DAULAH

A Step Towards Mercy

"Never lose hope in the mercy of Allah, for He loves those who turn back to Him. Just as the sea is vast, so too is His forgiveness; every sin can be washed away when the heart sincerely repents. The door of mercy is open as long as you seek it, and true faith lies in the constant return to Allah, with a heart filled with hope and trust."

Ibn Al-Qayyim

________________________________

DAULAH

~~~

Sushi and Bivah's presence only makes the absence of Karima more painfully obvious. if I need a friend right now, then it's her.

She knows about Abba's death. I am certain the news must have reached her by now. Yet, she's nowhere to be seen, a testament that our friendship has really withered into a final goodbye.

I feel the tug of that loss deep in my chest, a dull ache that sits right next to the sharp, relentless grief of losing my father. But I can't let myself dwell on it. Not now. One heartbreak at a time, Maimunatu. One insufferable, unending heartbreak at a time.

The chatter of Sushi and Bivah grates on my already frayed nerves. They seem so out of place here, and yet they're here, filling the air with their nonsensical conversation. It's as if they're oblivious to the weight of the loss hanging in the air.

"Bivah, did you see what Zara was wearing last night at that party?" Sushi says, her voice too loud, too careless.

"Of course, I did! That outfit was a total disaster. Who wears neon in a place like that?" Bivah responds, equally oblivious, and they both break into a fit of giggles.

Their laughter grates against my raw nerves, their conversation so maddeningly trivial that I want to scream. I am aware that they lack any sense of responsibility, but even so— how can they sit here and talk about outfits? outfits!when my father is gone, when my world has crumbled, when everything feels so impossibly heavy? I can't take this anymore. It's already dark outside, and almost everyone else has had the decency to leave, to give me the space I so desperately need. But not them. No, they're still here, still yapping away as if nothing has changed for me.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I finally turn to them, forcing my voice to remain calm. "Sushi, Bivah, it's getting late. I appreciate you coming, but I think it's time for you to leave now."

Sushi looks at me, her eyes widening with that exaggerated concern that makes my stomach churn. "Oh, Daulahhh," she says, dragging out the name like she's savoring it. "You look awful. So wretched. I can't even imagine how painful this must be for you."

I want to roll my eyes, but I hold back. Of course, I look awful. What did she expect? That I'd be glowing with happiness in the midst of all this? But before I can say anything, she leans in closer, lowering her voice as if she's about to share some great secret.

"You know," she says, her tone sly and insidious, "I think I might have something that can help with the pain. Something to make all of this... easier to deal with."

Her words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. I know exactly what she's offering. I've heard this pitch before, felt the pull of that escape. For a moment, I let myself entertain the idea. It would be so easy, so incredibly easy, to slip back into that numbness. To let go of this unbearable reality, if only for a little while. The thought of it—the relief, the oblivion—is almost intoxicating in itself.

But deep down, I know it's the last thing I should do. I've worked so hard to stay away from that darkness, to keep my head above water. But right now, with everything I'm feeling—the grief, the loneliness, the ache of Karima's departure—it feels like too much to bear. Maybe Sushi is right. Maybe I do need something to take the edge off, to dull this relentless pain.