The soft hum of the university library was broken only by the occasional rustle of pages and the muted footsteps of students wandering between tall shelves. Sunlight poured in through the high windows, scattering golden beams across neat rows of wooden tables where students bent over books and laptops.

Amira Rahman sat near the corner, her notebook open, pen tapping lightly as she scribbled down notes for her upcoming exam. Her hijab framed her face in gentle folds, and her expression was focused—though her mind, admittedly, had begun to wander.

She loved this quiet place. The library was her refuge from the noisy cafeteria, from the endless chatter of classmates who sometimes mocked her for being "too reserved," and from the world outside that always demanded more than she was willing to give.

Faith had always been her anchor. Whenever she felt overwhelmed, she reminded herself of the verse her father often recited: “Indeed, with hardship comes ease.” It gave her strength. And yet, at twenty years old, there was a part of her heart that often wondered about the future—about love, marriage, and whether Allah had already written her story in the stars.

She sighed, pressing her pen to the paper. One day, perhaps. But for now… focus, Amira.

Her concentration, however, was soon interrupted by a quiet voice.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Amira looked up, startled. Standing before her was a young man, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence both calm and commanding. His hair was neatly trimmed, his beard well-kept, and his eyes—warm, dark, steady—held a respectful distance as he gestured toward the empty chair across from her.

For a moment, Amira blinked, caught off guard. She rarely spoke to men outside her classes, and even then only when necessary.

“No, it isn’t,” she replied softly, lowering her gaze to her notes.

“Thank you.” He sat down quietly, placing a stack of thick architecture textbooks on the table. For a while, the only sounds between them were the turning of pages and the occasional scribble of pens.

Amira tried to return her focus to her work, but her attention kept slipping. There was something about his presence—his stillness, his concentration—that unsettled her heart. She glanced at him briefly.

He was deeply focused, pen moving quickly over his notebook. And then, almost instinctively, she noticed: the small prayer beads looped around his wrist.

Her chest tightened unexpectedly. It was such a simple thing, but it spoke volumes.

She forced her gaze back to her paper, cheeks warming. Astaghfirullah, Amira. Don’t stare. Lower your gaze. This is just another student. Nothing more.

Yet curiosity stirred in her chest.

The silence stretched comfortably for a while until the young man suddenly looked up, his brow furrowed slightly. “Sorry… do you happen to know where the reference section for Islamic history is? I’ve been walking around for ten minutes and can’t seem to find it.”

Amira hesitated. Normally, she would’ve directed him with just a word or two. But something in his tone—it wasn’t casual or careless, but genuinely polite—softened her usual reserve.

“Yes,” she said, finally lifting her eyes to meet his for the briefest second before lowering them again. “It’s on the second floor, far left corner. Near the window seats.”

A smile touched his lips. “JazakAllahu khair. I appreciate it.”

The sincerity in his voice made her heart skip once. She nodded quickly, pretending to busy herself with her notes again.

He didn’t move, though. Instead, he finished scribbling down a few lines, closed his book gently, and stood. “Thank you again. May Allah make your studies easy.”

Her pen froze. Did he just… make dua for me?

By the time she gathered the courage to look up, he was already walking away, his tall frame disappearing between the bookshelves.

---

For the rest of the afternoon, Amira tried to focus on her work. She really did. But her mind kept circling back to the stranger with the warm voice and the prayer beads.

She didn’t even know his name.

And yet, when she whispered her evening dua later that night, a fleeting thought crossed her heart before she quickly brushed it away: Ya Allah, if he is good for me, write him into my destiny. And if not, remove him from my heart.

---

✦

The following week, fate seemed to play its hand again.

Amira was hurrying through the courtyard, clutching her books as a sudden gust of wind tugged at the edges of her scarf. Her papers slipped from her folder, scattering across the pavement like autumn leaves.

“Oh no…” she gasped, bending quickly to gather them before they blew farther away.

A hand reached down at the same time, catching a few sheets before they escaped.

“Here, let me help.”

Her heart gave a little jolt. She looked up—and there he was again.

The same calm eyes, the same gentle smile.

“Thank you,” she murmured, embarrassed as she quickly collected the rest of the papers.

“No problem,” he said, handing her the ones he’d caught. “You must be Amira, right?”

Her breath caught. He knows my name?

She nodded hesitantly. “Yes… but how did you—?”

“I asked one of the librarians,” he admitted, a little sheepish but still respectful. “I thought I should at least know the name of the person who helped me the other day.”

