#- 'NUR-AFIYA'
_...PRESENT DAY.
_____
""Alhamdulillahi, sir." Jamal exhaled into the phone, his gaze travelling across Fawas' parlour like he was trying to put together; fading memories of the past. The changes struck deep: colors had faded to ghosts on the walls. Furnitures; now rearranged at unfamiliar angles. "I just arrived a few minutes ago," he added, voice dropping softly. "How is everyone on your end?"
"Alhamdulillah, we're all good," came the familiar voice on the other end. It was Ustaz Hamid, his mentor and anchor during those nine long years away from Nur Afiya. The sound wrapped around Jamal like an old, steadying embrace. "We thank Allah you arrived safely. And, have you heard from Fawas yet?"
"Yes, Ustaz," Jamal murmured, his eyes scouring the room once again, as if pleading with the walls to confess what had happened. He was sitting in Fawas' house, yet it was no longer the place he remembered; some essential spirit was missing, and Fawas had yet to offer a single word of explanation. "I arrived at his place," he finished, the words hanging thin and helpless in the waiting silence.
"Okay. Kindly extend my regards to him."
"Alright. Will do."
A static whisper stretched between them, the line holding its breath.
"Hello? Hello!" Jamal's voice sharpened, cutting the quiet.
A deep, rough sigh followed, heavy with the weight of the unspoken. "Mmm, mmm." A throat cleared on the other end, and Jamal felt the shift before the words came.
"I called you for another reason, Jamal," the Ustaz said finally, his voice now grave, like a stone sinking in deep water. "I need you to come back to Al-Mahrak tomorrow. It's very urgent."
The words hit Jamal like a brick against bone. He blinked, sitting upright, his pulse stuttering. "Come back tomorrow?" A short, disbelieving laugh escaped him. "But, Ustaz, I just arrived here. That's about seventeen hours on the road."
"I know it's hard to bear," the Ustaz's voice dropped, leaving no space for argument. "But believe me; if it wasn't critically important, I wouldn't ask."
Silence fell, thick and suffocating.
Jamal's voice pushed through at last, frayed with disbelief and irritation. "..Critically important?" he repeated silently, the phrase snagging on his tongue. What could that even mean? Everyone had been fine when he left Al-Mahrak. So what catastrophe could have possibly erupted in the few hours since? "What happened?" he asked finally.
A long, weary breath traveled down the line. Then came the answer.
"She's back."
Jamal's brows knitted, his eyes narrowing at the empty air. "Who?"
"...Rofiya."
The name dropped like a stone into still water. The ripple tore through him. Jamal straightened, a violent jerk seizing his chest. Rofiya. His ex-lover. The daughter of the very man speaking on the phone. She had vanished years ago; run off with a stranger, swallowed by a silence so absolute it left only scars and questions. He hadn't heard her name spoken aloud in years. Until now.
"She arrived this evening," Ustaz continued, his voice deliberate. "But that's not all." A pause. Heavy. "She came with a sick child. She claims the boy is yours. And he's in critical condition."
Jamal's throat sealed. A child? His child? And in critical condition? His limbs turned heavy, his mind scrambling for a dotted connection that simply wasn't there. Yes, he was old enough to be a father; but not with her. Their relationship was a complicated history, never the kind of intimacy that creates a child. Not one he could remember.
"Mine? How!?" he retorted, provoked, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "We never... I mean, like, I..." The rest unraveled into silent confusion, his fingers twitching helplessly against his thigh.
"I know you're confused, Jamal. So am I." Ustaz's voice remained steady, reading his silence like an open page. "But this isn't about the past. The reality is, the boy's life is on the line, and the father's blood is the only known remedy now. She even swore by Allah... it's you."
Jamal shot to his feet at the last line.
The room seemed to shrink, the walls pressing in, the air suddenly too thick to swallow. It was as if the phone itself had just cursed him.
"It's just... I never slept with her," he muttered, confusion gnawing holes in his certainty. "Not that I can remember." His hand trembled slightly. "So how... how could she have my child?"
"Listen, Jamal." The Ustaz's voice was calm, a calm that cut deeper than any shout. "She's promised to explain everything when you arrive. Right now, It does not matter whether you knew of his existence or not. What matters is that you are the only living remedy. You have to be here because a child's life is hanging in the balance."
Jamal's whisper slipped out before he realized it. "Where is he?"
"At the General Hospital," the Ustaz replied hastily. "I just spoke with the head doctor. Rofiya came home this evening trembling, saying the boy was dying. The doctor also explained everything to me; that's why I decided to call you myself."
Silence again. But this one wasn't empty, it was packed tight, breaking at the seams.
A child. His child? With Rofiya? From a night that never existed.
