Converting the Bad Boy ✔

Chapter 6

Salam my lovely readers! Thank you for reading the story so far, I am so grateful that you've given this story time! ❤❤❤

Dedicated to LoveUnconditionally because I am loving Confessions of A Muslim Girl and it is helping me write this story too. 

(Edited Chapter)

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Abu Hurairah (RA) reported: The Prophet (Sallallahu Alaihi wasallam) said, "He who goes to the mosque in the morning or in the evening, Allah prepares for him a place in Jannah whenever he goes to the mosque in the morning and returns from it in the evening."

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"Hurry up, Zeinab, we're going to be late!" I urged as Zeinab undid her hijab for the third time, claiming it wasn't perfect. My sister the perfectionist. I knew the Prophet (S.A.W) told us to do everything at its best, but this was just getting ridiculous.

"We have to leave now or we'll miss Maghrib!" I called down the hallway, grabbing my purse and checking my hijab one last time. We were going to the mosque, as we always did for Maghrib prayer on a Friday night, however, Zeinab and Nasr were taking far too much time in getting ready.

"I want to look good for Allah," Nasr said as he finally got out of his bedroom, running his fingers through his thick dark hair. He had been growing out his stubble in the past week, and he smelt fresh, his clothes clean and ironed.

I fixed up his collar and smiled at him. "Well, you do look good, bro, but you didn't have to take so long."

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Zeinab stumbled out of her room, her hijab still a little wonky, however I was not going to tell her that, especially since we only had five minutes to drive to the mosque and join the prayer, and Immi and Baba were waiting for us at the front door.

"Yallah, ya awlaad!" our mother ushered us out the door, barely even wearing our sandals. I was still hopping into mine, my left foot bare. Well, there goes my perfectly clean feet.

Our local mosque was quite packed on a Friday night, as we lived among many Muslims from a variety of countries. The majority of our neighbourhood consisted of Lebanese and Palestinian, with a few Indonesian, Pakistani and Somali thrown in. I noticed a blond head belonging to a tall man in a blue thobe bobbing in the crowd in front of me as we all shuffled in the door, removing our shoes. I always put mine on the top right shelf so that it'd be easier to find it, since hardly anyone put theirs on the top shelf. I had never seen the blond man before, perhaps he was a convert, and I noticed him shaking hands with other men as he entered the mosque, smiling and saying, "Assalamu Alaikum."

I was quickly swept through the doors that led to the women's section of the mosque, and I felt someone barrel into me, enveloping me into a hug. I sniffed. Pomegranate soap, apple-cinnamon muffin and lemon laundry powder. It had to be Fatima!

"Fatima! Salam, sister!" I hugged her back after realizing it wasn't some random stranger, and she beamed at me, brown eyes twinkling.

"I missed you, Mariam!" she exclaimed, only to receive disapproving glares and shushes from the mothers that passed us. I glanced around and sure enough, everyone was getting in line for prayer.

"Oops!" Fatima covered her mouth sheepishly, dragging me by the hand so that we could stand together for prayer. Zeinab and Mama joined me on my left while Fatima was practically jittering on my right, excited to be here. Fatima loved coming to the mosque, and not just because she got to see me. She was a much more devoted Muslim than me, and that was saying something. Being her friend also made me want to be a better Muslim, and it was she who convinced me to stop listening to music and come to the mosque regularly a couple of years ago, since I had fallen through a time when I was out of touch with Islam. If it wasn't for Fatima, I would've probably ended up like Nasr, missing prayers and going to parties in the last couple of years of high school. Alhamdulillah for Fatima.