2

Aisha was still laughing as I dragged her toward the campus café, my face burning like I'd been roasted alive.

"Stop laughing!" I hissed, glancing over my shoulder like he might suddenly appear behind us. "Do you want me to die?"

"I'm sorry," she wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes. "But the way you ran-Noor, you looked like someone set the classroom on fire!"

"Someone did!" I snapped. "That man. With his eyes. His stupid, piercing eyes!"

Aisha leaned against a bench, still chuckling. "Okay, okay. What's the plan now, Mrs-"

"Don't. You. Dare." I jabbed a finger at her. "We don't say that word. Not here. Not anywhere. Do you want the walls to hear you?"

She smirked. "Fine. What's the plan now... Roll number 27?"

I groaned loudly, burying my face in my hands. "There is no plan! He's going to murder me in class and then act like nothing happened at home. I just know it."

Aisha's grin turned wicked. "Or..." she sing-songed, "you could go back and apologize. You know... clear the air before he grades the test."

I shot her a look of pure horror. "Go back? After I wrote that? Are you out of your mind?"

She shrugged. "Fine. Then live in suspense. He'll probably frame the note and hang it in his office."

I grabbed her arm, shaking her. "Aisha! This isn't a joke!"

She only laughed harder. "It is to me."

We spent the next ten minutes hiding in the café corner, whispering about how I could possibly retrieve the paper without being caught. Every plan we came up with was more ridiculous than the last-me disguising myself as a janitor, bribing the peon with cupcakes, sneaking in at night like some kind of spy.

In the end, I slumped in defeat. "I'm doomed," I muttered into my iced coffee.

Aisha patted my shoulder, grinning. "Yes, Noor. Doomed... and it's going to be hilarious."

I gone to the library and then after Maghrib i went to the home.

The house was full of chatter-his mother calling for dinner, his siblings laughing in the background-but I didn't feel part of it. I just wanted to run straight to my room unnoticed.

But the second I stepped past the hallway, his voice stopped me cold.

"Noor."

I froze. He was standing at the door of his study room, the heavy wooden door half open, his sleeves rolled up, holding my test paper in his hand.

My stomach dropped.

"Come inside," he said, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

I stepped into the study cautiously. The room was cold and pristine, his presence filling every corner. He closed the door behind me with a soft click, and somehow that sound made my chest tighten.

He walked back to his desk, set the paper down, and looked up at me. "What exactly made you think writing this was acceptable?"

I twisted my fingers together. "I... I was stressed."

His expression didn't shift. "So instead of using that time to answer properly, you write nonsense?"

"I-it was just a joke," I whispered.

"Do I look like I find it amusing?"

The sharpness in his voice hit me like a slap. My throat burned, and before I could stop it, tears stung my eyes. I looked down, hoping he wouldn't notice.

But he did.

His jaw tightened as he watched me hastily wipe my cheeks, but he didn't soften. "Next time, Noor, use that time to write correct answers instead. You'll get exactly what you deserve. Nothing more, nothing less."

That was it. No comfort, no acknowledgment of my tears. Just that flat, cold voice.

I nodded quickly, unable to say a word, and turned to leave.

My hand was on the door when his voice came again, softer but no less firm.

"And Noor..."

I paused.

"Don't make me have this conversation with you again."

I swallowed hard and slipped out before my tears could betray me any further.

I closed the door to my room and leaned against it, my chest tight like I couldn't breathe. The house was so full-his parents, his siblings, everyone moving around downstairs-but somehow, I'd never felt so alone.

I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth to stop the sob that wanted to escape. One tear slipped down, then another, until I sank onto the bed and hugged my knees to my chest.

Why is he like this?

He hadn't even raised his voice. He didn't need to. That coldness, that distance in his eyes, hurt so much more than if he'd just yelled.

I buried my face into my knees, muffling my sniffles. It wasn't just about the test paper anymore. It was the way he looked right through me, like I was a stranger living in his house instead of... his wife.

The muffled sound of his mother's laughter drifted up from the living room. His younger brother was calling out for him, the clatter of plates signaling dinner.

I couldn't face any of them. Not like this.

