1. Who is she?

Prologue:

Zayan's heart was pounding wildly. A few beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead. He stood outside the small house, unable to muster the courage to knock on the door. He didn't know why, but a strange fear gripped his heart. He didn't even know what he was afraid of.

On the other side of the door was the woman who had haunted his dreams for so long. And just a few days ago, he had learned that she was not a dream, but a reality. She was a part of his life. She was his wife. The mother of his child.

Zayan didn't know how to face her after so many years. What would he say to her? Why hadn't he come all this time? And even more importantly, he still didn't remember anything about her. He had only thought of her as a dream until now.

And Muntaha...was she still waiting for him? Or...Zayan couldn't think beyond that.

Maybe that was why he couldn't even muster the courage to knock on the door.

She was his wife, but he didn't remember her. Despite that, she held a special place in his heart. Even though he had forgotten her, he didn't want Muntaha to forget him. A strange desire was growing in his heart that she would still be waiting for him.

With great courage, he knocked on the door. He felt like his heart was about to burst.

The door opened.

Prologue ends.....

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"You... you are looking very pretty," he found himself saying as he looked at her. A shy smile crossed her lips upon hearing his words. "Really?" she responded, her fingers gently clutching her long loose dress and she twirled.Captivated by her beauty, his heart began to beat faster, a sensation he hadn't experienced before . Almost instinctively, he reached out and held her hand, noticing the color of henna that adorned her fingers. Their eyes met, and the smile on her face faded, replaced by a look of concern. "What happened? Are you okay? Zayan? Zayan?" she asked anxiously.

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As dawn began to paint the city with soft hues of rose and gold, the smart blinds in Zayan's bedroom automatically adjusted, revealing the breathtaking panorama. Yet, sleep had eluded him.  He woke up abruptly. Sweat glistened on his skin. The unsettling dream still clung to him like a shroud. Gasping for air, he sat up, pulling off the luxurious cashmere blanket. The sleek digital clock on the nightstand glowed with a haunting 3:00 AM. The memory of the dream felt raw, the recurring presence of the unidentified girl gnawing at him like an unsolved puzzle. He pushed himself to his feet, the plush charcoal linen of the platform bed cool against his skin. With a heavy sigh, he walked towards the expansive window, his bare feet silent on the cool concrete floor. He opened the window, welcoming the cool morning air. His bangs danced along the air.  The sky had become a  vast canvas of the twilight stars.

He was extremely confused.  The girl... who is she? He wasn't seeing her once, twice, or thrice. He had seen her in so many of his dreams that he had forgotten the countings. At first, he'd thought that this was a dream but now, he felt there was something more to this. Otherwise, why would he see her so many times? He rubbed his forehead. He couldn't understand what he should do. He kept looking at the glittering sky. At that moment, he remembered a hadith of the  Prophet (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him), which says:  The Lord descends every night to the lowest heaven when one-third of the night remains and says: 'Who will call upon Me, that I may answer Him? Who will ask of Me, that I may give him? Who will seek My forgiveness, that I may forgive him?

He glided toward the adjacent washroom, his bare feet barely brushing the cool concrete floor.

Inside, the dim glow of a bedside lamp cast an ethereal hue on the marble surfaces. With practiced ease, Zayan moved between the basins, his actions imbued with the familiar rhythm of daily ablutions. He cupped his hands in the cool water, whispering  Bismillah(In the name of God) .Then, he rinsed his mouth and nose. He splashed some water in his face cleansing away the residue of sleep and dream. Each subsequent act followed in an unhurried dance – washing his arms to the elbows, wiping his head with damp fingers, running the water along his ears and feet. Every touch was deliberate, a mindful offering to the Divine. His wudu complete, Zayan returned to the bedroom, the silence now a comforting embrace. He unfurled the prayer rug, its soft pile yielding beneath his feet. Stepping onto its woven expanse, he felt the world shrink, the cityscape vanishing into the periphery. Now, there was only the hushed intimacy of the night and the rhythmic thrum of his own heart.

