بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

“Alhamdulillah!” I exclaimed, as I finished my Mutala’ah just as the door bell rang. That’s probably Basheera and them and knowing her she’ll probably scold me for using words she doesn’t understand. I had tried explaining to her what Mutala’ah was before but she said, “That sounds like homework. Just say homework.” It’s not eactly homework but…yeah…ok, something like that.

Basheera refused to join Aalimah madrassah with me and since we now seemed to be heading in different directions, we were slowly drifting apart. Basheera despite changing drastically still kept her niqaab but she seemed to be making it more of a fashion statement than anything else. I had tried to advise her but she snapped at me for ‘going all holy’ on her.

We weren’t as close as we were when we were young but we still kinda close and get along quite well. This is why I turned to her mother in confusion asking where she was when I couldn’t see her anywhere.

With a very pained look her mother replied, “She wasn’t feeling well so she didn’t want to come.”

Something didn’t seem right about that. For some reason it seemed like her mother wasn’t telling the full truth. Basheera loved company no matter what. If she was really sick then I’m sure her parents would’ve canceled today’s plans.

Why would she not come then? Was she trying to distance herself from me? Did she think she’ll get bored here? Did something happen?
Catching sight of her father I knew something was definitely wrong. Her father who was usually a talkative happy go lucky sort of person was looking quite stressed and withdrawn today. Something was going on but what?

I began to dial their house in the hopes that she would answer but it went to voicemail. I tried again and again and on the third ring she finally answered.

“Wa Alaykum Salaam,” I replied starting to wonder if she was really sick because she was sounding different like you do when sick. Maybe I was thinking too much into it.

“Khawla! Khawla, I need a favour from you and please don’t go all holy on me. I need you to eavesdrop on the adults conversations today. Please do this for me, please!” She begged.

That’s when I realised she wasn’t sick, she had been crying! Why? Although I knew I was going to regret this, I was so curious to know what’s going on and I guess the fact that she sounded so desperate had me agreeing.

I slowly crept downstairs, my heart in my mouth. I felt like a burgler in my own house. “Are you sure you should be doing this? You know it’s not right,” my concience whispered but I ignored it.

“She knows, Basheera knows……Now she hate’s me…..It’s just what I feared……..All Maleeha’s fault!……haunted by a dead woman…..Fathima, that’s enough!”

And everything quitened down. I slowly crept up the stairs and phoned Basheera to tell her what I heard. None of it made sense to me. I hoped Basheera would fill me in when I was done but, “The nerve of that woman!” She screamed and slammed the phone down before I could ask any questions.

I stared at the phone in bewilderment. What on earth just happened?



Just aspiring to inspire through the pen, or should I say, keyboard. May Allah Ta’ala accept my efforts and make it a source of Hidayah for the Ummah.

2 thoughts on “Epilogue

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