"I told you I didn't want to pick up your phone. What in the world is wrong with you!?"

Zaib was fuming, his eyes wide and anxious before he chucked another sweet date into his mouth. Poor Zoya. She had no idea it was him when she blabbered and talked adorably. Zaib couldn't help but feel completely miserable.

"Okay bro, calm down. it's just a short phone call." Bilal gestured his hands up and down as if it would take away Zaib's erecting frustration.

"That was not just a phone call. I-" Zaib cut himself short of the sentence when he saw Bilal's confused expression. He wouldn't say it out loud. He just couldn't bring himself to.

Bilal waited expectantly for a couple of minutes for a valid explanation towards his outburst, but he was left disappointed. "Okay whatever it was, I hope you figure it out." Bilal started taking measured steps backwards towards the door.

"I'm gonna retire for the night; today was a long, hectic day, and I need to pick up Zoya early tomorrow morning."

"As salamu alaykum," Bilal announced, then headed out the door on his way to the color-coordinating furnished guest room.

Well, the entire house was admirable. Zaib's mother was a trend-setter, fortunately an experience one. She had pursued her dream and achieved a degree in interior designing. After professionally working for six to seven years, she retired to pledge all her time to her beloved family because they were her ultimate happiness. She never regretted it. Though, she still loved adorning her little home where Allah blessed her with more than she could thank.

Zaib shut the door as soon as Bilal left, then retreated to his bed and sat down, his head in his hands. "I can't do this," He mumbled before pinching the bridge of his nose in despair.

He was desperate to hear more of her, that pleasing sweet voice, spilling beautiful nonsense to him. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Every second which passed in her remembrance seemed wrong. He wasn't supposed to think of her at all.

The wise words she had spoken to her friend resulted in both their friends' happiness. He had just heard-barely seen- her the entire lengthy today, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. The phone call got his heart beating out of excitement, wonder and amusement.

The way she rambled on and on intrigued him immensely: was she always like that? If she was, how entertaining must it be to just talk to her? If he had the chance, he would do it for an entire day and night. Zaib's heart thunderously thudded against his chest. This was a feeling he was immune to. What was it about her?

Zaib was afraid, if Bilal hadn't asked him who had called, he may have just continued listening to her words spilling out with a silly smile on his face. How fascinating!

What was it about her though?

"Astaghfirullah."

He shook his head vigorously, an attempt to sway those tempting thoughts away. Shaytan wanted him to fantasize about her. Unluckily, Zaib was giving in! He was letting Shaytan defeat him: all because of the way she spoke.

No wonder there were numerous kinds of restrictions and boundaries in Islam; if there weren't, what would everyone have come to?

Zaib sighed, averting his mind from her. He had already prayed Isha, so the wise choice would be to set the Fajr alarm and let his soul wander for the night. He did just that.

☆☆☆☆☆

"As Salamu Alaykum Wa Rahmatullah.

As Salamu Alaykum Wa Rahmatullah."

First, Zaib turned his head to the right, reciting the divine Salam, then continued turning onto the left. Every Fajr Salah prayed congregated, lit an attaining freshness in Zaib's beating heart. The three tight knots bind together were untied and long gone the moment he had uttered, "Allahu Akbar'. Then it was him and his Lord in a lovely conversation. The conversation was as always blissful.

He sat on the carpet with knees folded, raising his hands up and cupping them to make dua'a. Because what was prayer without dua'a?

"Ya Allah, please grant me, my family, relatives, friends and every sincere Muslim Jannah. Guide us to the Sirat al Mustaqeem and keep us there, for we long your forgiveness. Shower us with forgiveness and your mercifulness for you are our Al- Ghafur and Ar-Rahim. Bless our lives with peace and happiness. Open the hearts of everyone to the right way; let the blinded seek and find you.

Ya Allah, guide me when I seek your help; guide me when I'm at my worst; guide me when I'm most vulnerable. I love you, oh Lord of the heavens. You accept the repentance of those who repent, so I seek refuge from the Shaytan and ask your guidance. Forgive me if I have done anything wrong.

Ya Allah, grant me a woman who will take me to your Jannah, a woman I will reside in for comfort, a woman who will love you more than she loves me, a woman who will bring me closer to you. Ya Allah, accept my prayer and du'a and everything that they come with."

At the end of the du'a, Zaib felt a force of peace and guidance emerge a lightness in his chest, and tons of weight lifted off his shoulder as he felt a sensation of tranquility.

