Naina

"Why did you stop praying, Naina?"
Zayne's voice was laced with curiosity and concern.

I returned his gaze. It was ironic, really. I had once fought tooth and nail against Advik's family when they pressured me to convert to Christianity, clinging fiercely to the foundations of my faith. Yet here I was, having relinquished the one practice that had anchored me through life's storms—namaz. The ritualistic movements, the cadence of familiar words, the profound peace that enveloped me after laying my soul bare in prayer; I stayed away from it all.

But perhaps that was the crux of it, wasn't it? The very essence of what had once brought me solace had become a source of turmoil. "I don't feel like praying anymore," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you angry at Allah for what... what happened to you? Because you ended up with me instead of him?" Zayne's question was blunt, piercing through the veil of my thoughts. I hadn't anticipated such a direct question from him.

I shook my head, the words caught in my throat as I wrestled with the emotions swirling inside me. "It isn't that," I finally managed to say. "I'm not angry at Allah."

What I was feeling was something far more complex—an unsettling mix of fear and guilt that clung to me like a shroud. I had betrayed the essence of my beliefs in so many ways, especially with Advik. Each moment we had shared felt like a transgression, a departure from the values I once held dear. And what I had done to myself in the immediate aftermath. I was terrified that maybe I had broken the rules and that I was beyond redemption.

"I feel scared," I admitted, my voice trembling slightly.

Zayne frowned, an expression of concern etched on his face. "Pray with me and see how you feel. If you still feel scared afterward, you don't have to..." he offered softly, his tone gentle yet insistent.

I felt a flutter of apprehension in my chest. The thought of facing Allah again, of confronting the turmoil within me, felt daunting. I had grown accustomed to hiding from my faith, shielding myself from the weight of my guilt and fear.

But there was something reassuring about Zayne's presence. I took a deep breath as Zayne began to unfold the prayer mats.

He placed his mat in front of him, positioning mine behind and to his right.

As he settled onto his mat and directed his gaze toward the Qibla, I felt a mix of nerves and nostalgia wash over me. The familiarity of the movements, stirred memories of peace I had long forgotten.

I hesitated for a moment, my heart racing, before solidifying my resolve to try.

"Audhubillah min al shaytaan ir rajeem," Zayne's voice filled the air with solemnity, the Arabic phrase a powerful invocation seeking refuge from Satan. I silently repeated it in my mind, my heart racing.

"Bismillah al rahman al rahim," he continued, invoking the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. But as those words hung in the air, a flicker of doubt ignited within me. I questioned whether I had strayed too far from His mercy. But also, how could He be the embodiment of compassion when He had prescribed punishments for the transgressions similar to what I had committed?

A tremor coursed through my body, and I fought to anchor myself, focusing intently on the rhythmic flow of the Arabic prayers, desperately trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling into darkness.

"Sami'a Allaahu liman hamidah," Zayne said, guiding us through the prayer, and I instinctively lifted my shaky hands to my ears, responding with "Allaahumma Rabbana laka'l-hamd."

"Subhanallah, subhanallah, subhanallah," I chanted, the repetition soothing my frayed nerves as the familiar words slipped effortlessly from my tongue.

As we reached the conclusion of the prayer with the dua, "Rabbana aatina fid-dunya hasanataw wa fil-aakhirati hasantaw wa qina 'adhaaban Naar," I felt the embrace of our collective supplication, as we prayed for goodness in this world and the next, protection from the torment of the Fire.

Then came the moment I had both anticipated and dreaded—the short self-prayer. All my life, I had sought forgiveness, guidance, and acceptance of God's will. But now, standing on the precipice of introspection, I hesitated. I craved guidance, yes, but forgiveness and the acceptance of what had transpired felt insurmountable.

I longed to turn back time, to rewrite the narrative of pain and regret that had unfolded. I wanted to alter the choices that led me here, to change what Advik had done to me and what I had recklessly done to myself. The memories of simpler days, when laughter and love between us flowed freely, haunted me—an echo of what had once been and could never be again.

Advik watched me intently as I folded up my prayer mat and gently removed the hijab I wore during namaz.

"Do you pray for us, princess?" he asked, a playful smile dancing on his lips.

I shook my head but smiled at him.

His expression shifted, a frown creasing his brow. "What do you pray for, then?"

"Forgiveness, guidance and acceptance," I replied, my voice stead. "What about you? Do you pray for us?"

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "I don't really believe much in praying. If there is a God, I doubt He would be concerned with the mundane details of my life." His laughter rang out, but it felt hollow, as if he were trying to mask a deeper uncertainty.