"This is between the living and death of an innocent child," The Ustaz pressed on, voice turning almost pleading, "If not for her, then for him."
Jamal turned toward the window. The Nur Afiya night wind should have cooled him on his return, but he felt nothing. He had only arrived an hour ago, body still sore from the long arduous journey, heart still restless from the mission that brought him here. He hadn't even breathed in the soil of this town, hadn't met the Shaykh yet, hadn't found solution to the dream that drew him here, and already fate was pounding at the door, this time; harder than he could bear to listen.
He closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose, forced the storm down where it could not unman him. "InshaAllah, I'll do my best to be there, sir," he said finally, voice stripped of everything but resolve. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"Okay, Jamal. JazakAllah khair. I'll be expecting you. Kindly extend my regards to your friend."
"Alright. Do have a wonderful night ahead."
He ended the call and let the phone slide to the far end of the couch.
Rofiya.
Her name arrived like a nail pressed to an old wound, slow and deliberate. Six years had passed since she vanished. Now she reappeared with a son, a half-breathing boy she swore was his.
How far could a man's fate bend before it snapped?
Yesterday, he believed Nur Afiya was the key to a higher call, dreams pulling him toward veiled love and divine answers. Tonight, another estrangement pulled him in the opposite direction.
First, a dream-lover summoned him forward. Now, a dying child dragged him back.
He hadn't even begun his mission. Hadn't seen the Shaykh. Hadn't unraveled the dream.
And already fate was knocking again-louder, hungrier, less patient.
One thing was certain: He needed to hear from Rofiya herself. Because in all his memories, in all the long nights replayed in his head, he had never once lain with her.
So how could this child exist?
The question gnawed at him, hollowing his chest. He didn't notice Fawas step back into the room, tray in hand, the scent of fresh tea trailing behind.
"You went away for nine years," Fawas retorted, setting the cups down with a clatter, "and barely minutes after returning, you're looking like someone who fought with a jinn. What's wrong?"
Jamal jerked his head up, startled. "No... oo. what?!" His voice cracked. He blinked at Fawas, scrambling for composure. "You're here." He dragged a palm across his face as if to wipe away the fog. "I'm good, it's nothing much."
Fawas narrowed his eyes, unimpressed by the pretense. "Don't play dumb." He moved toward where he was sitting, "You were so lost; I've been standing here for a whole minute. What happened?" His hand landed firm on Jamal's shoulder, and he straightened instinctively, warmed by the familiar weight of care he'd rarely felt in years. He had missed this; this brotherly warmth.
"You still haven't told me what brought you back," Fawas pressed, lowering himself into the seat opposite and sliding a cup of tea toward Jamal. "Last I checked, you vanished without even a goodbye. Don't get me wrong.. it's good to have you home. But, what could have left you so disturbed in the few minutes I was gone?"
Jamal cleared his throat, trying to anchor his voice. "It's nothing much, akhi. You shouldn't trouble yourself." He shifted, leaning forward slightly. "I just received a very troubling call from Al-Mahrak."
"Al-Mahrak?" Fawas tilted his head, confusion knitting his brow. "Did somebody die?"
"Not at all. Nobody died," Jamal replied, eyes dropping to the steam rising from the cup. "It was Ustaz Hamid."
"Who's Ustaz Hamid?" Fawas asked, his frown deepening.
Jamal gave a faint chuckle, though it carried no joy. "Sorry for the confusion." He lifted the cup, took a sip, and set it back down because it was too hot. "He's my boss in Al-Mahrak." He continued, "A lot has happened there… more than I can explain right now. But maybe the explanations doesn't matter, because I have to return tomorrow."
Fawas shot upright, nearly knocking over the table he placed the mug on. "What?!" His voice bounced against the walls, loud enough to awaken a sleeping toddler. "Tell me this is a joke." He collapsed back into the chair, eyes boring into Jamal's. "But you just got here… Is it that serious?"
Jamal shook his head slowly, "I'm not joking, akhi. Look at me." He pointed to his own face, gaze locked and steady. "Does this look like a man in the mood for jokes? That call shook me to the bone. You might wonder why I'm this unsettled."
Fawas leaned in, restless, his knee bouncing against the his palm. That his childhood playing feature, when he's getting tensed. "Then what happened? To make the travel so urgent? Did someone die?"
"No…" Jamal dragged the word, his hand pressing hard into his temple. "How do I even begin to explain? Maybe you should just come with me tomorrow and see for yourself. You'll understand better then." He raised a brow, letting the words hang between them; half dare, half plea.
Fawas snorted, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Follow you? How? No ooo. Maybe when you return, you'll tell me everything in full." He sank deeper into the couch, reaching for his mug. Steam no longer rose from the tea, but he sipped anyway. "I use Allah to escort you."
