90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHeMCpcNTkD
The moonlight spilled gently into Aaliyah's room, casting soft shadows along the walls. The faint hum of the city outside seemed distant, muffled by the stillness of the night. Ramadan nights always felt different — quieter, deeper, as if the world itself slowed down to listen to the prayers rising from every corner.
Aaliyah sat cross-legged on her bed, her journal resting in her lap. The pages were filled with her neat handwriting, each entry a piece of her heart. She had started writing letters to Allah at the beginning of Ramadan, pouring out everything she felt — her worries, her dreams, her longing for something more. It was easier than saying it aloud.
Tonight, her words came slower than usual. The day's events clung to her mind like stubborn shadows. She couldn't shake the memory of Zayd's words in the library, the way he talked about strength and faith. He made it sound so easy, so clear. But it wasn't that simple for her.
Her fingers tapped the pen against her chin as she stared at the blank page.
"Ya Allah, I'm trying. I really am. But sometimes, it feels like I'm stuck in the middle of who I am and who I'm supposed to be. Please, help me find my way."
The words felt heavy but honest. She sighed and closed the journal, placing it gently on her nightstand.
A soft knock at the door startled her.
"Come in," she called, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her mother peeked inside, her expression soft and warm. "You're still awake?"
Aaliyah nodded. "Couldn't sleep."
Her mother entered the room, sitting beside her on the bed. The familiar scent of jasmine lingered on her clothes, comforting and familiar. "Sometimes, the heart stays awake even when the body's tired," she said gently.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Her mother reached for Aaliyah's hand, giving it a small squeeze.
"I see you, Aaliyah. I see how hard you're trying. Allah sees it too. Don't think your efforts go unnoticed just because the world is quiet."
A lump formed in Aaliyah's throat. She hated how easily her emotions bubbled to the surface these days.
"I just... I want to be better. A better daughter. A better Muslim. A better... everything." Her voice wavered.
Her mother smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Aaliyah's ear. "You already are. Growth isn't about changing who you are. It's about becoming who Allah knows you can be."
Aaliyah blinked back tears, her heart swelling with a strange mix of comfort and sadness. She wanted to believe those words. She really did.
After her mother kissed her forehead and left, Aaliyah lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight seemed brighter now, as if the night itself was listening.
She wasn't sure what tomorrow would bring. But for the first time in a while, hope didn't feel so far away.
Sleep didn't come easily.
Aaliyah tossed and turned, her mind restless. The room felt too quiet now, leaving space for thoughts she didn't want to entertain. She stared at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster like they were a map to somewhere better.
Her mother's words replayed in her head: "Growth isn't about changing who you are. It's about becoming who Allah knows you can be."
She wanted to believe that. Really, she did. But it was hard when the world outside seemed to expect so much more from her — to be smarter, kinder, more patient, more religious, more everything. It felt like no matter how much she tried, she'd never quite reach the version of herself everyone seemed to want.
With a sigh, she sat up, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders. Her room felt smaller tonight, like the walls were creeping closer, pressing in. She needed air.
The hallway was dark and quiet. Aaliyah tiptoed past her parents' room, careful not to make a sound. The floorboards groaned softly under her weight, but no one stirred.
The living room was bathed in soft silver light from the window. She went to the balcony, pushing the glass door open as quietly as she could. A cool breeze kissed her face, making her shiver.
Istanbul looked different at night — softer, quieter, almost peaceful. The streets that buzzed with life during the day now stretched out empty, the distant glow of city lights flickering like stars that had fallen to the ground.
She leaned against the railing, the cold metal pressing against her arms. The sky above was vast and endless. Aaliyah imagined her prayers rising up, drifting past the buildings and streetlights, higher and higher, until they reached Allah.
"Do You hear me?" she wondered.
Her heart ached with questions she didn't know how to ask. Was she good enough? Was she on the right path? Did He see how hard she was trying?
The quiet swallowed her questions, offering no answers.
A movement on the street below caught her eye. A figure walked alone, hands in his pockets, head down. He moved with a slow, steady pace, like the night belonged to him.
Her stomach twisted in recognition. Zayd.
She didn't know why it surprised her to see him. He had mentioned living nearby. But something about the way he walked — shoulders slightly hunched, steps heavy — made him seem different. Less confident. Almost... lost.
Aaliyah watched him for a moment, biting her lip. She barely knew him. They weren't friends, not really. Just two people who crossed paths.
But still, she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as put together as he seemed.
The thought lingered longer than she wanted it to.
