't find the strength to escape. 

* * * * 

"Rabiya," whispered the husky voice she knew too well. "I'm here."

She stirred, tired eyes blinking away her fatigue. Her eyes burned, an aftermath of crying for hours on end, a result of her suffering. As she adjusted to her surroundings, her eyes fell across the man who swore to love her, the forbidden fruit of her existence, the handsome young man of the village. 

"Adar," she whispered, rising up and fixing her hijab. Fortunately, her hijab stayed wrapped around her head with only the exception of a few stray hairs, which she quickly tucked away. Her brows furrowed. "Why are you here?" 

His shirt was soaked, rain pattering against his back as his pale shirt clung to his front, hence outlining the his rigid muscles, rough, haggard, and strong. Adar's silky hair stuck to his forehead, glistening water dripped down his jaw and fell into the seam of his lips. Gentle, dark eyes stared at Rabiya with such fondness that she stood immobilized for a second, basking in the glow of his princely appearance. 

Lower your gaze, she chastised herself as she averted her eyes elsewhere, wrapping her arms around herself. He will only cause you pain.

"Rabiya," he softly spoke, voice deep with yearning and husky with compassion. "Why are you here all alone? Don't you realize how dangerous this estate has become?"

"I wanted to be alone."

"Why?"

She bit her lip, unable to find her voice. "Please, leave," she choked, turning away. He would never be good for her, not in this life or the next. Unless Allah made a path for them, they had no future. 

With no words, he sat a couple feet away from her, maintaining his distance. The weather gently pattered amongst the metal tins, striking them with a fiery of taunts, a press for more. The droplets rolled down metallic, rusting walls, slipping into the abyss of flooding. 

Adar made no movement or inclination to speak. Instead, he gave her space and distance, room for her to explore her horizons without fear of pressure or sin. Rabiya noticed the stillness of his form, the serenity of his dark eyes, a beckoning to an eternity with him if she fully accepted his proposal. 

He showed no signs of anger or despair towards her. Patiently, Adar dropped his gaze to the rose on his lap, the token that Rabiya returned with a regretful apology. She admitted her love, but she stood for her deen (religion). 

She would not step into a realm of temptation and lustful whispers, nor would she sacrifice her purity at the hands of disobedience. Shaytan (satan) was a compelling force, a patient mastermind to lead her astray, to lead her into the depths of her emotions without the sanctuary of marriage. 

Rabiya could not lose her faith, not when she relied on it the most. The key to her heart could not be easily taken from her. She guarded her chastity with pride. She protected her modesty with diligence. No man would take those parts of her away.

Yet, her heart betrayed her as she willed a glance at him again, willed herself to yearn for him just once more. 

There sat a man unlike any other, a man of kindness and honesty. His alluring brown eyes emulated the bark of nature that shrouded her village, the overbearing force that defied all others. Ambition lined his path, gold with persistence and piety. Before all else, Allah would always be first. Before all that he was destined to become, he prayed to Allah. 

In such filth, could this type of man truly exist? Did Allah protect him all these years from the sinful and immoral behavior of those who brought him into the world? 

Adar's lips curved into a slight smile. "I sense deep contemplation from you," he said sly as a fox, leaning back against his hand. Black, wet hair flew droplets at the movement. "Tell me what ails you."

"N-Nothing."

"Then," he began slowly, gazing at her heatedly, "would you allow me to speak of my own sorrows?"

It couldn't hurt to listen. Rabiya nodded against her better judgment. 

"I know you're scared. I know you're grieving. After everything my family did, I don't deserve your mercy, nor do I deserve your love," he said honestly, sadness etching into his voice.

Rabiya's heart ached, pounding against her chest as her blood vigorously pulsed through her veins. Her thoughts clamored against her skull until his loving voice overwhelmed her senses. His ardor infiltrated the gates to her mind, surrounding Rabiya in the a sanguine mist. 

Adar chuckled humorlessly, rubbing the stress from his forehead. "Truly, I'm the biggest fool in existence to think that you'd ever love me. Your letter was clear of your intentions. Whatever I thought we had is insignificant. You have your own life, one that is far brighter than mine, and I would never take it away from you."

"Wait," she interrupted, brows furrowing. "You came here to apologize to me?"

"Yes," he admitted. "You returned the rose, so... I thought it meant you refused me because of who I am."

"Adar, you know that we can't do this. You and I come from families that are far too divided now."

His eyes glowed, tears welling in them as he straightened before her. "How do you know, Rabiya? How do you know that your heart does not yearn for mine? I came to understand why. Please, if there is nothing else, give me this. Give me the truth," he begged earnestly. His voice broke with every word, his breath hitched with every syllable like a man desperate for his beloved.

She could not answer his question because she also had no idea how to interpret how she felt. "How did you find me?" she asked, barely above a whisper. 

His shoulders dropped. "I come here to think at times."

"You do?"

He nodded, looking up to the thundering sky. "In the wake of destruction, people can derive inspiration. Sitting here like this gives me a moment of reflection about myself and everything that I plan on leaving behind," said Adar before he faced her once more with crystal eyes and a sad smile. "If you are not here, then I have nothing for me in this village."

