Sparks of Love ☑

Three

The second place goes to those who see oppression, they realise that it's wrong and they raise their voice against the oppressors but they expect their reward. For doing good, they expect others to return their favor. Though this shows the goodness in one's character, the best of people are those who see oppression, raise their voice against it, and expect nothing from the creation, rather they desire from their Creator. This category is the first and foremost character of good Akhlaq.

When we try to please Allah, Allah will be pleased and He will also make the creation pleased with us. SubhanAllah! How marvelous is that?"

The whole lecture was so enchanting and refreshing that Rafa didn't want it to end, but alas soon it did. They then offered the Friday prayer, she wished Shabna a goodbye, and saw her leave with her husband. Gathering herself, she got up and walked up to the parking lot.

Rafa eyed her watch, her break was going to end in a while and she had to be available at the hospital. Fumbling with her footing, she fiddled a pebble back and forth, exasperated by waiting for her brother.

The sound of the car blinking to life startled her and she looked in time to see brown irises—resembling the creamy molten chocolates that she stirred to coat her cake. The sight brought in itself a breeze of familiarity.

Her vision fell over the entire face the next second, identifying him as the guy from the masjid and urgent care, whose name he had told to the nurse—Abdur Rehman.

He pushed his non-injured hand inside his pants pocket, and she suddenly remembered his wound. The doctor in her couldn't stop herself from knowing the state of the injury.

She gave her Salaam and he turned his posture towards her direction, slowly replying it under his breath.

"How is your wound?"

Her question slightly startled him. He had the choice to not answer, turn and walk away but something in him kept his feet rooted to the spot. Before the silence stretched more, he replied, "A lot better now, thank you."

Rafa's gaze fell over his non-bandaged wrist that still held blue stitches.

"How did you remove the bandages? Self-treatment will only cause harm," she puffed under her breath, shaking her head. She grabbed his wrist in her hand to examine the wound and soon realized that it was fine. Alhamdulillah!

"I didn't, actually. I had my doctor do it yesterday."

Rafa's mouth rounded in understanding, and she looked up from his wrist to his face, "It's alright then."

"Ahem." She heard someone cough and acknowledged what she was doing. "Rafa?"

Holding his arm, what is wrong with me?

Rafa quickly pulled away and saw Yahya standing at a close distance, giving the two a quizzical look.

"I thought you would never come," Rafa tried to hide her blush by turning towards their car, "I have hospital duty to carry on."

"I see," Yahya replied.

Rafa took a step away from Abdur Rehman, her body still deranged with current shocks at the mere touch. Her fingers felt like they were burning. A sincere astaghfaar left her lips even when her intention to touch had been solely as a medical professional*.

Abdur Rehman stood erect, recognising them as siblings. Looking at the guy who coughed, he remembered seeing him many times at the masjid, his grey eyes contrasted Rafa's blue sprinkled grey ones, his and her face matched with a handful of similarities.

His wrist still felt sparks by the soft fingers that brushed past them.

Rafa gave him a curt nod of parting, and she was about to walk away when he stopped her. Both the brother and sister turned towards him. "Thanks for the Gatorade."