It was mind blowing how a prayer and du'a could fix so much in his heart for him. Zaib looked to his right, and he saw Bilal had done his Dua'a as well, getting up from his sitting position. Zaib followed behind.

Both the young men slipped on their shoes and journeyed back home.

☆☆☆☆☆

"Zaib, brother, you have already done so much for me. This is unnecessary," pleaded Bilal.

Zaib's eyes remained stern while he shook his head, then placed his hand on Bilal's shoulder insisting, "This is barely anything, it would be better if I drove you both home. Your motorcycle is at your house and it would be inconvenient for you both to travel on bus when you have me." He couldn't say her name. He needed to remain his calm, and restrict his brain from even thinking of her let alone utter her name.

Bilal eyed Zaib fiercely, then with hopelessness evident on his face, he reluctantly agreed to it because Zaib was a stubborn idiot.

☆☆☆☆☆

Even though, Zaib had been here just yesterday, he couldn't help but let himself explore the gorgeous work the architectures had maintained with the bungalow. They had themed it glamorously by using ancient and modern designing skills at the same very time. The main gate was massive, just like in the olden times where gates weren't so easy to climb, but as you entered, you could spot the modern patterns of embroidery on Windows and even the wall's smooth textures.

Zaib pulled the car in the driveway and they both exited, loud and heavy footsteps hitting the pavement as they made their way to the inside entrance. Bilal hurriedly jogged up to the door and rapped on it sharply.

Naimat's mother greeted them with a warm smile. "As slamu alaykum," she nodded at both of them to enter. "Wa alaykum asalam."

"How are you, young men?"

"Alhamdulillah, very well." Zaib smiled.

"Come in, the both of you. I sent Naimat to wake Zoya up a while ago. They'll be down soon." Mrs. Farooq opened the door wide and stepped aside, allowing both of them to enter.

Zaib and Bilal quietly followed Mrs. Farooq who surprisingly guided them to the overfull dining table. Zaib confusedly stared at Naimat's mother with green narrowed eyes, but he stayed silent.

Upon sensing Zaib's curiosity, Naimat's mother spoke up," Oh, you didn't think I'll let you both leave so easily, right? Come on, have breakfast with us!" Naimat's mom asked–well more like commanded them.

Zaib stayed put, but Bilal carelessly dug in as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him, of course it was, with Zoya and Naimat's families being very close. Zaib shyly stood frigid, but then gave in to the delicious pile of pancakes that were placed before him.

He munched a few bites from the tasteful pancake– surely, Mrs. Farooq's cooking was wonderful. Zaib froze when he heard a few booming giggles approaching from the direction of the long lasting stairs.

"Naim, how could Allah's sword be defeated and killed in a battle? Khalid Ibn Waleed was Allah almighty's sword. He couldn't have been a Shahid." It was her gentle voice spluttering words full of knowledge and elegance all over again. Secretly, Zaib smiled to himself averting his gaze to the half eaten pancake.

Her voice oozed of sincerity and nobility. It sounded so soft like a tiny bird humming or even singing. It mesmerized him.

Zoya and Naimat were soon visible to the ones looking their way, but Zaib didn't spare a glance. It was tempting, man. Zaib pinched his eyes shut and sat pained. He wanted to cut himself open and just look at her–just a glance! But he couldn't. He shouldn't. He didn't want to give into a desire and displease his Lord. Zaib would not look at her intentionally.

Zaib froze when he felt them approach the dining table. The chats had now suddenly stopped, and he found himself questioning. Why? Why won't she speak, so he could hear her velvety soft voice and just listen to her knowledge providing words. He was on the verge of completely losing it.

He couldn't hear or see anything else for a second and then a warning bell went off in his head. 'Astaghfirullah' he thought to himself.

He tried to focus on the food that he was eating as she approached the table.

Everything was awkwardly quiet for the next few minutes. Zoya and Naimat both greeted the people there. "As salamu alaykum." Zaib smiled. She had finally said something! Zaib and the others muttered the reply.

"How's my baby sister doing?" Bilal spoke up.

"Just fine," she bitterly muttered.

Zaib heard the audible displeasure in Zoya's words. She probably didn't like Bilal calling him his 'baby sister'; Zaib wanted to chuckle but he restrained himself by stuffing another bite of pancake into his mouth.