Amira’s pulse quickened. No one had ever taken notice of her like this before—not in a way that felt so… genuine.

“I’m Zayd,” he continued, his voice steady. “Zayd Malik.”

She gave a small nod. “Nice to meet you.”

And then silence fell, thick with words neither dared to say. Amira clutched her papers to her chest, suddenly too aware of how close they stood.

Zayd cleared his throat, taking a step back to maintain distance. “I should go. Take care, Amira.”

She lowered her gaze. “You too.”

As he walked away, she felt her heart whisper a prayer she hadn’t meant to make. Ya Allah, protect me from what is not good. But if this meeting means something… guide me.

---

✦

That night, Zayd sat in his room, books spread across his desk. Yet his mind was far from his studies.

He had met many people on campus, but Amira was different. She carried herself with dignity, her words were soft but purposeful, and her eyes—though often lowered—reflected a sincerity that stirred something deep within him.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. Don’t be foolish, Zayd. You barely know her.

And yet, when the time for Isha arrived, and he raised his hands in dua after prayer, the words slipped from his heart without resistance:

“Ya Allah, if this feeling is from You, make it easy and pure. And if it is not, take it away and replace it with something better.”

---

✦

The next morning, Amira found herself in the library again. She tried to focus, tried to push away the memory of his voice, his dua, his quiet smile. But her heart betrayed her with every beat.

Little did she know, on the opposite side of the library, Zayd was there too—his gaze occasionally lifting from his notes, drawn by an invisible thread to the same girl who had unknowingly begun to change the rhythm of his prayers.

And though neither spoke that day, both carried a secret whisper in their hearts—an unspoken hope, a trembling prayer—that perhaps, just perhaps, this was more than chance.

That perhaps, it was love… written in dua.

The cafeteria buzzed with noise that afternoon—clattering trays, chatter, and laughter bouncing off the walls. Amira sat with her best friend Aisha, picking at her plate of rice and curry, half-listening as Aisha launched into another story about the latest campus gossip.

“…and can you believe he actually said that in front of the professor?” Aisha giggled, waving her spoon dramatically. “I swear, some people have no shame.”

Amira smiled faintly, nodding, though her mind was elsewhere. Ever since that day in the courtyard when she dropped her papers, her thoughts had been restless.

Zayd.

She hadn’t meant to think about him so much. She hadn’t meant to notice how his name rolled gently in her heart, or how her stomach tightened at the thought of meeting him again. She reminded herself over and over: This is just a passing thought. Don’t let shaytan play with your heart.

But the truth was, she noticed.

She noticed how he prayed in the small prayer hall on campus, slipping in quietly during dhuhr, his posture calm and sincere. She noticed the way he spoke to others—with patience, never raising his voice, never mocking, even when others did.

And she noticed how, without meaning to, her eyes sometimes searched for him in the crowd.

“Amira?”

She blinked, realizing Aisha had been calling her name.

“You’re zoning out again,” Aisha teased, leaning closer with a mischievous grin. “What’s on your mind? Don’t tell me the quiet, serious Amira is finally keeping secrets from me.”

Heat rushed to Amira’s cheeks. “It’s nothing. I was just… thinking about the exam.”

“Hmm.” Aisha narrowed her eyes playfully. “Right. The exam.” She twirled her spoon and smirked. “You know, you’ve been distracted lately. Could it be… a someone?”

Amira’s heart skipped, and she quickly shook her head. “Aisha!”

Her best friend laughed. “I’m joking, I’m joking. But if it is someone, at least tell me he’s a good one. Not like those flashy guys who think buying coffee for a girl is a marriage proposal.”

Amira rolled her eyes, though a tiny smile tugged at her lips. “No one,” she repeated firmly.

But that night, when she lay in bed and whispered her nightly dua, she found herself hesitating before her usual words.

Ya Allah, protect my heart from what displeases You… and if there is someone who is good for me, bring him closer in the halal way.

Her heart tightened. She hadn’t said his name. She hadn’t even dared to think it too clearly. But deep inside, she knew who her heart had meant.

---

✦

Across campus, Zayd was wrestling with his own restless thoughts.

He sat at a bench under the shade of a large tree, sketchbook in hand. Architecture assignments demanded endless designs, endless lines and calculations, but his pencil moved without focus. Instead of buildings, his mind kept drawing memories—Amira’s soft tone, the way she lowered her gaze, the way she said “Nice to meet you” as though she truly meant it.

