. . .

. . .

~

"Verily, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find rest." (Qur'an 13:28)

~

Slowly, slowly, Zoya Zameer's prayers become less mechanized. The ache in her heart dulls slightly because it has been solaced by her conviction in Al-Muhaymin. Her hands rise more frequently and with more purpose on the prayer mat. She begins to take interest in learning the other names of Allah. She reads about His attributes, His characteristics that have always been there but she has been too stubborn to see. They baffle her as well as amaze her.

Of course, there is still a wariness in her heart around Him. Because it's been so long since she's been near Him. And Zoya is unaccustomed to trying to close the distance after such a long time. Not even just with God. With humans, too. She has often brushed people off after single bad instances.

So trying to rectify a long-since abandoned relationship definitely requires effort, but Zoya is determined. And she feels that her Lord has been waiting for her. She feels He has been waiting for her to turn to Him and cry in front of Him and be vulnerable in front of Him.

It's a strange relationship, Zoya thinks. Strange. She has forgotten Him for years but after one night of crying in front of Him and opening up to Him, a strange tranquility has descended in her heart. As if this has been what she needed all along.

The peace she felt she had always been missing.

Now her tears flow more quickly, but this time they are not grieved and pained. This time they are relieved.

That she finally has some One to let the pain out on.

One morning when she is eating breakfast, she thinks of how Haroun used to split his omelet in fours and spread ketchup over it. And he would feed her with his hands, telling her how the prophet Muhammad had said feeding one's wife was an act of charity. And at the memory, again the ache returns to her heart. The searing ache she has become all-too-familiar with. It prods at her barely stitched wounds and harshly teases her.

But as soon as the pain comes, something else happens as well.

The pain dulls.

Like that same strange tranquility settling on her. Blanketing her senses. It makes the ache in her heart bearable.

She suddenly thinks of how she has always termed Haroun to be her strong peg. Her unshakeable mountain in the ground.

Was she wrong? Mountains don't shake. Pegs don't unravel.

And yet. Haroun Suleiman broke down in the worst way possible. He didn't shake, he crumbled entirely. He didn't unravel, he fell apart entirely.

So has she been labeling the wrong one as her unshakeable mountain and her strong peg? The one person she had known to posses the greatest strength and kindness in him, the one person she had become intimately familiar with and knew of his quirks and flaws, the one person she thought would never break, had broken in the worst way possible.

So is any human able to bear this quality — the quality of being unshakeable? Unrooted? A column of absolute strength?

No, Zoya realizes suddenly. It's not possible. And she's only now recognized it. She used to think of herself — of the incredible Zoya Zameer — as someone who possessed these qualities.

But then she broke apart.

Then she thought Haroun Suleiman — sweet, patient, strong Haroun — possessed these qualities.

But then he broke apart as well.

So who is left to harbor these attributes? Who is left to be her strong peg and her unshakeable mountain and her unwavering strength? The one she turns to in times of duress and pain and sadness? As well as happiness and elation?

She then remembers another name of God she had read. Al-Qawwiy. The Strong.

Zoya begins to cry. But again, it's not pained. It's relieved. Her soul has finally breathed. Her soul finally understands. Her soul finally, finally recognizes Who truly provides and Who truly supports and Who truly stays.

God. Allah.

She feels as if her Lord is giving her a chance at redemption. She feels as if this test of Haroun's absence is supposed to prod her to grasp an opportunity. And to hope that her Lord – in His ultimate mercy – will forgive her sins.

So she grasps the rope of opportunity hovering midair in front of her, and she hopes the climb won't leave her too breathless.

And even if it does, only when she gets to the top will she tend to her injuries.

. . .

Zoya pulls out the list of people she wants to ask forgiveness from and takes a deep breath. Her eyes rove over the names, settling on the one she will go to first.

Not Ammi and the sisters. Not Haroun. Because she needs much more courage than she has right now to face them. And because she doesn't know if she's ready to hear about Haroun — about where he is and whether anyone has seen him.

Rather, she is going to someone she has done a lot of wrong to.

She exits her manor, greets Aman, and begins to walk towards her car. Her driver rushes forward, but Zoya waves him off. "No need today. I want to do this all on my own."

Zoya enters the directions on Google Maps and drives out of her manor. While on the road, her fingers tremble and her legs shake, but she's determined to do this. No matter how difficult it will be and no matter how ashamed she will be to even face this person.

When she reaches his house, she parks in the driveway and walks up to the door. The house is small but beautiful. Painted dark brown with bouquets of bright flowers at every few steps, giving the place a homey look. She rings the bell, clasping her hands in front of her as she waits.

Farhan Malik appears ten seconds after Zoya rings the doorbell. He takes one look at her, his eyes seem to pop out of his head in surprise, and he stutters, "Ms. Zoya?

Zoya's eyes rove him. Disheveled hair, scruffy beard, worry lines. And — most unsettling — the shock and fear in his eyes.

Fear.

She has done nothing but make this man tremble and cower in front of her. Like an oppressor causing an oppressed to bend with pressure before them, she has manipulated and coerced Farhan Malik with her poisonous words and forked tongue and fiery attitude.