I wiped my face quickly, trying to make myself presentable, but the redness in my eyes gave me away.

No. I'll just... stay here. No one will notice if I'm not at dinner.

I hated that his words could make me feel so small. I hated even more that he'd seen my tears.

And worst of all... I hated that he hadn't cared.

The call for adhan drifted into my room, soft and steady. I wiped the last of my tears with my sleeve and stood up slowly.

I went to the bathroom to make wudu, letting the cool water wash over my hands, my face, my heart. It was the only thing that calmed the storm inside me.

After freshening up, I spread my prayer mat on the floor, facing the qibla, and began my salah.

But when I went into sujood, the weight in my chest broke.

"Ya Allah..." I whispered, my voice cracking. "You know what's in my heart. You know how hard this is for me. Please give me strength, please don't let me feel so alone..."

Tears dripped onto the prayer mat as I stayed there, pouring my heart out in a way I couldn't with anyone else.

I prayed for everything. For patience, for ease, for a place in Azlan's heart-even if he didn't want to give it.

"Ya Allah... soften him, soften me... let this marriage have love. Or at least let me stop hurting so much."

My dua went on and on, words blurring into sobs as I begged Allah to make it easier, to guide me, to never let me feel invisible in my own home.

By the time I sat back on my heels and wiped my face, the room was silent except for my quiet sniffles. But there was a different kind of silence now-a calmer one.

Because even if no one else understood, Allah had heard me.

I reached for the Qur'an from my shelf and held it close, the familiar weight a comfort in itself. I flipped to Surah Mulk, my lips softly reciting verse after verse.

I opened the Qur'an to Surah Al-Mulk, my fingers brushing the delicate pages. Taking a deep breath, I began to recite softly, letting the words fill the quiet room:

"تَبَارَكَ الَّذِي بِيَدِهِ الْمُلْكُ وَهُوَ عَلَىٰ كُلِّ شَيْءٍ قَدِيرٌ"

"Blessed is He in whose hand is the dominion, and He is over all things competent." (67:1)

The weight of the verse settled in my chest. Allah's power, His control over everything-my heart loosened just a little.

I continued, voice trembling but steadying with each word:

"الَّذِي خَلَقَ الْمَوْتَ وَالْحَيَاةَ لِيَبْلُوَكُمْ أَيُّكُمْ أَحْسَنُ عَمَلًا ۚ وَهُوَ الْعَزِيزُ الْغَفُورُ"

"He who created death and life to test you [as to] which of you is best in deed-and He is the Exalted in Might, the Forgiving." (67:2)

Tears blurred the page as I whispered the next ayah, clinging to its meaning. My struggles were a test... one I didn't want to fail.

"الَّذِي خَلَقَ سَبْعَ سَمَاوَاتٍ طِبَاقًا ۖ مَا تَرَىٰ فِي خَلْقِ الرَّحْمَـٰنِ مِن تَفَاوُتٍ"

"[It is He] who created seven heavens in layers. You do not see in the creation of the Most Merciful any inconsistency..." (67:3)

The words washed over me, calming the storm in my chest. Allah was Al-Rahman, the Most Merciful. He saw me, heard me, even when no one else did.

I recited slowly, verse after verse, until the surah came to an end. Closing the Qur'an gently, I pressed it to my heart.

For the first time that day, the heaviness didn't feel unbearable.



Azlan stepped out of his study after finishing some work , the house unusually quiet. His parents were in the living room with his siblings, but the faint sound of recitation pulled his steps toward the upstairs hallway.

He stopped.

The voice was soft, trembling but steady, carrying verses he knew well:

"تَبَارَكَ الَّذِي بِيَدِهِ الْمُلْكُ وَهُوَ عَلَىٰ كُلِّ شَيْءٍ قَدِيرٌ"

"Blessed is He in whose hand is the dominion, and He is over all things competent."

It was Noor.

She'd been in her room since evening. She'd skipped dinner. And now, she was reciting Qur'an, her voice breaking every few verses as if holding back tears.

