46. 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓

"It'll be fun, Nur. After today, you'll want to go every day,"

Highly unlikely.

I have a lot of respect for people who take control of their physical health, commit to being active, and work hard to stay fit. It's impressive to see them put in the effort and take the necessary steps to prioritize their well-being. I genuinely admire that for them.

That being said, I'm not part of that group—nor do I have any desire to be. The idea of voluntarily subjecting myself to physical pain and exertion? Yeah, I'll gladly pass on that. It's just not my scene, and I'm perfectly okay with that. So why is Hassan doing this to me?

Hiking. This man is making—no, forcing—me to go hiking with him.

It was our fourth day in Greece, on the beautiful island of Corfu, and as much as it felt like paradise, hiking wasn't part of my ideal getaway. The blue waters of the Ionian Sea were crystal clear, and the island was a lush haven with green trees and plants everywhere you looked.

We'd spent the last few days exploring different parts of the island, and honestly, I was falling in love with Corfu. The charming little towns had narrow streets lined with old buildings that carried so much history in their faded colors and weathered stones. The food was incredible too—fresh seafood and traditional dishes that made every meal memorable. The whole island had such a laid-back vibe, the kind that made you want to stay forever. Even the locals had a warmth about them that was contagious.

But despite all this perfection, I still didn't want to hike. Wallah, not one bit. And he knows this.

He had been trying to get me into running since we got married, but after a few attempts, I'd given up, and so had he. Now, his new strategy was emotional blackmail—convincing me to hike with him under the scorching heat, knowing full well how much more uncomfortable I'd be with all the layers I had to wear. Still, I'd take this heat over the alternative, the heat that was much harder to escape. Yes, that heat.

His grin told me he knew he had won this round. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, tying his shoelaces. Meanwhile, I sat in a lounge chair across the room, still in my abaya, veil not yet on, with a pout firmly in place as I watched him.

When he finished, he glanced at his watch, then looked up at me, amused by my stubbornness. A chuckle escaped him, and he stood, walking over until he was right in front of me. Without a word, he knelt down, gently took my left foot, and placed it on his lap. He grabbed the shoes that were next to the chair and began slipping them onto my feet, one after the other, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Once he was done, he stood and took hold of my arms, pulling me up from my seat with gentle insistence. I stood reluctantly, still pouting as he watched me, another chuckle escaping his lips. He lifted his hand to my cheek, brushing his thumb across it speaking, his deep voice tender.

"I won't force you if you really don't want to go, baby. I just want us to spend every moment together, but I understand if you don't feel like it. It is really hot today, and I can't even imagine how uncomfortable you will feel under your hijab."

His thoughtfulness melted the pout off my face.

"No, don't mind me. Let me just put my hijab on quickly," I said, feeling lighter now.

I saw the relief wash over his face, his eyes brightening as he walked over to the bed where my veil and pin box were waiting. He picked them up and turned back to me with a gleam in his eyes.

"Come here, Nur," he said, motioning me over. Okay?

I approached him, confused by the look on his face. "What are you up to now?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"I've been watching you put on your veil, and today, I want to do it for you. Don't worry, I won't poke any holes in your head. Promise."

"Wait, what?" I stared at him, incredulous. He wanted to what?

"Trust me," he said, placing one hand on my shoulder and the other holding the veil. He set the pin box down carefully. "I got this."

"Okay," I agreed, raising an eyebrow.

"Just make a sound if I do prick you," he added with a cheeky smile.

I laughed. "Obviously I'll make a sound if you prick me!"

Still laughing, I sat down and let him try. This was going to be interesting.

He gently cupped my chin, tilting it upward with careful precision. "Stay still," he mumbled, his voice soft but focused, fully absorbed in the task at hand.

I couldn't help but watch him closely, my breath catching in my throat at our proximity. His hair, slightly damp from just being combed through with water, framed his face in a way that made my heart skip a beat. His skin, it's regular warm olive tone, was scattered with faint freckles and a few small scarr. His thick eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, and every now and then, his nose would lightly brush against my skin. His eyelashes, unusually long, fluttered as he blinked, and a tiny smile played on his two-toned lips.

God, he still takes my breath away.

I couldn't suppress a laugh as he measured the veil, making sure one side was longer than the other. He glanced up at my amusement, shaking his head with a grin before focusing again. Carefully, he held the veil under my chin and secured it with a safety pin, stepping back to inspect his work. His eyes traveled over me, and he gave a small nod of approval.

I sat still, continuing to watch him as he took the longer end of the veil and wrapped it over my head, bringing it around to meet the other side. He handled it with surprising skill, smoothing down the fabric and pinning it in place as if he'd done this a hundred times before.

He stepped back further this time, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. I couldn't resist posing for him, which made his smile widen in approval. Then, without a word, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the full-length mirror in our suite.

"What do you think?" he asked, his tone eager, as he watched me approach the mirror with anticipation.

I walked closer, my eyes widening in surprise. I wasn't expecting it to look this good—especially from someone who had never worn a veil in his life. The folds were neat, the pins perfectly placed, and the overall look was effortless. I ran my fingers over the smooth fabric, astonished at how well he'd done.