He closed the sketchbook, exhaling. Astaghfirullah, Zayd. Focus.

But focusing had become harder lately.

He had noticed her again in the library earlier that week, hunched over her notes, her expression determined. He had seen her pause to help a younger student who dropped her books, her kindness effortless.

And each time, his heart pulled toward her a little more.

Yet, he reminded himself: Feelings are not enough. In Islam, intentions matter. If this is real, it must be pure, it must be halal.

So, instead of feeding the longing in his chest, Zayd did what he knew best—he prayed.

That evening, after maghrib, he sat quietly in the prayer hall, raising his hands.

Ya Allah, guide me. If she is meant to be part of my qadr, make the path easy. And if not, remove her from my thoughts and replace them with contentment.

But even as he whispered the words, her image lingered in his mind.

---

✦

The following day, destiny played its part once more.

Amira walked into the library, balancing a pile of reference books. The place was unusually crowded; every table seemed filled. She scanned the rows anxiously, searching for an empty seat.

And then, there he was.

Zayd sat at the far corner, his laptop open, papers spread neatly in front of him. He hadn’t noticed her yet, too absorbed in his work.

Her heart thudded painfully. Ya Allah, what is this? Why do I keep crossing paths with him?

Before she could decide what to do, his eyes lifted—and their gazes collided.

For a fleeting moment, Amira’s breath caught. Then, almost immediately, she lowered her eyes.

He hesitated for a second, then gave the slightest nod, polite and respectful, before gesturing to the empty chair across from him.

Her steps felt heavy as she approached, her heart hammering. She sat down, arranging her books carefully, refusing to meet his eyes again.

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Zayd spoke, his voice low but steady. “You’re always studying so diligently. MashAllah.”

Amira’s cheeks warmed. “Exams are important.”

He smiled faintly. “True. But sometimes, people forget that effort is also ibadah if done with the right intention.”

Her eyes flickered up, surprised. No one had ever said it like that to her before.

She found herself murmuring softly, “And seeking knowledge is a form of worship too.”

Their eyes met again—just for a heartbeat—and in that moment, something unspoken passed between them. A recognition. A shared understanding that this connection was more than just coincidence.

Quickly, Amira dropped her gaze back to her notes, her heart racing.

Zayd, too, turned back to his laptop, but inside, his chest was alive with something he had never felt before.

---

✦

Over the next few weeks, their paths crossed more often. In the library. In the prayer hall. Once in the courtyard, when Amira passed by and offered a polite salam, and Zayd returned it with quiet warmth.

They never lingered too long. Their conversations were brief, respectful, restrained. But each word carried weight, each meeting left an imprint.

Amira began to notice the smallest details: the way he always made space for others to pass, the way he lowered his gaze when speaking, the way he never missed prayer even during exams.

And Zayd noticed her gentleness, her modesty, the way she always remembered Allah in her speech, saying InshaAllah and Alhamdulillah with sincerity.

Neither admitted it aloud, not even to themselves fully. But deep inside, both knew—this was no ordinary awareness.

This was the beginning of something written long before they even knew each other’s names.

Something written… in dua.

The campus prayer hall was quiet after dhuhr. A few students had already left, while a handful lingered in silent dhikr, beads slipping through their fingers, lips moving gently.

Amira remained seated on her prayer mat, palms raised in dua. The sunlight filtered through the window, casting a soft glow on her closed eyes.

“Ya Allah, You are the Turner of hearts. Protect mine. If this feeling is good for me, for my deen, and for my akhirah, then make it easy. If it is not, then remove it from me and grant me patience.”

Her chest tightened as she whispered the words. She hadn’t said his name, but she didn’t need to. Allah knew.

When she finally lowered her hands and brushed them over her face, her heart felt both lighter and heavier at the same time.

She rose, folding her mat carefully, ready to leave—when the sound of quiet footsteps entered the hall.

Her breath caught.

Zayd.

He stepped inside with calm composure, placing his bag to the side before spreading his mat. Amira quickly turned away, not wanting to be caught staring.

But her heart, traitorous and wild, beat faster as she heard him begin his prayer.

She left silently, her footsteps soft, but her thoughts loud. Ya Allah, what is this test?

---

✦

For Zayd, the prayer hall had always been a place of focus, of quiet surrender. But lately, even here, his thoughts had become restless.

He pressed his forehead against the mat in sujood, the ground cool beneath him, his heart spilling out in silence.

