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"So put your trust in Allah." (Qur'an 27:79)

~

Ramadan is upon them, bringing with it festive lights and preparations in the manor and an overall serene aura.

Zoya has never before given much importance to Ramadan. She has fasted, remaining her cruel and harsh self throughout the thirty days with no intention to change, and has always anxiously waited for the month to be over.

Now, however, she feels as if she can finally join in on the excitement on everybody's faces. The strange sense of calm filtering through the environment. The anxious waiting for the month in which redemption and mercy and forgiveness are such large concepts.

All three things Zoya direly needs.

The new business startup is also steadily gaining more and more recognition from the media as well as from organizations in the fashion industry Zoya had never before acknowledged. After the pivot, many employees had taken their leave — as Zoya had expected — but many more (to her surprise) eagerly lined up at Zameer to fill the empty spots. Despite knowing the business was turbulent and would likely remain so for a couple weeks. Despite knowing this was probably a risky job to take.

But people wanted to do something with a purpose.

Zoya had smiled when she had interviewed a number of people in just one day, thinking that now that she relied on her Wali, He was nudging her onto all these paths that had always been there but she'd been too blind to notice.

The interviewees who'd shown up had initially been wary around her, but everyone was slowly beginning to understand that cruel and harsh Zoya Zameer was gone, replaced by someone who had such a strong desire to change she seemed like a different person entirely.

So people began recognizing this new Zoya Zameer.

Zoya had also taken the very difficult decision of approaching Zaki Ahmed. Whatever he had done to her had been in response to her very first blunder with him — when she had been fluffy and sweet just to use him and trick him into thinking she was making commitments with him.

When she had used his stronghold in the industry to build her own company and had ditched him when the business skyrocketed.

When she showed up at his office, he had been livid, of course. And it had reminded Zoya of how she once told him she was Zameer, and that she upheld the attributes of this name.

And yet.

She had not. She had lied and cheated and deceived him and many others. Repeatedly. And although his retaliation was borderline dangerous and insane — he had done it because he had been cheated and deceived by her.

Zoya had not upheld the attributes of Zameer. She had not upheld the morality, the conscience, the scruples, the distinction between right and wrong. She had made a joke of the name.

And Zaki Ahmed had reminded her of it when she went to visit him. He had pointed his finger in her face and said "Boht khushi aati thi na tumhe apne Zameer pe?" He had yelled and said many vile things, and Zoya stayed quiet throughout it all. When he had paused to take a deep breath and run a hand through his hair in frustration, Zoya had said, "You're right. Maine apne Zameer ka mazaak uraaya. And I'm here to say sorry to you for that. What I did to you wasn't right."

Zaki had laughed in disbelief. "What's this new act, huh? This whole 'holier than thou' thing? Another trick up your sleeve?"

Zoya had suddenly been reminded of the same attitude she once harbored towards Haroun — of thinking his goodness must have had some ulterior motive.

Zoya had shaken her head. "No. I'm truly sorry. It wasn't right of me." Then, seeing that Zaki didn't believe a word that came out of her mouth and he wasn't willing to listen anymore, Zoya had stepped back to exit the room.

"Oh, and Zaki?" She had turned around. "You still need to learn to talk to women with respect. I understand your anger, which is why I didn't say anything to you, but I will not tolerate it if you ever talk to me like that again." Zoya had been as polite as possible, but when she exited the room, she saw the vein throbbing in his temple.

And it made her think that some battles are won and some battles are lost.

And some battles are best left up to God.

As Ramadan begins, Zoya visits Haroun's family every day with him. Naima has managed to soften up a bit — and Zoya has Ramadan to thank for it — since everybody is trying to forgive and forget during the beautiful month.

Although Naima still watches her warily, the fire in her eyes has decreased and the bite in her voice has disappeared. She seems to have realized Zoya is relentless in trying to win her back, and she makes the job slightly easier for her. She laughs forcefully, sits next to Zoya even when she doesn't say anything, and tries to smile. Zoya senses Naima is doing this more for herself than for anyone else — because she is too soft and too pliable and too serene to become someone so permanently icy.

Aisha is the same old Aisha — bubbly and loud and trying to make everybody laugh to dissipate the unavoidable tension a bit.

Ammi is quiet sometimes, but she is a mother after all. Her love is incomparable, even when she tries to conceal her pain.

Every time Zoya and Haroun leave her to head back home, she hugs them a little too fiercely, kisses their foreheads a little too forcefully. As if she believes she won't see them again for a while. As if she's trying to give herself the reassurance that she was able to hold them dearly in case she doesn't see them again.

