Alnihayya

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F o r t y N i n e
This one is for @missy_
:)

Allah sometimes, takes us into troubled water, not to drown us, but to cleanse us.
*

Mashal
Men might consider themselves to be stronger and more vigilant but the moment they decide to be lazy, even slugs are ashamed of their sluggishness.

Apparently, my brother Ibrahim was demonstrating the same skill for the plan 009 Ibby's zubiha day. He wasn't at all ready to man up and talk to Minahil's father.
He had a whole bag full of excuses.
"Mashal the time in UK is different. He might be sleeping right now."
"Mashal it's Friday today. He must be gone to the juma'ah."
"He must be at work."

"He must be--"

"No! Not at all. I don't care if he might be in toilet, in the masjid or even on Mars. You're calling him today or else book a ticket and go to his house with some flowers and talk to him face to face."

He opened his mouth, probably to come up with a new excuse but a lethal stare from me shut him up and I pushed him off to the networking room.

Since I had proved myself worthy, I resumed my training under Saddia with all the other women. Key skills about weapons and camouflage were taught, which according to Saddia were 'more important than fighting.'
We were in the middle of the training session in Zanjabeel when Zara came in. Everyone paused, staring at the girl at the door with confused expressions.

It was when I ran up to her and crashed her into a hug that the fighters clapped along with a loud "Welcome back Zara!"

She smiled against my shoulder and mumbled a "thank you for everything you did."

In the end all the fighters were given the option to choose whichever weapon they preferred. All the weapons were layed out in front of us, long guns, short guns, more guns that I couldn't name, rifles, even daggers, knives, bows and arrows.

I ended up choosing the smallest pistol possible because form what I had learnt from my previous experience, the tinier the gun, the deadlier it is.

The hasty flowing of time had also brought the last ten days of Ramadan and Laylatul qadr. The night of Power.
Since Zara had finally decided to come out of her depressive shell, we got back together in our plan of finishing the Quran twice. Our whole day between suhoor and iftar was spent in the masjid with the other women, some of whom were sitting for itikaff. Seclusion from worldly affairs to devote oneself to worship.

I was sitting in the masjid with Zara, two days after forcing Ibrahim to talk to Minahil's father when a certain men's perfume struck my nose.
I rose my head up from the Quran in my hand and looked around desperately to find the source of that scent.

Rightfully, there she was, two rows behind me. For the first time since we came to Alnihayya, Minahil was in the masjid.
Although with a slippery, see through scarf on her head that did little to cover her silky brown hair and clothes that were too tight to be legal.

Shut up Mashal you're fasting. Stop judging people!

She seemed to be praying nawafil. Voluntary prayer. But the poor girl's scarf would keep on slipping off every time she bent down for ruku' and sujood and she had to fix it up every ten seconds.