“Ya Allah, if this feeling I carry is from You, then guide me and grant me the means to pursue it in the halal way. But if it is not, protect me from it, and do not let my heart fall into what displeases You.”

He lingered in sujood longer than usual, his chest rising and falling with the weight of unspoken emotions.

When he rose, he felt the echo of her presence still lingering in the prayer hall, as though the air itself remembered her.

---

✦

Days passed, and their encounters remained brief yet powerful.

One afternoon, Amira was seated under a tree with Aisha, reviewing notes. The sun was warm, the courtyard alive with students hurrying to classes.

“Amira,” Aisha said suddenly, narrowing her eyes, “you’ve been glowing lately. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Amira stiffened. “Glowing? I’m just tired from exams.”

“Tired people don’t glow,” Aisha shot back with a grin. “So, tell me. Who is he?”

Heat rushed to Amira’s cheeks. “There’s no one.”

“Really?” Aisha leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Because I’ve noticed the way your eyes wander in the library sometimes. Toward a certain someone.”

Amira’s heart stumbled. “Aisha—”

“Relax, I won’t tell anyone,” Aisha said, chuckling. Then her tone softened. “But if there is someone, make sure he loves Allah more than he loves you. That’s the only love worth having.”

Amira fell silent, her chest tightening with unspoken truths. She whispered to herself later that evening, Ya Allah, only You know what’s in my heart.

---

✦

Meanwhile, Zayd found himself caught between focus and distraction.

He sat with his older brother, Yusuf, at a small café near campus. Yusuf, ever the protective elder, watched him with sharp eyes.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Yusuf said, sipping his tea. “Is it your studies? Or something else?”

Zayd hesitated. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing doesn’t make you stare into space for minutes at a time,” Yusuf pressed. “Talk to me, Zayd. Is there… someone?”

Zayd’s jaw tightened. His brother had always been perceptive.

He sighed quietly. “There’s a girl. But I’ve done nothing haram. I just… admire her. From afar.”

Yusuf leaned back, frowning. “Be careful. Feelings can lead people astray if they don’t act wisely.”

“I know,” Zayd replied firmly. “That’s why I’ve been making dua. If she’s written for me, Allah will make it easy. If not, I will let it go.”

Yusuf studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “That’s the right way. Just… don’t let your heart get ahead of your deen.”

Zayd gave a faint smile. “I won’t.”

But later that night, when he prayed, he couldn’t help but whisper, Ya Allah, if she is meant to be mine, let me protect her, honor her, and love her for Your sake.

---

✦

The next week, a small moment changed everything.

Amira had stayed late in the library, finishing her notes. The sky outside darkened, the world quiet. She gathered her things, stepping out into the cool evening air.

The path to the bus stop was dimly lit, and the campus had grown eerily quiet.

As she walked, clutching her bag, she heard footsteps behind her. Her chest tightened, fear prickling. She turned slightly—two men were walking not far behind, laughing loudly, their voices carrying a tone that made her uneasy.

Her pace quickened.

“Excuse me!”

She froze. The voice was familiar.

Zayd.

He appeared from the opposite direction, striding toward her with steady steps. “Amira, you’re leaving late?” he asked, his tone polite but firm, as though addressing a classmate.

Relief washed over her. “Yes. I lost track of time.”

“I’ll walk you to the bus stop,” he said simply, keeping a respectful distance. “It’s safer.”

The two men behind them quieted, their presence fading as Zayd walked beside her, his posture calm but protective.

Amira’s heart pounded—not from fear anymore, but from something far more dangerous.

“JazakAllahu khair,” she murmured.

He glanced at her briefly. “No need to thank me. It’s what we should do for each other as Muslims.”

They walked in silence until they reached the bus stop. Amira turned slightly, her eyes lowered. “May Allah reward you.”

Zayd nodded, his voice low. “And may He protect you always.”

Her chest ached with unspoken words. She wanted to say more, to ask why he cared, to confess that her own heart had begun to tremble with his name. But instead, she lowered her gaze, boarding the bus quietly.

From the window, she saw him standing there, waiting until the bus pulled away before he turned back.

That night, as she lay in bed, her whisper was trembling.

Ya Allah… what is this I feel?

And across town, Zayd’s whisper was just as heavy.

Ya Allah… is this love, or is this a test?

Neither knew the answer. But both carried the same prayer, echoing in different rooms, reaching the same heaven.

Whispers of the heart.

Whispers of dua.