Naimat had already slid into a spot next to her mother, leaving Zoya a vacant seat in front of Zaib. Very reluctantly, after exchanging a few silent and meaningful glances with Naimat, she sat down. Zaib suddenly felt extremely nervous. The girl who he couldn't stop thinking about was right in front of him. How would he resist to look her way? He stuffed another munch of pancake into his dry mouth.

This was unbelievable!

Zoya fell really quiet and fidgety. But what had happened to the chatterbox he had viewed her as? Why wasn't she speaking and talking with all her intelligent words?

There were a few awkward moments of deafening silence. To Zaib's relief, Bilal suddenly broke the aggravating quiet.

"Zaib, remember the cat you adopted when we were in Uni?" Bilal suddenly questioned. Zaib nodded, grinning at the memory of the ginger colored cat who was known for its wolfish, grey eyes.

"Whatever happened to the cat?"

"Well... It sorta–" Zaib struggled. "It ran away after I continuously forgot feeding it," Bilal's eyes magnified in disbelief as he stared at Zaib.

"Are you serious!" Bilal began to guffaw, his body shook while he laughed and snorted into oblivion. Zaib sat, red faced, consumed with embarrassment. Zaib's heart suddenly clicked when he heard her giggle slightly. Naimat was laughing out loud as well, but he could only hear her tiny giggles. He made her laugh! He smiled to himself–the sheer happiness in making her laugh felt like a delightful victory.

Bilal chuckled then went back to eating his food. It wasn't long before Naimat sparked up a fresh conversation with Zoya, and they both chatted in low, hushed voices. Zaib heard Zoya giggle again, a beautiful sound it was.

"Do you still own that crappy iPhone?" Zaib asked. Oh, that ridiculous iPhone with a broken screen and multiple internal errors Bilal owned. Bilal treasured the phone even after such horrible reception.

Bilal puffed with a grimace on his face. "Yes, I still do. It works just fine. You should have a look at Zoya's phone–"

"Don't you dare start this again, Bilal!" Came a thunderous squeal from the seat in front of Zaib. Instinctually, he turned to look where the sound was directed from with widened eyes.

The Crimson colored scarf flashed before him, then those diamond blue eyes captured his gaze; he sat dazzled–speechless. Her eyes were so familiar, the deepest shade of the ocean, and she was glowing with a Nur from Allah. His entire body froze in astonishment–she was beautiful.

Zaib quickly jerked his gaze to his empty plate. He saw her–he mistakingly saw her. She was the prettiest woman he had laid his eyes on. Zaib held onto the table tightly. The urge to look at her and capture a picture of every part of her in his head was so intense; he needed to get out of there before he completely lost it.

"A'udhu billahi min ash Shaytanir Rajim." Zaib mumbled, then proceeded to get up of the chair. He had had enough of this. He couldn't control himself anymore. Not around her.

"I'll be outside." Zaib muttered to Bilal, then left out of the room saying his Salam to them.

What was Bilal saying about her though? What about her phone? Zaib sighed in annoyance; he was helplessly intrigued with Zoya to such extent, so quickly that he wanted to know everything about her.

Zaib's dry throat had begun to aggravate him. Why was this so hard, ya Allah?

He inwardly face palmed himself and repeated 'Astaghfirullah' in his head continuously, trying to block out thoughts of her.

☆☆☆☆☆

It wasn't long before they were all done with their breakfast; the three of them stood in the driveway while Zaib stood against his black Camaro. Naimat and Zoya exchanged dramatic goodbyes while Zaib and Bilal just talked to themselves.

After the goodbyes, Zaib sat at the driving seat and Bilal sitting shotgun. Zoya sat behind her brother, looking out of the window eagerly.

As Zaib started up the car, he concentrated on the road and talking to Bilal. He couldn't look at her again, no way. Allah wasn't going to be pleased with him. Though he couldn't stop thinking about that brief eye contact they had.

Her blue eyes.

He shook his head vigorously, frustrated at himself for even thinking about them. He couldn't like a girl who wasn't his wife. Zaib had promised himself to stay loyal to his future wife and not get himself involved with other girls. His gaze and his longing was meant for his wife only.

He gritted his teeth and clenched the steering wheel for the rest of the ride, resisting the urge to look at her.

When the trip was finally over, he sighed in relief. Zoya and Bilal descended off the vehicle, and he speedily drove away feeling empty.

Sirat Al Mustaqeem

The Straight Path

Nur

Light from God

Shahid

A Martyr In Islam