Ramin's Pov:
All I desire is a heart full of peace. I groaned, questioning the meaning of life: Is it just about waking up, drinking, and surviving? I despised the routine that had become my life. Lying in bed, scrolling through my phone, I muttered to myself, "These people will never leave me alone. Do they think they can get my attention? Delusional." I turned off the phone, trying to find sleep. "Ramin, it's 3 AM. When will you ever sleep peacefully?" I whispered to myself. Finally, sleep came at 8 AM. This has become my daily routine, and I’m utterly exhausted by it; life feels like it’s draining me.
It was just another typical day at the office. The eyes of all the women were on me as I passed by them, smirking and muttering under my breath, "Pathetic." But then, my attention was drawn to someone unexpected—a woman dressed in black, with a white coat draped over her shoulders and a stethoscope around her neck. Only her face and hands were visible.
"Who is Ramin here?" she asked, her voice cutting through the noise.
Clearing my throat, I responded, "I am Ramin." She looked at me and said, "Your father is calling for you."
I followed her to my father's room, and as soon as I saw him lying on the sofa with his eyes closed, my heart skipped a beat. Rushing to his side, I knelt beside him and asked, "Dad, what happened?"
He caressed my cheek and said softly, "My dear son, your father's heart is weak."
I held his hand, kissed it, and reassured him, "You are my brave father. Don't lose hope."
"Ramin," he continued, "the doctor says I need to be admitted for treatment." I glanced at the doctor, and she gave me a reassuring nod. "But, Dad..." I began, but he interrupted, "Don't worry, everything will be fine. I have the best doctor."
I looked back at her and saw the gentle smile on her face. For the first time in years, I felt at peace. Her eyes were shining, and there was a sense of relief on her face. She was mesmerizing, even though she was covered up. There was something heavenly about her, though I’ve never believed in such things.
She cleared her throat, bringing me back to reality. Turning to my father, I asked, "When will you need to be admitted?"
"Today," he replied.
"Dad, I’ll visit you every day," I promised. He smiled at me. I stood up and said, "Take care of yourself, Dad. I'm here if you need anything." He hummed in response.
Approaching her, I asked for her name. "Janan Ahmed," she replied. Smiling slightly, I said, "Miss Janan, I’ll pay you handsomely. Just save my dad." She chuckled, "Mr Ramin, I’m just a means. Only Allah can save him, and I’m not interested in your money." Her voice was filled with confidence. I forced a smile and said, "I don’t believe in God." She replied calmly, "That’s your problem, not mine."
I laughed sarcastically and said, "You’re the first woman who’s had the courage to speak to me like this."
"How pathetic you are," she remarked.
I clenched my jaw, warning her to stay within her limits. "May Allah guide you, Mr Moron," she said before leaving the room.
I groaned in frustration, "How dare she show such attitude." But as I closed my eyes, her smile lingered in my mind. Her beautiful smile. "She’s full of sass," I chuckled, "Oh Janan, what is this feeling? I’ve never felt like this before. What have you done to me, Miss Janan?"
Later, after two exhausting hours of work, it was time to take my dad to the hospital. I went to his room and asked if I could come in. "Yes," he said. I entered, "Dad, we need to leave now," and he hummed in response. Helping him up, we went to the car, and I drove to the hospital. Upon arriving, I felt a strange sensation—my heart was racing. We entered the hospital, and while speaking to the receptionist, my heartbeat quickened even more.
"Mr Ramin," I heard her voice. I turned to see Janan, and a smile spread across my face. I was captivated by her beauty, but she interrupted my thoughts, "Mr Ramin, where is your father?" I pointed to where he was sitting. She looked in that direction and said, "We need to move him to a room. Which one do you prefer?"
"The one where you can visit easily," I replied with a grin. She rolled her eyes and said, "Follow me."
I helped my dad to his room on the third floor, thinking to myself, "She has good taste." As my dad lay on the bed, two nurses arrived with medical equipment. Janan expertly inserted a needle into his vein, and though he winced, she reassured him, "Don’t worry, Mr David, you’ll be fine, Inshallah," with a smile. I was so lost in that smile. "Oh Janan, you might be the death of me one day." She left, and I continued watching her retreating figure.
"If it were possible, I’d hide you from the world, my Janan." Her name alone brings me peace. There’s magic in the way I feel when I say it—Janan.
I chuckled at myself and muttered, "I never believed in love at first sight, but it’s happening." Rubbing the back of my neck, I took a deep breath and smiled, "Suddenly, everything feels right. The darkness in my life is lifting, and maybe, just maybe, I’ve found a reason to live."