"Ms. Zoya?" he repeats, one hand on the door. "Uh . . . Do you want to come in?" His voice is hesitant, as if he's unsure of how to tiptoe around the different Zoya Zameer standing in front of him. The Zoya he hasn't seen in two months. The Zoya nobody has seen in two months.

Zoya nods. "Yes," she manages to say. "Please."

She enters and he closes the front door before leading her into the living room. He tells her to sit down in a shaky voice while he gets her something to drink. Before he leaves, there are a myriad of emotions on his face. Curiosity, shock, anxiety, confusion. But Zoya has to give him credit — he remains composed.

When he returns with a tray of haphazardly strewn cookies and apple cider, Zoya takes one look at the trembling of his hands and bursts into tears.

"Oh, no," Farhan says uncomfortably, the tray in his hands hovering midair. "Uhh . . . "

Zoya continues to cry, wiping her cheeks hastily. She attempts to speak but her throat clogs up.

"You don't like apple cider? I think we have orange juice, too," Farhan says nervously, setting the tray down and sitting across from her. When Zoya continues to cry, he lets out a curse and gestures to the tray. "Would you prefer other cookies? We have Oreos, too, if you like those better."

Zoya shakes her head back and forth, and eventually Farhan's nervous rambling dies down. He breathes a deep sigh and pauses a few moments before he says tentatively, "Ms. Zoya, what's going on? Where have you been?"

Zoya rubs her eyes, cursing the tears that have come at the most inopportune of times. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Okay," he states, still confused. "Where have you been, though?"

"Home," she replies simply. "I haven't gotten the courage to leave. And I'm not sure I want to anymore."

"You know everyone at the company has been worried sick. And people are angry . . . " He pauses, the look on his face telling her he doesn't know if he should continue. But this is Farhan Malik, so he barrels forward. "Protests, strikes, all that stuff. Bill's been going crazy. Him and Ibitoye are the unofficial COO's. Media's in a frenzy. Everybody's been going crazy. Practically jobless." He pauses, lifts his head to look at her. A look of regret crosses his face. "I mean, I'm not sure what's been going on with you. I'm sure you had . . . your reasons," he ends lamely.

Zoya furrows her brows at him and shifts the conversation. "Have you not been in contact with Haroun?" Saying his name out loud stabs her heart. She feels that she doesn't deserve to talk about him after what she has done to him.

An immediate wariness takes over Farhan. "Barely," he says. "He told me he was leaving for a bit and that he didn't know when he would be back. And that he's keeping his distance from everybody."

Zoya's shoulders shake. She has done this to a man who visited his family every other day and made it a point to check up on his friends frequently. "When was the last time you spoke to him?"

Farhan scratches his beard. "Probably a couple weeks ago. He said he needed time. And that he wanted to be alone." He rubs a hand across his face. "Haven't talked to him since."

Zoya doesn't know if she's imagining it, but she detects an accusatory tone in Farhan's voice. And why shouldn't it be accusatory? She took his best friend away from him, too. She took Haroun Suleiman away from everybody who cared about him.

And that's why she needs to say what she's here to say. Zoya bites her lip, unsure of how to start this conversation.

But Farhan interrupts her thoughts. "Have you really not left your house this entire time?"

Zoya shakes her head.

"So . . . you left your house to meet me?" There is clear bafflement in his voice, especially when Zoya nods. "Can I ask" — he hesitates — "what happened between you and Haroun?"

Zoya raises her eyes to him. There is genuine concern and curiosity on his face. Meaning he sincerely has no idea what went down between them.

Meaning that even though Zoya destroyed Haroun Suleiman's good heart, he still found it in himself to guard her honor and keep quiet about her betrayal.

Truly, she does not deserve that man.

The ache returns to Zoya's chest. She shifts her gaze to the ground beneath her feet. "I broke his trust. In a really bad way."

Farhan is quiet for a few moments, then, "What could have been so bad . . . " He trails off, probably realizing he is invading her privacy.

Zoya sighs. "I lied to him. About myself. He thought he was marrying . . . somebody else." This is the most she can say without burying herself deeper into her embarrassingly high mound of quicksand.

"To make Haroun want to go away for such a long time . . . it must have been really bad." Farhan contemplates again, a strange edge to his voice.

Then Zoya begins to cry again. Loud, heaving sobs that bring the discomfort back on Farhan's face. "I didn't have a choice," she sobs. "I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice before ruining somebody's life," he says very quietly.

His words send a shock throughout Zoya's core. They throw her back into a different time. A time when she was extremely haughty and arrogant. A time when she rubbed her power and influence in people's faces to get what she wanted. To prove a point.

A time when she told Sumaiya the very same thing. When the two of them had been sitting in her car, and Sumaiya told Zoya through sobs that she had no other choice. And Zoya had screamed that there was always a choice before ruining somebody's life.

Another person to add to the forgiveness list, Zoya thinks solemnly.

She raises her eyes to Farhan, wanting to say words that will erase the distress from his face. But she doesn't know how. She doesn't know how. "Farhan," she begins, sniffing. "I'm . . . so sorry, Farhan."

