Hushed Confessions | ✔

{25} Things Got Personal

Sajdaa Taha

I stood before Allah on my prayer mat, reciting each line in a hushed whisper, letting my tongue roll over the letters naturally as my mind understood the meaning of each word, of each syllable. I exhaled a shaky breath, continuing the ayahs (verses). 

Allah had sent the Qur'an down as a blessing to mankind; it was a path to guidance. Without guidance, society was chaotic, a jumbled mess of mistakes and issues with no solutions. When holy scriptures were brought down, people had the guidance they needed in order to progress in a spiritual and even a political level. It wasn't just a bunch of fancy words. 

The Qur'an was more than that. 

Every letter had a dignified pronunciation, every word had a psychological meaning, every verse had a certain rhythm, every surah (chapter) had a story to portray. It wasn't just words; it was more. The Qur'an touched hardened hearts, melting the ice that had once covered the diseased organ. As I finished my prayer, I felt myself relax. 

Allah is protecting me. 

* * * * 

Carefully folding the prayer mat, my fingers traced the soft texture, brushing against the bed of cotton. Malik had brought me to the police station, attempting to brief me on his findings on potential suspects. Of course, my daily prayers were a priority, so he gave me an empty room to pray in. 

I looked around, my eyes trailing the to the empty eyes of portraits. Previous police officers were grinning or were stone-faced as the photographer clicked, capturing the moment for eternity. I glanced at Malik's smile, his hazel eyes gleaming at the camera and shining like a north star. The other officers had hollow expressions, trying to hide their flaws, but not Malik's photo. 

His eyes were raw, a prime example of the hope he desperately tried to believe in. 

Soft footsteps echoed in the hall. I glanced at the clock. 7:25, it read. I pressed my ear to the door, overhearing the mumbling from a familiar deep voice. Malik.

"What do you suppose we do to catch the killer?" he asked, sounding extremely drained. "Ethan, I'm not here to play riddles with you. I need to produce results or else the whole town will have my head on a silver platter. How do I lure this killer?"

I clamped a hand over my mouth. He was talking to Ethan, a man who did not hold true to his promises, a man who mastered the art of deception, a man who was willing to destroy everyone in his path to gain his freedom. Safe to say, I did not trust that vermin. 

Why on earth would Malik talk to that bastard?

"Hamza? What about him?" 

I pressed myself even closer to the door.

"Excuse me?" exclaimed Malik. A loud thump was heard against the wall, most likely from the blow he had just delivered. "You want me to use her little brother as bait?"

I clenched my fist. He wouldn't dare, no, Malik was smarter than that. He would not sell my brother out. There was absolutely no way. 

After a brief pause, Malik sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

The call ended. 

* * * * 

When I walked through my front doors, I immediately knew something was wrong. I felt the despair in the atmosphere, the tension rising the closer I got. The deeper I walked, the worse I felt. Tear streaked faces surrounded me, a mother's loud sobs from above, and the rapid yelling from Ridwan, who was back home. Something was wrong.