Azlan stood there, unseen, listening as she continued:

"الَّذِي خَلَقَ الْمَوْتَ وَالْحَيَاةَ لِيَبْلُوَكُمْ أَيُّكُمْ أَحْسَنُ عَمَلًا"

"He who created death and life to test you [as to] which of you is best in deed..."

Her voice trembled, and something tightened in his chest.

He knew she was hurting. He'd seen the tears she tried to hide earlier. But instead of running to anyone for comfort, she'd gone straight to Allah. She always did.

Azlan's fingers curled at his sides.

Part of him wanted to knock on the door. To say... something. Anything. But he didn't move. He didn't know how.

Instead, he stood there in the dim hallway, listening to every verse until her voice faded into soft silence.

Then, quietly, he turned and walked back to his study, his expression unreadable-but the sound of her broken recitation lingered with him long after.

Noor had just finished reciting Surah Mulk, her voice soft and heavy with emotion, when a gentle knock sounded at her door.

"Noor beta?" Mariyam's warm voice came through, soft and motherly.

Noor quickly wiped her face, trying to hide the evidence of her tears. "Jee... ammi?"

The door opened, and Mariyam entered, holding a tray with food. "You didn't come down for dinner. I thought I'd bring it to you myself."

"A-ammi, I wasn't hungry," Noor murmured, standing up quickly. "I'm sorry. I should have-"

Mariyam placed the tray on the bedside table and stepped forward, cupping Noor's face tenderly. "No apologies, beta. You're my daughter, not a stranger. If you don't feel like coming down, you don't have to. But you must eat something... for me."

The word daughter made Noor's throat tighten. She'd lost her parents so young, and Mariyam had been the only mother she'd ever known. No one else in the world could make her feel this safe.

"Come, sit," Mariyam said, pulling her gently toward the bed. "Let me feed you, hmm? Just like old times."

Noor shook her head softly. "No, ammi... I can eat myself-"

But Mariyam didn't let her finish. She scooped up a spoonful of food and held it out, her eyes soft. "Please, beta. I've already lost a sister, I can't watch you fade away too. You're all I have left of her."

Noor's eyes burned, her tears threatening to fall again. She opened her mouth and took the bite silently, her heart swelling with gratitude and grief all at once.

Mariyam stroked her hair the way her mother once did, soothing and steady. "You're such a strong girl, Noor. I don't ever want you to feel alone in this house. This is your home, always. Do you understand?"

Noor nodded quickly, her throat too tight for words.

Mariyam kissed her forehead and whispered, "That's my girl. Finish this and then come sit with me for a while. I miss you being around."

As Mariyam sat with her, Noor felt a fragile warmth replace the cold ache in her chest. In a house where she often felt invisible, Mariyam's love was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely.

Noor quietly finished the food Mariyam had fed her, each bite tasting less like food and more like comfort. When she was done, Mariyam set the tray aside and patted her lap gently.

"Come here, beta," she said softly. "Like you used to."

Noor hesitated for a moment, but then her heart pulled her forward. She laid her head on Mariyam's lap, just like she had when she was a child, and felt her aunt's familiar hands stroke her hair.

"You know," Mariyam murmured, "I never think of you as a daughter-in-law. You are my Noor, the same little girl who used to follow me everywhere. My sister's daughter... my daughter."

Noor's eyes filled instantly, her throat tightening. She hadn't heard words like that in so long. She clutched Mariyam's dupatta lightly, as if afraid this moment would slip away.

"I miss her, Noor," Mariyam whispered, her voice breaking slightly as she thought of her late sister. "But when I see you... it's like a piece of her is still with me. You're the greatest gift she left behind."

Noor's tears spilled silently onto Mariyam's lap. "I miss her too, ammi," she whispered.

Mariyam stroked her hair again, her touch steady and full of love. "Then promise me one thing, beta... no matter what happens, you'll never think you're alone. This is your home. I am your home."

Noor nodded softly, the ache in her heart easing for the first time that day. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of Mariyam's lap, exactly as she had when she was a little girl who'd lost everything.

Mariyam held her like she'd held her back then, not as a mother-in-law, not even as an aunt-

but as a mother who could never stop loving her child.

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Thank you for reading!