He looks at her for a moment, wariness flitting across his face. He sighs.

"Really, Farhan," Zoya forces herself to continue. "I think I could live my entire life and still never be able to to express to you how sorry I am for everything I've done to you. For treating you the way I did, for keeping you constantly on your toes around me. All because of a name that was never your fault to begin with." Farhan's brows knit, but Zoya continues. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything I've said to you and done to you. You didn't deserve any of it." She quiets then, unable to say more without her throat clogging up painfully.

Farhan doesn't say anything for a few moments. He simply plays around with his fingers, focusing with strict intensity at the floor beneath his feet. He is so quiet that Zoya looks up and eventually says, "Won't you say anything?"

He sighs, rubs his temples. "I know what you want me to say, Ms. Zoya." His eyes are guarded, stance careful. "But . . . honestly, I'm not sure I can."

Zoya nods. Forgiveness truly does not come by easily. She had expected this much from him — she had even expected him to drag her out with pitchforks and holler that she didn't deserve to show up at his doorstep after the way she had treated him. So this reaction is much less severe than she had imagined. But it still pierces her heart — especially since this is the first time Zoya Zameer is putting aside her pride and her arrogance and actively seeking forgiveness.

And yet, the tranquility descends once more in her heart at having finally said the words Farhan deserves to hear. Like a crushing weight has been lifted off of her.

"I know," Zoya finally says. "It's not going to be easy for you to overlook everything I've done to you. But if you find it in your heart . . . " Tears leak out of her eyes, and her quiet crying must make Farhan uncomfortable because he tightens his fists. "Please forgive me. If you find it in your heart. Please."

She clasps her handbag and stands. Farhan follows suit, still quiet, and leads her out the door. When Zoya steps onto the porch, he suddenly mumbles from behind her, "Ms. Zoya?"

She turns.

He hesitates, shifting his guarded eyes. "Thank you. For coming."

The words send a shock of warmth through Zoya. As well as a shock of surprise. She has done so much to this man, has mistreated him in so many ways. And still, he is hospitable and generous enough to offer her words of comfort despite being unable to explicitly forgive her right away.

Truly, she has been missing out on this goodness for a very long time.

Zoya nods, unable to speak without trembling, and heads back to her car.

Farhan Malik stands with folded arms on his porch, eyes following the boss who has literally made his life a living hell.

And yet, tears still seem to prick his eyes.

. . .

Zoya feels she has done injustice to many men in her life. Especially by holding them to extremely low standards because of the men she has known before them.

So she visits Sameer next.

Who freaks out when he sees her, asking a million questions and demanding a million answers. She quietly sits in front of him, and his questions only die down when she presses her palms to her eyes and her shoulders begin to shake yet again.

She tells him she's sorry for constantly forcing him to do things that may have tested his limits. She tells him she's sorry for manipulating his loyalty towards her by tasking him with strange tasks. Especially with the entire Sumaiya ordeal.

He sits in front of her quietly, and when she's done blubbering, he shakes his head and tells her to pull herself together. It must affect him strangely to see his boss this way because he addresses her in a very logical and almost angry manner, saying he will only forgive her if she shapes up and stops crying. And that life goes on even when the worst calamities hit, and she cannot afford to self-destruct every time she experiences a trial.

Zoya rubs her tears away in front of him and even manages a warped smile, but it's at odds with how she really feels. Especially since she doesn't think she deserves to be addressed this way by somebody she has put on trial many times.

Sameer asks Zoya whether she will return to work, and she tells him she's not ready yet. Then she swears him into secrecy about meeting her.

Zoya then calls it a day and heads home, marveling over how much asking for forgiveness from only two people has taken such a toll on her.

Where will she find the strength to talk to the rest of the people on her list? How will she even approach them when just thinking of doing so causes her to tremble uncontrollably?

"Al-Qawiyy," she murmurs in her car over and over and over again, recalling one of God's names. The Strong, the Strong, the Strong.

She needs this attribute more than ever right now.

Rain begins to patter against her windshield and she flicks the wipers on. It becomes easier to see the road.

She ponders for a moment. Thinking of how God — Al-Qawiyy — has given her shelter. She has been given the shelter of faith from the storm of disbelief and anger she was so caught up in before. Only when she escaped the storm did she realize why she couldn't see. Only when she witnessed the eye of the storm did she realize she was trapped.

She suddenly remembers something Naima said once. When Sunehri died, the younger girl sat next to Zoya and said some things that Zoya found shockingly intelligent. But there was one thing she said that Zoya hadn't understood.

Until she had experienced it herself.

Naima had said, "I don't really think you can establish a good relationship with Allah unless He tests you. In times of ease, it's easy to forget Allah. But when calamity hits, that's when we realize we need Him most. And we want to get closer to Him then."

Zoya ponders over these words, analyzing them in microscopic detail. Indeed, there is shocking truth to these words. Zoya had been living a luxurious, extravagant life. She had everything. Money, status, power, influence, beauty. All the things she thought she needed.

But she didn't have God.

She had forgotten God. And so He had pulled her back to Him. He had introduced worldly, materialistic love to her and then taken it away to show her that it was only He who stayed.