The drumming against her chest only intensified in rhythm, a constant beat resonating through her bones, vibrating through her nerves until she was senseless to his genuine confession. Her ears listened closely, eyes savoring the moment as if her memory alone could capture the flooding of her heart mixed with the showering skies. 

"Adar-"

He shook his head, placing the rose between them. "I should go," he whispered dejectedly as he stood. "It will always be a pleasure to be in your company."

Something snapped in Rabiya. "Wait!" she exclaimed, abruptly standing. "Don't go, please. I-I beg you."

Adar stayed unnaturally still like a statue. "Why should I stay?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Because I-I love you as w-well," she shuddered. 

"But you gave me the rose back," he trailed off, visibly confused. "If you love me then why return it?"

"I-I'm scared," whimpered Rabiya, feeling the tension ease as she spoke of her fears. "Look at where we stand, Adar. Look at everything that has been stripped away from me at the hands of people that share your blood. If we pursue each other, we will only cause pain and suffering. Our love cannot withstand reality."

His fists clenched, jaw strained, yet he said nothing. Silence stretched between them, and Rabiya could not stand a second of it. She hated his silence, hated his passive approach to her words. From his rigid posture, she knew he felt an impulse to speak. 

Rabiya continued to press him. "You think this is easy for me, Adar? You think I enjoy turning you away? This is the world we live in, one marred with misfortune and heartbreaks, one that is tainted by the echoes of war. A love as fragile and new as ours would only break at the first signs of hardships. We cannot be husband and wife, not like this."

"You do not know!" he yelled, unable to restrain himself. Anger flared from his dark eyes, foreboding and furious like glowing coals burning through the night. "I asked for a chance, Rabiya, yet you are letting hypotheticals control you, letting your doubts mark your path. Is loving me so repulsive that you cannot even spare me a time of day?"

"That is not true!" she pleaded. "Adar, please."

The thunder roared, so loud that it seemed like the sky shattered into pieces, fragile as glass. The crackling of rain continued its onslaught on her grandfather's estate, a prime example of both their turmoil. Streams of excessive water carried splintered wood out the estate. Bright flashes of lightning clashed with the darkened atmosphere, highlighting the crevices of Adar's gloomy visage.

"Adar," she whimpered once more with tears escaping her already swollen eyes. 

"Tell me," he said, voice void of emotion. She couldn't see his expression in the shadows. "Is loving me such a pain that you cannot give me a chance to prove my devotion, to show that I would do everything to protect and cherish you? Am I too tainted for you?"

"This is wrong," she croaked. "You know this is wrong of us."

"It's not wrong to fall in love."

"But our families-" she tried.

"They do not decide your future," he fiercely argued. "Only you have control over your life, Rabiya. Only you have the right to reject or accept proposals. Only you write the history of your story."

She fell against the stone pillar, legs losing their strength as her body heaved with sobs. "N-No. The village will k-kill us. They will hurt you, A-Adar," she cried into her palms. "Please, don't love me. Their h-hatred will hurt you."

He knelt before her, gaze softening. "Are you afraid of the village harming me?" asked Adar, voice gentle and sweet like a honeysuckle, taut with affection. 

She nodded, pain erupting at the thought of his bloodied body marking her family's home. 

He inhaled deeply. "Listen to me, Rabiya," he murmured. "This village is not for us. Regardless of what has happened, you do not belong here. One day, the next person they target will be you."

"W-Why?"

"Because you are your family's most precious heir. The easiest way to hurt your family is through hurting you. Just as you fear for my life, I fear for yours. Please, give me the chance to at least prove myself to you, to give us a better life."

The obvious decision rang like bells in her head. "You have to ask for my hand," she whispered as she calmed her hitched breaths.

"I will."

"You have to convince my family and I that you are not like the other villagers."

"I will. I'll do anything."

As Rabiya stared deep into his eyes, she felt safe in his gaze, comforted by his promise. This man would do anything for her love, even if the stars and moon collapsed, he would chase after her with the might of an army. He would follow her through every calamity regardless of how it affected him. 

Adar was blinded by his love, and Rabiya was helpless by hers. 

"I'm scared," she confessed again, fear crawling up her spine. "This is dangerous to pursue."

"Shh," he comforted, placing a finger to his lips. "Do not fear anyone but Allah."

"My father will say no."

"And I will continue to ask until he says yes," he smiled.

"The villagers will make you an outcast."

"And I will gladly accept the title as long as I have your love," he said, refuting all her doubts with gracious sentiments. 

No matter how hard Rabiya pushed him away from her, she still managed to find herself back in his presence. The way he gazed at her made her heart swell, made her see a future where she longer spent her nights alone to her grief. 

Oh Allah, protect him. Let me marry this man one day.

----

Just going to clarify for the haraam police, they're not going to secretly kiss or run away together. He was asking for her permission to court her aka to ask for her hand. I swear, I was writing this and paused for a minute to think of the "haraam" comments AS IF FALLING IN LOVE DOESN'T EXIST. 

Falling in love isn't wrong, but pursuing it without marriage is. 

Anyway, I'm at home writing instead of at Prom because it's Ramadan and I'd rather pray Taraweeh. What did you guys think of Adar courting Rabiya?

Don't forget to vote, comment, and follow!