Over the years, I had my fair share of bad hijab days. Slowly but surely, my collection of veils had dwindled, replaced by khimars and jilbaabs, leaving just a few veils for special occasions. Yet, here he was, handling my veil as if he'd been doing this for years.

What couldn't this man do?

"Babe, seriously? You can do this too?" I asked, my voice dripping with mock exasperation as I turned to face him, my back now to the mirror. "What's next, you can sew abayas?"

He let out a soft laugh at my words as his eyes crinkled at the corners. He shrugged playfully, crossing his arms as if contemplating the idea.

"I do know how to sew, took a few classes on it when I was in London. Don't ask why"

"Hassan!"

~

I huffed as my legs strained, shaking a little from the workout they were enduring. I was convinced that Hassan was paying me back for all those times I turned down his invitations to work out together.

He, on the other hand, looked completely unfazed. He glanced around at the undeniably beautiful scenery, and even I had to admit it was stunning—mashaa Allah.

"How much longer?" I asked, taking a moment to catch my breath with my hands on my waist.

"Soon, baby," he replied encouragingly, offering me his hand and gently pulling me forward as we continued our trek.

The trail kept climbing, and I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The sound of our footsteps on the rocky path filled the air, mixed with the rustling leaves in the breeze.

After a while, we reached a particularly steep section, and the burn in my legs intensified. I paused, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath. "I definitely need to be more active," I mumbled to myself.

"We're almost there, Nur."

"Hassan, shush!"

After what felt like twenty minutes of steady climbing (definitely extended because of all my breaks), we finally reached the summit.

The monastery stood before us, a serene sight against the backdrop of the mountains. I paused for a moment to catch my breath, and Hassan squeezed my hand, taking in the view alongside me.

"See? Told you it would be worth it," he said, grinning from ear to ear.

I smiled back, my heart full. "It's so breathtaking."

The panorama stretched out before us, endless blue sea merging with the sky, rolling hills gently sloping into the horizon, and the distant coastline of Albania faintly visible in the distance. Proof that God exists? Here's another from our Rabb, Al-Musawwir, the Fashioner of all creation.

"Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"Please tell me we're going to rest before we head back." I pleaded. The thought of going back down was already making me feel exhausted—well more exhausted. Though the view was definitely worth it.

He laughed at my question, giving me a nod.

Hassan set down the mini cooler he'd been carrying, his hands moving quickly as he shrugged off his backpack. Unzipping it carefully, he pulled out a neatly folded bedsheet and spread it across the spot. The day was warm, and a gentle breeze played with the ends of my scarf as I untied my shoelaces, eager to get comfortable. Before Hassan could even suggest it, I had already seated myself on the sheet, enjoying the softness beneath me.

He sat down beside me before opening the cooler to retrieve two bottles of water. Without hesitation, I raised my niqab over my head, whispered bismillah and took a long, refreshing sip, stopping halfway through to savor the coolness. Once satisfied, I screwed the cap back on and set the bottle down beside me. As I turned to Hassan, I noticed him holding up a mini tub of cookie dough ice cream with a playful grin.

"Something cold to cool you down," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

I couldn't help but giggle. "Baby..." I began, leaning in for a hug, but my muscles betrayed me. A sudden cramp in my leg made me wince and sit back awkwardly. Sheepishly, I added, "Give me a moment."

But Hassan was quick to act. With a chuckle, he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the tip of my nose. My heart warmed instantly, my smile growing wider as I whispered, "Thank you."

His response was gentle but earnest. "You're welcome," he murmured, pausing for a moment before adding, "I have something to show you." There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, and he hesitated before reaching into his backpack again. My curiosity piqued as I watched him pull out an old, weathered book. The leather cover was faded, and the binding frayed, showing signs of frequent use. He thumbed through the pages until he found a bookmark, then handed it to me carefully.

"I was torn about showing you this," he admitted, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "But I want you to read it."

I looked at him noticing his demeanour. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, more certain this time. "Yes, I want you to. Please."

Cradling the book in my hands, I began reading. My eyes traced the lines, and almost instantly, my breath caught in my throat.

My heart hurts. It hurts so bad. Knowing I can never be good enough. I can never be enough for her, for anyone. I'm too damaged.

The next entry read,

I know that she deserves someone better, someone normal. But my selfish heart yearns for her so pathetically after all these years. My halimah.

I blinked, momentarily stunned. Glancing up, I saw Hassan silently turn the page for me, his face vulnerable . I continued reading, my heart sinking with every word.

I don't think I can do this anymore. The pain inside me is too unbearable. I can't be saved. I'm too broken. I can't do this anymore.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I absorbed the raw, unfiltered emotions laid bare on the page. Hassan turned the book to another section, his hands steady though his face betrayed what was coming.

I can't hold on anymore. The medicines don't completely work. I have begged Allah to heal me more times than I can count. Is this a test? Because I am failing really badly.