**Janan's POV:**
I was at the hospital, tending to my patients when my phone rang. It was time for the Maghrib prayer. I slipped into the washroom of my room to make ablution. After completing the ritual, I began my prayer, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. Once finished, I continued with my rounds, next in line was Mr. David. I took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and was met with a warm "Come in."
*Oh Allah, forgive me,* I thought, *why is his voice so melodious?* His rugged appearance contrasted sharply with the gentleness in his tone. I mentally chastised myself, *Astaghfirullah, Janan. Seek refuge in Allah from the whisperings of Shaytaan.*
I turned the door knob and entered the room. Ramin was seated on the sofa beside Mr. David's bed, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. Our eyes met briefly before I quickly looked away, focusing on my task.
"How are you feeling, Mr. David?" I asked him, checking his blood pressure.
He smiled warmly. "I’m doing well, my dear."
I returned his smile. "Your blood pressure is normal, Mr. David." I glanced at the monitor before taking another quick look at Ramin. He was still staring at me. *Focus, Janan.* "If you need anything, Mr. David, don’t hesitate to ask."
He nodded in response, and as I turned to leave, Ramin’s voice stopped me.
"Why do you cover yourself like that?" he asked, his tone curious rather than judgemental.
I met his gaze squarely. "In Islam, we regard women as precious. We are the creation of Allah, and He commands us, 'Do not display your beauty.' No common man has the right to see what is not meant for him. You’re a man; you know how men can look at women. Our beloved Prophet (PBUH) said that if you knew how a man truly looked at you, you’d wish to cover yourself in iron armor. I observe purdah for my sake and for Allah’s pleasure. And it’s not just about women; Allah says in the Qur’an:
'قُل لِّلْمُؤْمِنِينَ يَغُضُّوا۟ مِنْ أَبْصَٰرِهِمْ وَيَحْفَظُوا۟ فُرُوجَهُمْۚ ذَٰلِكَ أَزْكَىٰ لَهُمْۗ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ خَبِيرٌۢ بِمَا يَصْنَعُونَ
Tell the believing men to lower their gaze and guard their modesty. That is purer for them. Indeed, Allah is Aware of what they do.' (Qur'an, 24:30)
And remember, 'With Him are the keys of the unseen; none knows them except Him.' (Qur'an, 6:59). Allah is All-Knowing, All-Aware. When He commands something, it is for a reason, and we trust in His wisdom."
Ramin looked at me, seemingly amazed. Before he could respond, Mr. David interjected, "You know your religion well, my dear."
"Alhamdulillah," I replied with a smile, then excused myself from the room, feeling a mixture of relief and something else I couldn’t quite name.
It was already 8 pm by the time I left the hospital and headed to the bus stop. My best friend Zahra and I often travelled home together, and knowing she was with me always put me at ease.
As I waited for the bus, a car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down, revealing Ramin.
"Ramin?" I uttered in surprise.
He smiled at me. "Yes, it’s me, my princess."
I rolled my eyes at the term of endearment. "What are you doing here?"
"I was worried about you. I couldn’t leave you alone, my princess," he said with a playful smirk.
I laughed sarcastically. "Mr. Moron, you’re wasting both your time and mine. Please, leave me alone."
He pouted, looking genuinely upset. "Why do you talk to me like that?"
*Ya Allah, what is happening to my heart?* His voice, that pout—why did they affect me so? I reminded myself of the Qur'an’s teaching:
*Janan, remember what Allah said in Surah Al-Ahzab, 33:32: ‘If you fear Allah, then do not be soft in speech, lest he in whose heart is a disease should covet, but speak with appropriate speech.’*
"Janan?" His voice broke through my thoughts.
"What?" I replied, trying to keep my tone steady.
"Take care of yourself, I’m going now," he said, his voice full of concern.
Before I could respond, my bus arrived. I got on, stealing one last glance at Ramin as the bus pulled away, his car fading into the distance. I found a seat and closed my eyes, reciting Zikr to calm my heart.
When the bus reached our stop, Zahra and I walked home together. Her house came first, and we hugged as we said our goodbyes. "Allah Hafiz, sweetheart."
"Allah Hafiz," she replied with a smile before disappearing into her home.
"Mama, I’m so tired," I complained as I entered our house. "They gave me so much work today."
My mother emerged from the kitchen, a warm smile on her face. "Oh my baby, go freshen up. Dinner is almost ready."
I hummed in response, heading to my room to freshen up. After dinner, I retreated to my room to offer my Isha prayer. As I stood in Qiyaam, tears welled up in my eyes. I completed my prayer, but when I went into sujood, the tears flowed freely.