Even Haroun's father begins to visit them frequently, and Haroun and his family considerably soften towards him. Haroun had always been respectful, but now he begins to chuckle with his father here and there and eventually laughs without any animosity in his eyes.

All in all, fractured relationships are mending. Slowly, but surely. Because they all have not only time but al-Wadood by her side. The Most Loving.

During Ramadan, Zoya and Haroun each head off to their respective workplaces and when they return home, they eat iftaar together. It is usually a quiet occurrence, in which both of them continue to look up to the other as if to make sure they are still there.

Nights they pray taraweeh together, Haroun leading and Zoya following. The first couple of nights tears slip her eyes and when he asks her why, she simply shakes her head, unable to say, "I still can't believe you're here."

They are quiet and wary around one another, but there is no anger or hostility anymore. They simply can't seem to figure out what to say to one another. Space flows and ebbs between them like a wave, one day forcing them far apart and another attempting to bring them close together.

Like when Zoya tries reading the Qur'an but stumbles and stutters over it, and Haroun sits next to her — close — and guides her along, correcting her when she makes a mistake. Sometimes he points to a sign or a symbol or a word and gestures his hands around, explaining it so that she is better able to understand and read. She nods along as he speaks, always silently thanking Allah He has brought them back together.

In this way the distance between them begins to dissipate — still there but malleable. Able to be tampered with and coerced into disappearing altogether. It gives room to healing — slow, quiet healing.

Sometimes when Zoya watches Haroun as he talks quietly to her or when she hears him lead prayer during taraweeh, she thinks of something she once said to him. Back when she had been broken and confused and her heart had been aching.

She had said she wanted a North Star. She wanted constancy. And she had told him this hoping he would understand she wanted him.

But what had he said to her? He had directed her towards God, urging her to open up to Him so that she could find constancy.

At the time, she hadn't understood this. She had been avoidant of God and didn't think opening up to Him would solve any of her issues.

But now when she thinks about it as she watches Haroun walk around the house with bags under his eyes — sometimes as silent as a ghost — it brings a smile to her face.

She thinks of how a map consists of four cardinal directions — cardinal north, south, east, and west. And cardinal north points to the north direction on a map.

But true north is another thing entirely. True north points home.

Zoya had always thought of Haroun to be her North Star — to be her true north. She had thought he was the direction she was supposed to be heading towards.

But only now she realizes — Haroun is not her true north. Haroun is not home.

Haroun has simply been her cardinal north. He has simply been the direction on the map that is guiding her towards where she is supposed to be heading.

Her true north, however?

Her true north has been God all along.

. . .

The bustle of people is accompanied by the sound of the adhan in Masjid al-haram, which resonates loudly throughout Makkah. Men in white and women in black shuffle around, preoccupied by their single motive of getting closer to the Ka'bah.

Zoya and Haroun join the crowd, walking together silently amidst the people. Every couple of seconds they turn towards one another, in awe of the beauty and peace surrounding them.

They stop, then, when they are close enough to the Ka'bah. Staring motionlessly at the incredible sight before them.

As they stand in front of the house of God, the couple is each occupied by their own thoughts. Seemingly so close to one another but still healing from deep wounds and gashes inflicted on them.

And this is why they are here — at the house of God — to grow closer to Him and heal their wounds. Because surely, surely, as they have both realized in depth, true happiness and peace can only be found in Him.

They have both made mistakes, have both fallen into many traps they could have avoided had they made better choices. But everything was set in place by the One above, the One who knew they both needed these trials and experiences in order for their hearts to change direction. In order for them to know and experience pain.

Because only then would they turn to Him for solace. Only then would they remember Him. Only then would they learn to trust Him above all else.

Their wounds have not entirely faded and perhaps never will, but they are both on the journey to redemption and healing. They both have errors to rectify, mindsets to change, pain to overcome. They both have faults to acknowledge, pasts to forget, futures to look to with hope.

And this is not the end for them.

As Haroun unfolds his arms and drops his hands, they brush against Zoya's. She turns her head slightly, acknowledging the contact. Especially since they have been very scarcely touching one another, as if doing so reminds them of their pain.

But he doesn't break contact.

Instead of looping her fingers through his, however, Zoya remains still. They both do. Allowing their knuckles to brush against each other silently, softly.

Because this is what they need to heal. God and small increments of each other's love.

As they know, this is not the end for them. This is just the beginning. Small fissures of affection will blossom into a healthy love. A love that will force them to keep turning back to God to revitalize themselves. A love that will bring smiles to their faces and coolness to their eyes.

They will heal, they will heal. And all they need for it is God and time.

And for those who are with Allah, there are no sad endings.

So — with their hands softly brushing against one another — they set out to embark on the lifelong Journey to Hidaya.

. . .