The next entry right under on a single line read,

May Allah forgive me for what I plan to do.

A low gasp escaped my lips, and the tears I had been holding back flowed freely as the weight of those words sank in. My heart pounded as I realized the gravity of what was being planned. With trembling hands, I turned the page, dreading what I would find next.

Dad came over to visit and now he's asking me to come visit mom and Zahra. It's like he knew, but that's impossible. I'll go visit them one last time.They deserve a goodbye.

I hope I get to see Halimah. Even if it's a glance. Pathetic, I know.

I couldn't stop the sobs that rose from deep within me. Hassan shifted closer, gently pulling me into his embrace as I cried against his chest. His hand rubbed soothing circles on my back.

"Baby, it's not finished yet," he whispered, his voice trembling , but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, trying to offer me comfort.

I wiped my eyes and adjusted my veil, sitting up straighter. He turned another page for me.

I spoke with her today, like actually spoke to her properly since we were kids. She genuinely wanted to get to know me. It felt really good. Almost too good to be true. She's so smart and beautiful. And funny, God she's funny.

Despite the sadness lingering in my chest, I felt a smile tug at my lips.

Hassan flipped through more pages, until I saw a section where the ink had blurred, possibly from some liquid. Tears?

She said yes. She actually said yes. How can I leave when she said yes? I never thought this was possible. If this falls through I will be devastated, but I would understand. This definitely was not a part of the plan.

The next page turned under my hand, the story unfolding before me like a memory being revisited.

I'm back in London. Today is the day yet why is there a sinking feeling in my chest when just a few weeks ago I was craving this freedom, now I just don't know. I don't know. I don't want to leave yet. Not when life is beginning to feel good. Not when Halimah is almost mine.

My wedding, sounds so weird to say, is near. Preparations are underway and it's been such a good distraction these days. My heart feels lighter.

With each entry, the tone shifted, the darkness giving way to glimpses of hope. I couldn't stop reading, feeling like I was retracing the steps of a man who had once believed he was too broken to be loved, only to find it where he least expected it.

When I reached the final entry, my heart swelled with emotion.

She saved me without even knowing it, and has continued to save me. My Halimah Musa. My Nur.

Tears filled my eyes once more, and I wrapped my arms tightly around Hassan, burying my face in his neck as my emotions overwhelmed me. He held me just as tightly, his own tears dampening my shoulder.

We stayed that way for a while, wrapped in each other's warmth, before slowly pulling back, our arms still intertwined. I gazed into his tear-filled eyes, my heart swelling with love.

"I love you so much, Hassan," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "You don't realize how much you've saved me too. Without you, I would still be that scared little girl, terrified of the world. I'd still be hiding behind sarcastic remarks to shield her insecurities. The girl who didn't think she was enough "

Hassan's eyes glistened as he listened, holding me closer.

"You made me believe life was worth living," he said softly, his voice full of emotion. "You reintroduced me to Allah in a way I had never truly understood before. Through our love, everything else just seemed to fall into place. Halimah, I love you so deeply. Allah gave me the life I had been yearning for all these years through you"

He paused, running his hands down his face, letting out a deep breath. Without a word, I slipped my hands into his, offering him my silent support.

"You gave me Zayd, gave me a sense of belonging... You—you are everything, Nur Ayn"

More tears flowed down my face but I smiled through them, barely seeing through my cloudy eyes. "You and I, forever?"

"Forever wouldn't be enough," he replied.

"Fi dunya wal Akhira?" I asked, holding out my pinky , my smile gentle.

"Fi dunya wal Akhira," he said, linking his pinky with mine, his smile matching mine.

"Inshaa Allah," we whispered together, our hearts naively trying to reach the other.

Allah brought him into my life at the most unexpected time, but that's exactly where the beauty lies. It was a moment only He could have planned, with His infinite wisdom and timing. For who is a better planner than Allah, the one who knows what is best for us even when we don't understand? It couldn't have been more perfect, and looking back, I realize that every step led me to that very moment.

When you reflect on life, it becomes clear that anything not done for Allah holds no real value. If your actions, your love, your very essence aren't centered around Him, then what are they for? No love is genuine, no love is eternal unless it is done for the sake of Allah. It is only through this pure, selfless love that we find meaning and fulfillment, because the love we share for Allah's sake goes beyond this dunya.

I may not have remembered Allah with such clarity in my childhood, but that forgetfulness will never happen again. Now, His presence is engraved deep within my soul, shaping everything I am and everything I aspire to be. Now, I will make mistakes, as everyone else will but His mercy, His compassion , His guidance—it will be my motivation to do better, to be better.

And then there's Hassan. He came into my life when I needed him most, even if I didn't know it at the time. With him, I found the missing pieces of myself. His love completed me, not just emotionally, but spiritually.

He brought me Zayd, the other half of my heart, a gift from Allah that completed our family and filled our lives with even more love and happiness.

Hassan isn't just a blessing; he was a reminder. A reminder of Allah's grace, of His ability to send the right person at the right time.

Not a second early, not a second later.

THE END.