A Match Made In Jannah

Chapter 62

2 years later

HUSNA'S POV

It had been quite a while since I had broken off my proposal with Nabeel. I didn't think of him often these days. In fact, I didn't think about anyone now.

When I was 19, nearly 20, which had been over two years ago, and naively believed that I was in love with both Zaid and Nabeel.

I knew now that it was not love. Love is so much more than a feeling of attraction. What I felt towards Nabeel was merely infatuation, and what I felt towards Zaid was admiration, awe and an ardent desire and interest. I was never in love with anybody, and that was both tragic and beautiful. I knew that there was a love story out there for me, for Allah has said that he created us in pairs. I knew that someday I would feel love. Love was created, not found. Love was overlooking a person's faults, appreciating their good qualities, and ultimately working together to achieve love. Love wasn't the superficial idea we are fed every day through songs, books, movies and the media. Love is so much more than that.

I hung the dishcloth over the handle and put the dishes into the cupboard. I had become so accustomed to this life, and had long since left University. I simply didn't have a desire to complete my course, and neither did I feel like I was fit for that environment.

My Apa and I had created a full Aalimah course, right up till Bukhari, so that I had something to occupy my time. I read books, wrote poetry, and pursued my hobbies.

I was content. I wanted to get married, yes, but I could enjoy my own company.

I glanced up at the clock and gasped at the time. I ran upstairs, flung my hair into a ponytail, pulled on a Maxed t shirt and tights, and ran to the garage. I laid down yoga mats, put weights onto a rack, and organised the few exercise machines that I had. In a matter of minutes, girls filed into the garage, ranging from age 14-20.

"Assalamualaikum everybody. Go to your yoga mats. There's one per person. We'll wait for everyone to come, and then we'll start our session."

I smiled and cracked my neck. The girls followed suit. This was one of my favourite activities. Once a week, I would act as a fitness trainer for young Muslim girls. We started off with basic lunges, crunches and squats, but progressed to weights pretty soon. There were girls strong enough to lift 15 kg weights, while others enjoyed boxing, and occasionally we would have a girl pursue karate. I loved the idea of keeping girls healthy and happy, because I realised that at their age, nothing was more important.

The session progressed and when the hour was over, I dismissed the class and headed to the shower. I let the water wash over me and sang to myself, using the shower gel bottle as a mic. I tousled my hair with a towel and slipped on a kaftan, when the doorbell rang.

Did my father forget his key again?

I sighed and fished out my keys to open the front door. I was so busy fumbling with the set of keys that I didn't realise that it was not my father, but Zaid, that stood there.

"Zaid?" I asked, questioning the obvious.

He lowered his gaze and coughed in reply. I suddenly became aware of my clothing and ran to my room to put on my abaya, Hijab and niqab.

I returned to the door and ushered Zaid inside, who walked in front of me. I saw that he had a heavy box of goods in his hands, which explained why he didn't hand it to me. He placed the box on the counter and at that moment, my mother walked in with my father.

"Zaid, Zaid, come inside. Sit down," my father said.

Zaid smiled and politely declined the offer, with the excuse that he had to get back to the Darul Uloom to teach.

My heartbeat began to quicken and I averted my gaze from his biceps that showed prominently when he held the box.

My father and him engaged in conversation as he walked to the door, and from the fragments of speech that I could hear, it was a discussion on the Darul Uloom and Islamic issues in Morningville. It was strange how alike they looked and acted.

I brought myself back from the world of my thoughts and headed upstairs. I picked up an Islamic book and began to flip through it, but the words became blurred and tiredness overtook me.

I fell asleep, happiness overcoming me once again.