She stayed on the balcony until the air turned colder, the sky began to lighten, and Zayd disappeared into the shadows of the city.
The days of Ramadan seemed to pass both quickly and slowly at the same time. The suhoor meals, sleepy prayers, and long afternoons blurred together, but the evenings — those felt endless.
Aaliyah sat on her balcony again, the night air cool against her face. The streets were quieter than usual, and the moonlight cast soft silver shadows across the buildings. It felt peaceful, but her mind wasn't.
She couldn't stop thinking about her conversation with Zayd at the library.
The look in his eyes when he said Ramadan felt different this year lingered in her mind. He had looked so tired — not physically, but like his soul was tired. And she knew that feeling too well.
It wasn't just the fasting that drained her. It was the weight of expectations. The pressure to be a "good Muslim," to make her family proud, to figure out who she was supposed to become. It felt like she was running a race without knowing where the finish line was.
And Zayd... he felt like someone running that same race.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing beside her.
She glanced at it, surprised to see a message from an unknown number.
Unknown:
Hey. It's Zayd. Got your number from the library sign-in sheet. Hope that's okay.
Aaliyah frowned at the message. She hadn't expected that.
She hesitated for a second, then typed back.
Aaliyah:
That's... unexpected. But yeah, it's okay. What's up?
The reply came almost immediately.
Zayd:
Couldn't sleep. You?
Aaliyah glanced at the moon, her fingers hovering over the keyboard before responding.
Aaliyah:
Same.
There was a pause. Then another message.
Zayd:
Do you ever feel like... you're trying to be a good person, doing everything you're supposed to, but it never feels enough?
Her heart clenched.
Aaliyah:
Yeah. All the time.
The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Then finally—
Zayd:
Ramadan used to feel different. Like it meant something. Now, I pray, I fast, I do everything right... but it just feels empty.
Aaliyah's grip on her phone tightened.
Aaliyah:
I know that feeling. Like you're holding onto something, but it's slipping through your fingers. Like no matter what you do, you can't bring it back.
A long pause.
Zayd:
Exactly.
She sighed, leaning against the wall.
Aaliyah:
Maybe faith isn't about always feeling it. Maybe it's about choosing to hold on, even when you don't.
It took longer for the next message to come through.
Zayd:
That's... actually kind of deep. You come up with that yourself?
Aaliyah smiled for the first time that night.
Aaliyah:
Nope. Something my mom told me once.
She waited for a reply, but none came. She figured he probably fell asleep — and, somehow, that made her feel relieved. Maybe he needed rest more than anything.
The next day felt heavier than usual.
Aaliyah sat at the kitchen table, staring at her untouched plate. Her mother had made aloo parathas for iftar — her favorite — but she didn't feel hungry.
Her mom noticed.
"You okay, sweetie?"
Aaliyah nodded automatically. "Yeah. Just tired."
Her mother didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. "It's time. You should eat."
Aaliyah nodded again but didn't touch her food.
Her phone buzzed quietly in her lap.
It was Zayd.
Zayd:90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu7b7wCMHBE
Library after iftar?
Aaliyah stared at the message for a second, then typed back:
Aaliyah:90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdL4aSyk5uw
Yeah. I'll be there.
She wasn't sure why she agreed so quickly. But something told her this conversation wasn't finished yet.
And maybe — just maybe — she didn't want it to be.
The library was quieter than usual when Aaliyah walked in. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the space, and the smell of old books and paper felt oddly comforting. It was strange how a place could feel like a second home without even realizing it.
She spotted Zayd first. He sat at their usual table, hood up, head down, tapping his pencil against his notebook. His backpack was slouched in the chair next to him. He looked lost in thought — or maybe just lost.
Aaliyah hesitated for a second before walking over.
"Hey."
Zayd looked up, his eyes tired but soft. "Hey. You came."
"You asked," she replied with a small shrug, slipping into the seat across from him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. It wasn't awkward, though. It was comfortable — the kind of silence that didn't need to be filled.
Zayd was the first to break it.
"I think I'm failing," he said quietly. His voice wasn't heavy with frustration, more like... resignation. "At everything. School. Ramadan. Life."
Aaliyah blinked. She wasn't expecting him to be so blunt.
"You're not failing."
He gave a weak laugh, shaking his head. "It feels like I am."
Aaliyah leaned forward slightly. "Why?"
Zayd stared at his notebook like it held the answer. "I dunno. I used to feel so sure about everything. My deen. My plans. My future. Now, it's like... everything's on pause. I keep waiting for things to get better, but they don't."
Aaliyah's throat tightened. She knew that feeling all too well — like you're stuck in a version of your life that wasn't supposed to happen.
