The Book of Allah is a Cure. It is the Ultimate Source of happiness. Don't turn to cliche movies and depressing music but turn to His Book. Recite whatever that you know of it. Doesn't matter how small the verses are. Just murmur them in a beautiful tune and you'll find peace. Wallah.
Help me. Help me because you're Rich and I'm poor. You're Strong and I'm weak. You're All Knowing and my knowledge is limited. You're Infinite and I'm finite. You are All Able and I'm unable. Please. I ask you with all my heart. Cure my father. Grant him goodness. Elevate him. Protect him. Please. I don't know how much I can bear. You said you don't burden a soul more than it can bear. How much can I bear? I don't know. But you do. I trust You. Help me. Talha stares at his outstretched hands that are placed on his lap. He drove to the Masjid extra early today, he pondered over his spiritual connection with his Lord and decided that the reason for most of his problems is because he's been slacking on his good deeds.
Thus this morning, he wrote a few cheques to be distributed at some local Masajid and for an upcoming school nearby. This is the least he can do for his Lord. He's struggling at work to stay away from someone he'd rather not think of, he acts irrationally toward his staff so much so that they're terrified of him and hasn't been spending enough time at home. He sighs heavily. HIs eyes are red and filled with exhaustion. He can barely sleep at night thinking of what needs to be done and now after hearing about his father's worsening condition.
'He asks about you all the time.'
'It's not easy for me.'
'I know Ibni, I'm not asking you to stay home but please-'
'I understand.' His mother remained silent. She watched her son stand rigid before her. Zeena felt so upset. This isn't what she had in mind for her eldest son at all.
'We visited the doctor today.' Talha stared at his mother as if she'd confessed a heinous crime.
'What? You didn't tell me?'
'I didn't want to worry you.'
'Ma-'
'Just listen Talha.' She took a deep breath and leaned against the counter. She's trying her best to keep everything in balance but now it seems as though everything is falling apart. 'The doctor said that he could get it back again.' Her son closed his eyes. 'If he isn't mentally relaxed, things could get worse. Psychology contributes to almost every disease in some form or the other. That's what he told me.' She continued. Talha remained silent, unable to speak. What have I done?
'I'm sorry.' Zeena frowned at her son.
'For what?'
'For not being there. I should've come with you. Had I known I would've cancelled everything-'
'That's exactly what baba doesn't want you to do. He knows how hard this is on you. Of all my children, you are the most sensitive.' She touched his cheek with a soft smile. Her son returned the gesture but shook his head.
'I was the most sensitive.' He corrects making his mother laugh.
'Of course.' She stared at her son a second longer. In that moment Talha wanted to tell his mother about Bela. He wanted explain to her how this woman drove him mad every single day just by being who she is. He wanted a solution, an advice, something that could possibly help him. 'Go to bed. We'll talk in the morning. Baba would like to see to you In Sha Allah.' What she said forced him back to reality, he nodded, kissed her forehead and left as if nothing bothered him.
Last night replays in his mind, finally the Imam speaks into the mic, requesting everyone to rise because it's time to offer the morning prayer. He stands, a man amongst many others' gathered here in one place, facing the direction that's been ordained and humble before their Lord.