"Oh Allah, forgive me, ya Rabb. I am a sinner, but You are Ar-Rahman, the Most Merciful. Oh Allah, have mercy on me. Don’t let my heart become attached to what is not meant for me. I don’t understand why I feel this way about him. He doesn’t even believe in You, ya Rabb."
I sobbed, my emotions overwhelming me. After finishing my prayer, I recited Surah Mulk and then tried to sleep. But as soon as I closed my eyes, Ramin’s face appeared before me—his chubby cheeks, that beautiful smile. *Indeed, Allah is the best of creators.* His brown eyes and dark hair were perfect, and I found myself thinking, *How can someone look cute and handsome at the same time?*
"Yah, Janan, Astaghfirullah," I muttered, opening my eyes. Staring at the ceiling, I chuckled, *He really is a whole package.* With that thought, I finally drifted off to sleep.
---
**Ramin's POV:**
I returned home as Janan’s bus drove off. My mother called me for dinner, but I wasn’t hungry. "Mom, I’m not hungry," I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
She approached me, concern etched on her face. "Ramin, are you okay?"
I hugged her tightly. "Mom, it’s strange, but I think I’m in love."
She chuckled, "I am looking moron to you?."
I shook my head. "Mom... I miss her more now."
She cupped my cheeks. "Has my baby truly fallen in love?"
I nodded, a small smile playing on my lips. "But Mom, she’s different. I’ve always said I hate being around girls, but she’s not like the others. She’s a woman—kind, sweet, pure. Her face is radiant, and there’s a calmness about her that brings peace to my heart. Her smile... it could melt the hardest rock."
My mother smiled tenderly, kissing my forehead. "If she makes you this happy, don’t let her go."
I hummed in agreement, feeling lighter. Later, in my room, I found myself searching online about Islam. "She’s a Muslim, My babe is Muslim."
---
**Author’s POV:**
The next morning, both Ramin and Janan went about their usual routines. But something was off with Janan. As she went to join Zahra, she suddenly fainted. Panic erupted as her colleagues rushed to help, laying her down on a bed.
Ramin arrived at the hospital and immediately noticed the commotion. When he saw Janan unconscious, his heart nearly stopped. His world seemed to collapse around him, and tears welled in his eyes.
When Janan finally opened her eyes, they met Ramin’s tear-filled gaze. She whispered his name, "Ramin," and as he moved closer, he reached out to touch her cheek, but she stopped him.
"Ramin, it’s not permissible. You can’t touch me," she said, her voice laced with pain.
"Why, my princess?" he asked, his voice gentle.
"Because Allah wouldn’t like it, Ramin," she replied, tears brimming in her own eyes.
A tear slipped down his cheek. "You’re my princess, and I’ll obey you."
She smiled warmly, The only mistake she made was smiling at him, unaware that Ramin had already fallen deeply for her, and her smile only intensified his feelings. He sat on a stool near Janan's bed, staring at her intently.
Janan kept her eyes closed, trying to avoid temptation. She knew, however, that she had already fallen for him. Silently, she prayed, "Rabbi inni lima anzalta ilayya min khairin faqir—My Lord, indeed I am in need of whatever good You send down to me."
"Oh, my beloved Allah, You know what is hidden in my heart. Falling in love with him was beyond my control. Please forgive me if I am asking too much. Guide him, show him the right path, have mercy on me, and please heal me."
She opened her eyes and motioned for Ramin to come closer. Without hesitation, he approached, bending down to her level while maintaining a respectful distance. She gently blew air on his face and said, "May Allah guide you, Ramin." Her voice was soft and sweet. He smiled, puzzled by her gesture. "What was that?" he asked innocently. "I prayed for your guidance," Janan replied, looking down at her hands. Ramin, unfamiliar with Islam or any religion, forced a smile.
"How is your dad?" Janan asked. "I haven't met him yet. I came straight to the hospital when I found out you were unconscious," he said with a pout. Janan stared at him, lost in thought. "You should go to your dad. He needs you. I'm fine," she reassured him. But Ramin remained silent, reluctant to leave her side. "Ramin, please go," she gently insisted. With a sigh, Ramin finally left.
Janan remained in bed, continuing her Zikr. It was time for Dhuhr prayer. She got up, performed ablution, spread her prayer mat, and began her prayers. Meanwhile, Ramin was searching for Janan. After learning where she was, he hurried to her room. The door was slightly ajar, and he entered quietly. A sense of relief washed over him as he saw Janan praying, completely absorbed in her devotion. He watched her, feeling at peace, captivated by her every movement.