Jamal's lips curled into a small smile, the tightness in his shoulders easing. "Whatever your lordship pleases. Insha'Allah, when I return, we'll sit and talk it through."
"And what brought you back truly?" Fawas asked again, his tone shifting, eyes narrowing with the weight of genuine curiosity.
"Mmm," Jamal sighed, his gaze meeting Fawas' with a half-smile. "About that…" He paused, voice dropping to a quiet murmur. "I needed to see the Shaykh for something very important."
"Something very important?" Fawas echoed, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Care to share?"
"Believe me, I'd love to tell you everything," Jamal began, his voice low, thoughtful. "But right now, that conversation… I don't even know where to start. If I try explaining right now, you might think I'm going crazy. It's just.." he stopped, pressing his fingers into his temple, "...the whole thing feels like life and death."
Fawas raised a brow, confusion creasing his forehead. "If I tell you I understand whatever that means, I'd be lying." He stood up, walked to the switch, and dimmed the white bulb to a soft blue hue. "You must be tired from the journey," he said, his tone calming. "If you weren't leaving tomorrow, we should've had lots of catching up to do."
He sank back into his seat, picked up the remote, and flicked on the television. "Let's leave your mysterious reason for coming and going until you've rested...
or maybe when you're back."
Jamal took a long sip from his mug before replying. "That's your decision, brother," he said with a faint smile. "You're the one who refused to follow me. If you did, I could explain everything along the way. Maybe then I'd find the right words. Won't that be fun?"
He studied Fawas' expression: the man's face still calm, still reluctant. No sign of yielding. Jamal sighed softly. "Truth is," he continued, "my reason for going back is just as important as my reason for returning home. I hope you understand; I'm not hiding anything from you. It's just that I…"
"It's fine, Jamal," Fawas interrupted gently. "I know you too well. When the time's right, I'll be all ears." He smiled, reassurance softening his tone.
Jamal pressed a hand to his chest, as though steadying both his breath and his thoughts. He lifted the cup again, took a sip of the now lukewarm tea, and set it down carefully. "Right now, Fawas," he said, "I'm just following one wise saying…" He paused, eyes glinting. "Do you know what it is?"
Fawas smirked. "You're funny. How would I know when I'm not Allah? Go on, tell me."
"It says: The magic happens when you stop worrying about how everything will work out." Jamal smiled faintly, lips curving like a crescent moon. "Anyway, it's good to be back." He coughed twice, clearing his throat. "I shouldn't let my situation disturb the peace of my return."
Fawas repeated the line slowly, testing its weight. "The magic happens when you stop worrying about how everything will work out…"
"Exactly," Jamal nodded, his tone soft but sure. "So I've stopped worrying. Because Allah doesn't burden a soul beyond what it can bear, right?" He straightened suddenly, a spark of playfulness in his eyes. "I really wish you'd go with me tomorrow. We could take your car."
Fawas chuckled at his persistence. "I would've loved to, akhi, but there's this girl coming over tomorrow. You know it's Sunday." He winked shamelessly.
Jamal shook his head, taking another sip. "You're mad, wallahi. You and women… one day, you'll learn. Aren't those girls supposed to be in Asalatu since it's Sunday, doing rememberace of Allah? I never knew your house is now a mosque for Sunday worship." He paused, his tone firm but calm. "Know this, Fawas: you're only drawing Allah's wrath onto yourself; and those girls you keep sleeping around with. When you're supposed to marry them properly, in the Sharia way, with the consent of their parents before ever thinking of laying with them."
Fawas waved him off with a slight frown. "Ah, Jamal… you don't have to take it so personal."
"Personal?" Jamal's eyes widened. "I'm only trying to save you from hell, akhi. If only you knew."
Just then, Fawas' phone chimed. He glanced at the screen; 11:11 p.m. "Wow," he muttered. "It's almost tomorrow."
The parlor still carried that lived-in heaviness of old wealth. On the wall, the television flickered restlessly with the glow of a football match: chants, whistles, and the thud of soccer boots echoing faintly through the room.
A standing fan whirred in the corner, its blades slicing the air in uneven bursts that rattled the papers on the side table. The breeze brushed against Jamal's arm, cool, but unsettled. He remembered the old air conditioner that once hummed here, Chief Bala's pride, blasting cold air even during harmattan. To see it replaced by a noisy fan was strange.
He wanted to ask Fawas about his father: the all-feared, all-powerful Chief Bala. About the missing air of authority that once haunted these walls. But he held his tongue. His chest already carried too many questions: about his return, his next step, and the words he owed both Fawas and the Shaykh.
So he let the questions sit, swirling inside him like unsettled dust.
_____________.&&&&&&.