I lifted my brows in surprise. "If there is a God? Adi! What do you do when you go to church every Sunday? Aren't you praying?" The confusion in my voice was palpable. I knew he wasn't particularly religious. But he attended church regularly and I never thought that he would question the existence of God.

He shrugged nonchalantly, the weight of his beliefs evident in the way he dismissed my question. "Yeah, but I'm not really sure about it. If God is all good, then why is there so much evil in the world? Why do bad things happen to good people?"

I paused, the question striking a chord deep within me. "I don't know. But that's for Him to know and for us to accept," I replied. I truly believed that life was a dance between free will and fate.

"Come here and I'll tell you what I believe in," he urged, his voice softening as he pulled me into his arms, rolling over me so that I was beneath him.

I wouldn't ask for acceptance. I wouldn't seek forgiveness. I had once believed wholeheartedly that I would spend my life with Advik, that our intimacy was a bond sanctioned by God himself. But now, questions gnawed at me like insatiable shadows.

Why had God brought us together if He hadn't wanted us to be united? When I had prayed for guidance throughout my life, why had He led me down the path to Advik? Why should I ask for forgiveness when I felt so utterly abandoned? I no longer trusted Him to protect me, but if He didn't, then who would?

Zayne's firm hand on my shoulder broke through the chaos in my mind. I looked up at him, but he was a blurry figure in my tear-filled vision. I wiped my eyes, shaking my head in a desperate attempt to regain composure, tears cascaded down my cheeks like a torrential downpour.

Zayne guided me to the bed, holding me close, offering silent support with no questions asked. His presence soothed my jumbled thoughts, and I welcomed the quiet, the space to simply be.

When my tears finally began to subside, he spoke softly. "Naina, I'm sorry if I pushed you too soon into something you weren't ready for."

I shook my head, a wave of guilt crashing over me. Poor Zayne. Poor, poor Zayne. How had I pulled him into my mess?

"I'm sorry, Zayne. I'm so sorry." The words spilled out, heavy with regret. If there was anyone I could trust, it was him. I wiped my tears away, desperate to convey my sincerity.

"Zayne, I don't think Allah loves me," I confessed, my voice trembling. I knew I sounded like a child, but as my eyes found his, he smiled gently at me, as if to reassure me.

"Allah loves all of us," he began, his tone soothing. "He knows our deepest, darkest secrets. He understands our intentions and motives. He sees our actions..." But I interrupted him, the floodgates of my heart opening once more.

"Why are children dying from cancer? Why are there wars? Why is evil winning? Why... why did Adi hurt me when..." My words broke into a sob, though my heartbreak felt insignificant compared to the enormity of the world's suffering. I looked down at my hands, trembling.

"Naina, I don't know the answers to all your questions," Zayne replied softly, rubbing my upper back with his palm. "But I do know this: Allah has a plan. He looks out for people with good intentions. He has given us free will to choose what we do with our lives, and some people choose evil. We may not see the big picture in our lifetime, Naina, but Allah sees everything that is happening, everything that has happened, and everything that is to come. Seek His guidance, His protection. Ask Him for forgiveness and strength. Live your life the way you believe is right. He sees you, Naina. He knows you. And He knows... he knows Advik." His voice broke, and I looked up to meet his gaze.

"I love you, Naina, but Allah loves you more. You have to believe that He loves you," he said softly, cupping my face in his hands.

I swallowed hard, almost believing him. I wanted to believe again that I was protected, that I was loved. But how could I? I wiped my tears, trying to gather the pieces of my shattered faith. I missed that sense of certainty that came with faith - that everything would be okay.

"We haven't eaten..." I said, attempting to change the topic, shifting the focus away from the depths of my turmoil.

Zayne nodded, a small smile breaking through the heaviness of the moment. "Do you want to go out or order in?" he asked, his voice lightening the atmosphere.

"You know that dosa place we used to go to in first year that closed down during COVID?" I suggested, a flicker of nostalgia lighting up my face. "Idli vada sambar"

Zayne's eyes sparkled with recognition. "Yes! I loved that place."

I couldn't help but laugh at Zayne's enthusiasm; his passion for food was infectious. "They have opened up again, and I was meaning to go there with you," I admitted, feeling a warmth spread through me.

His smile softened, turning tender as he placed his lips gently on my forehead.

I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort wash over me, and I circled my arms around him, drawing him closer, relishing the feeling of being cared for, of being loved.

If Zayne could love me so freely, perhaps Allah could too.

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Thank you for reading.

Remember that you are amazing, and there is a reason for everything. You are going to be okay.
❤️Faiza