"I think," she started slowly, "we tell ourselves that faith is supposed to feel easy. Like it's supposed to fix everything. But maybe it's not meant to work that way."
Zayd looked at her, his brow furrowing. "Then what's the point?"
She exhaled, tapping her fingers against the table. "Maybe faith isn't about fixing things. Maybe it's about holding on, even when nothing feels right. Even when you feel broken. It's about trusting that one day, it will make sense — even if today it doesn't."
Zayd stared at her for a long moment, like he was trying to process her words. Then he looked away, his voice quieter than before.
"I wish I believed that."
Aaliyah's chest ached. She wanted to tell him he would believe it again — that this was just a rough patch. But the truth was, she didn't know if that was true. She wasn't sure if she believed it herself.
"Maybe," she said softly, "it's okay not to believe it right now."
Zayd looked up at her again, his expression unreadable. "Why does it feel like you get it? Like... you understand exactly what I'm trying to say, even when I can't explain it right?"
Aaliyah hesitated, then gave a small, sad smile.
"Because I feel the same way."
They stayed in the library longer than they probably should have. The sun had long since disappeared, and the sky outside was a deep, endless black.
Neither of them wanted to go home.
"I should probably head back soon," Aaliyah finally said, her voice reluctant.
Zayd nodded slowly, but he didn't move.
"You know..." he started, his voice hesitant, "I'm glad I met you."
Aaliyah's breath caught in her throat. She didn't know why. Maybe because it felt like the first genuine thing anyone had said to her in a long time.
"Me too," she admitted.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then Zayd cleared his throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "You wanna meet up tomorrow? After suhoor, maybe? We can watch the sunrise."
Aaliyah blinked in surprise. "The sunrise?"
"Yeah," Zayd said, his voice quieter now. "I think... I think I just need to see something beautiful. Something that reminds me the world's still good, even if it doesn't feel like it."
Aaliyah's heart softened.
"Yeah," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'd like that."
Aaliyah leaned against the cool brick wall, her eyes drifting over the empty street as she waited for Zayd. The morning air was thick with the scent of roasting chestnuts and the distant hum of city life. Lanterns blinked to life one by one, their golden glow flickering across the alleyways.
She checked her phone again. Still no message. Zayd was late.
Her gaze wandered across the street to a sleek black car, parked just a little too perfectly to belong to an average passerby. It wasn't the kind of car anyone in this neighborhood would dare leave unattended.
The driver swung open the door . A man stepped out, tall and deliberate in his movements. His suit was sharp, dark enough to blend into the shadows, but his presence demanded attention. He didn't belong here — and yet, he owned the space around him.
Aaliyah couldn't look away.
Two men hurried up to him from the alley's edge. Their postures screamed desperation. One of them spoke fast, his voice strained and shaky. Aaliyah couldn't make out the words, but she could feel the tension crackle through the air like static before a storm.
Faris didn't flinch. His hands were in his pockets, head slightly tilted like he was already bored. One of the men reached for his arm — a mistake.90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFHfx6Axk6E
90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyZU6y13kXJ
[Faris Al-Fayez is a man shaped by loss and resilience. He carries an air of quiet strength, with sharp eyes that seem to hold untold stories and a voice that's both commanding and calm. His past weighs heavily on him — a brother lost to betrayal, a heart guarded by guilt, and a relentless pursuit of justice that defines his every move.]
In one swift, fluid movement, He grabbed the man by the wrist and twisted. The man yelped, dropping to his knees as he leaned in close, murmuring something low enough that Aaliyah couldn't hear.
Her heart hammered. She didn't know what he said, but the second man took a shaky step back, eyes wide with fear.
Faris let the first man go with a sharp shove. He staggered backward, clutching his wrist.
Without another glance, He walked back to his car, calm and controlled, like nothing had happened. The men disappeared into the shadows.
Aaliyah stared, rooted to the spot.
For a second, his eyes flicked toward her.
Her breath hitched.
But he didn't stop. He got into the car, the engine purred to life, and he was gone — like a ghost that never should have been there.
Zayd showed up a minute later, breathless and grinning like nothing was wrong.
"You won't believe what I had to—" he stopped mid-sentence, noticing the look on her face. "Aaliyah? You okay?"
She blinked, forcing herself to breathe again.
"Yeah... I'm fine," she said slowly, her mind still tangled in the memory of those cold, unreadable eyes.
For the first time in a long while, she wasn't sure she believed her own words.
To Be Continued-
90Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDVBFF0brgh
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