The waves of water slipped down his head, before he lightly clung his fingers around his ears in a circular motion before the sink basin that flowed out water- the darkness swelled outside at midnight, and then, after his wudu he made his way back to his room, pulling out a prayer mat.
In collective motions, glowing his heart that spilled to the skies seen by the angels as they wrote down his deeds that he especially took out time to give in the last quarter of the night. Tahajjud. Every word of supplication that escaped his lips as he cupped his hands in front of them, his eyes peacefully shut.
"Ameen, Ya Rabbul Alameen." Was the end of his dua, yet the beginning of his dua's acceptance- not now, but yet to be.
"Abu Jaan?"
His gaze snapped open and turning around to meet with a diligent girl's dark, concerned eyes. She was standing over him with a tray of dates and honey water. A kind smile took up her lips, as her starlit eyes flattered down. She kneeled down before her father, on his right side, and placed the tray at his knees.
"Here you go," she said with a sigh, wringing her hands back to steady on her lap, sitting there still.
Honey water cupped in one hand as he took light sips of it- enough to warm his insides after the emotions that had cradled out of his eyes for the well-being of his daughter, his work, and most importantly his Imaan.
Imaan was a person's first aid kit, in all situations, in ups and downs, in blossoming times, and dark-bloody paces. If Imaan was there, nothing can destroy the human's very effort to exist.
"What did you mention in your prayers- this time?" His daughter said, quietly- her gaze flitting cautiously at him.
"Your name." He answered, thudding the glass back on the tray- before running a hand down his beard. She still looked curious enough, but he just shook his head- patting her lightly on the shoulder. "More than even mine."
He saw the crinkles at the ends of her eyes, as she sobered a chuckle.
"Did you pray Tahajjud?" He asked.
"Yes, Abu Jaan," she heaved herself up to her feet, with the tray in her hands- her gaze firmly on the ground.
The doorbell rang.
His daughter stopped in her steps, her eyes widening. "Who could it be?" She turned over her shoulder to look at her father- whose frown deepened- not the shared confusion type of frown, but the knowing full-well-who-could-it-be type of frown
"I have a guest... Amber beti," he answered her back, as he followed her out of his bedroom towards the kitchen. Their house was small, just two rooms and an adjoined tv-lounge with an open kitchen. How big can a house be where only father and daughter live so completely?
"A guest?" Amber thudded the tray over the kitchen counter-top, her focused eyes swaying around her father who stood between the kitchen opening and the main entrance door. Her father seemed seriously mysterious.
"At this time? Father, I know you have such resolute friends from the masjid, you like sharing ibadah together, but... this is out of the way to come ringing the bell at 3:00 in the morning, right before fajr- you need a break. You socialize too much- have you seen the bags under your eyes yet?"
Her light scolds covering her concerns and care ranted on- her father shook his head not saying anything for a while, as he picked his phone from the counter tabletop when it buzzed.
"He messaged me, Amber, I- 'll explain later, then, okay? I'm bringing him in."
"I'm going to my bedroom," Amber replied smoothly, her hands reaching out for two green tea bags and two mugs. "You can serve him cinnamon tea and biscuits down the drawer. I don't understand this late-night meeting, Abu... can you please-"
YOU ARE READING
Heart Echoes | ✔︎
SpiritualPeople told her to forget. People told him to move on. She could not forget. He had pushed away the past. Even though, her lips were sealed- her heart called. Though, he did not dare reveal- his heart beated painfully. How will Zara, Nani, Dawo...
