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After years of tahajjud, Nashwa and Rashid were engaged.
Their story started at the pinnacle of summer when Rashid's family had invited Nashwa's for a weekend at their house. Neither knew of the other's existence until the day they were supposed to meet each other. The first time Rashid saw her, as fleeting as it may have been, because he was busy going out for Isha prayer — he stopped in his tracks in front of her forna second longer than he should have.
Nashwa blinked at him in confusion before following his sister inside the house. She hadn't thought much of it until the next day, when his mother gave her a warm cup of hot chocolate... in his mug.
Somehow, that felt so weird.
Maybe it was the nervousness, or the unfamiliarity of drinking from a mug that belonged to someone like Rashid but Nashwa gasped when he suddenly entered the kitchen, and the next thing she knew, the cup had shattered on the floor.
I'm so sorry—" she started.
"It's okay, it's fine." Rashid spoke to her gently.
Maybe it was the moment, or the tone of his voice, or the gentleness he showed when he asked her not to move so he could clean it without hurting her — or was it fate? — that first got her attention. Or was it a collection of his behaviour with children, the elderly, the animals? Or was it the joy in his laughter, or the sincerity of his gaze during prayers. Somehow, over time, Nashwa had built a city in her heart for Rashid.