When Janan finished her prayer and was performing Zikr on her fingertips, she noticed Ramin watching her. Startled, she asked, "Ramin, what are you doing here?" He smiled politely, "I was looking for you. How are you feeling now?" "I'm fine, Alhamdulillah," she responded. Ramin, unfamiliar with the term, asked, "What does 'Alhamdulillah' mean?" She chuckled at his curiosity, "It means 'All praise is for Allah.'" He nodded in response.
"But why are you here?" she asked again. "I was worried about you," he admitted, rubbing his nape sheepishly. "You don't need to worry about me," she said softly. Their eyes met, but the moment was interrupted when someone entered the room. Both turned their attention to the door, where a man stood holding a lunch box. "Janan, your mom asked me to give you this," he said.
Ramin's blood boiled as he watched the man admiring Janan. He quickly took the lunch box from him and said, "You can leave now."
"Ramin," Janan said, slightly irritated. "What?" he replied. "You need to learn some manners," she scolded. Ramin clenched his jaw, hurt by her words. Little did Janan know that Ramin had sensed the man's feelings for her.
"JazakAllah," she thanked her colleague, Rahil, who then left. Janan sat on the sofa, regretting how she had spoken to Ramin. "Well done, Janan. You've hurt him," she muttered to herself.
Later, as she was checking on Mr. David, Ramin entered the room with his mother. Janan glanced at Ramin before smiling at his mother. "You must be Mr. David's wife," she said. Mrs. David nodded and replied, "And you must be Janan?" Janan nodded, confused about how she knew her name.
As she was about to leave, Mrs. David stopped her, saying, "Janan, my son Ramin isn't feeling well. Can you please check on him? He's stubborn and refuses to see doctors. Please, Miss Janan." Janan hesitated but then agreed, "Of course, Mrs. David. Mr. Ramin, if you're comfortable with it, shall we proceed with the check-up?" Ramin nodded and followed her.
In the examination room, Janan gestured to the bed, "Please lie down here." Ramin complied silently. "So, tell me, what's wrong?" she asked. "My heart aches badly," he confessed.
Janan looked into his eyes and apologized, "Ramin, I'm sorry for what I did." He gently held the corner of her white coat and said, "Janan, my princess, he was admiring what only belongs to me." Janan remained silent, her gaze steady. "Listen to him," she thought, "he's calling me his, as if he owns me." Ramin overheard her mutter and chuckled, "You're too cute, my princess."
Janan sighed and said, "I don't think you're actually sick."
"But Janan, I am sick. I miss you every second, and it pains me deeply. When I close my eyes, I see only you. When I open them, all I crave is to see you."
Janan shook her head, exasperated. "lā ḥawla wa-lā quwwata, have some shame, Ramin," she chided. He chuckled again.
"You stay here. I'm going. I don't want to miss my Salah," Janan said, preparing to leave. "What's Salah, my princess?" Ramin asked, curious. Janan sat down beside him and explained,
"In Islam, the purpose of our creation is to worship Allah. The Holy Quran states, 'And I have not created the Jinn and the men but that they may worship Me.' (51:57) Salat, or the prescribed prayer, is a fundamental characteristic of a true believer. It's mentioned in the Holy Quran that the righteous observe prayer and spend from what Allah has provided for them. Salah is a connection between us and our Lord. It's a conversation between us and our Rabb."
Ramin, captivated by her words, looked deeply into her eyes. "Janan, you explain things so beautifully. I used to think Islam was a bad religion, and that all Muslims were terrorists or something like that. But you've changed my perspective entirely." Janan smiled warmly, "I have to go now."
He nodded, and Janan left to perform her Asr prayer while Ramin returned to his father. Sitting beside his mother, he confessed, "Mom, I can't live a second without her." Mrs. David smiled, understanding his feelings, "Ramin, true love is rare, but I can see how deeply you care for her. She's changing you, Ramin, but…"
"But what, Mom?" Ramin asked, anxious. Mrs. David sighed, "She's Muslim, and you don't believe in God. Even if she loves you, she can't be yours."
Ramin's lips trembled at her words. "Mom, I'm nothing without her. She gives my life meaning. I need her, Mom." Tears welled up in his eyes.
He hurried back to Janan's room, twisting the doorknob and entering abruptly. He saw her treating the wounds of her colleague—the one who had brought the lunch box earlier. The man was smiling at her, clearly admiring her. Ramin's world stopped, his heart sank, and he struggled to speak. Finally, he managed to utter just one word: "Janan."
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JazakAllah for reading🎀
A/n: The first part might be boring but I hope you will like the further one.🦋
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