He stood facing the qibla, his posture a pillar of quiet defiance against the shadows. Raising his hands to his ears, he breathed life into the first takbir, the Arabic syllables rolling off his tongue like a whispered secret. In that moment, the marble walls receded, the sleek furnishings faded away, and Zayan found himself kneeling on sun-warmed sand beneath an infinite desert sky. The prayer unfolded, a graceful choreography of bowing and prostration, a dialogue between his soul and the unseen yet immanent presence. His voice, usually strong and commanding in boardrooms, now rose and fell in soft murmurs, carrying verses of praise and supplication on the wings of the night. The city lights shimmered faintly, twinkling like distant stars mirroring his own silent plea for guidance, for answers to the enigmatic girl woven into his dreams. With each rakat, the tension uncoiled from his shoulders, the unsettling memory of the dream yielding to the soothing rhythm of worship. The cool air caressed his skin, carrying the faint scent of sandalwood incense and freshly cut grass from the distant lawn. The night, once a restless prison, transformed into a sanctuary, the darkness cradling him in its quiet embrace. Finally, he sat back on his heels, head bowed in silent supplication. The words of dua – personal whispers to the One who hears all – spilled from his lips. In the quiet stillness, a litany of hopes and vulnerabilities exposed. When he lifted his head, a sense of peace had settled within him, like a dewdrop clinging to a spider's web, fragile yet resilient. The city lights still blinked outside, but within the cocoon of his bedroom, Zayan had found solace in the embrace of faith. The unanswered questions remained, the mystery of the dream girl still a knot in his mind. Yet, as he rose from the prayer rug, a flicker of hope danced in his eyes. For in the quiet communion of tahajuud, he had found strength, clarity, and the unwavering belief that even in the darkest hour, dawn would always come.

... ...

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"Dude, that girl comes in every one of my dreams. I didn't pay much attention to her before. But now... now that girl is all over my mind," Zayan said in a troubled voice. Abrar shook his head thoughtfully and said, "I think a genie has possessed you." He laughed out loud and sat down on a bench. The two of them were jogging in the morning. Zayan, who was looking at Abrar with serious eyes, had sweat beads on his forehead. "I'm telling you my troubles, and you're finding it funny," Zayan said with a hint of anger, and then he also sat down on the bench. 

 "Your problem is not a problem. It's a simple matter, get married. That's why you're seeing a girl in your dreams." Abrar lightly mentioned.

"Marriage?" Zayan said in surprise.

"And what else? Maybe the time has come in your life when you have to make your decision," Abrar said, exercising his hands. Zayan shook his head, "Am I a teenager that I'll have such dreams?"

"No, in reality, it's just your age catching up. We're not exactly spring chickens anymore, you know. Remember Nathan? The dude's already changing diapers!

Zayan scoffed, "Don't compare me to Nathan, marriage isn't some competition. It is useless talking to you." Then he got up and started walking.Abrar followed him and asked, "What is your problem? Are you hesitant about marriage?"

Zayan didn't reply. Abrar took a deep breathe ,"I get it, marriage is a big decision . But come on, even Aunty's getting anxious. Namira told me she brought up Samaira again. "Zayan ran a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying the tension he was trying to hide. "It's not that simple, Abrar!"

Abrar studied him for a moment and then said, "Why?" 

Abrar watched, waiting for Zayan to turn back, to offer some explanation, some glimpse into the storm brewing behind his eyes. But Zayan remained silent, lost in his own internal labyrinth

"Don't tell me that dream girl messing with your head?"

Zayan avoided his gaze. "I... I don't know," he said.   Abrar placed his hand on Zayan's shoulder. "Dreams are dreams, Zayan. They're figments of our imagination, not reality."  "I know. But... she feels so real."  "Maybe she represents something you're yearning for. Something deeper than fast cars and board meetings. Maybe it's time to stop running and face what your heart truly desires." Zayan fell into silence, deep in contemplation..

Abrar nudged Zayan playfully and chirped, "Don't worry, buddy. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together. Now, how about we pick up the pace? I'm starting to feel rusty."Zayan cracked a smile. "You and your rusty bones. Let's go."They resumed jogging, a sense of newfound understanding hanging in the air. The dream girl remained a mystery. A mystery that Zayan desperately wanted to solve.

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Zayan's laughter intertwined with the clinking of glasses and the lively hum of the restaurant. He was engrossed in conversation with Marco when his gaze, like moths drawn to a flame, darted beyond the window.Marco's question pierced the bubble of Zayan's preoccupation. "Lost in the sauce, Zayan? That faraway look is back."Shaking his head, Zayan masked his thoughts with a smile. "Nah, just thinking."He attempted to dismiss the feeling, but once again, something outside the window caught his attention.

Zayan froze, his body tensing like a bowstring pulled taut. "Wait... there!"He shot up, eyes fixed on something outside the window, a focal point invisible to his companions. Their confused stares followed his gaze but found nothing."What is it, man?" Abrar chuckled. "Did you spot a five-star steak walking by?"

Ignoring them, Zayan's eyes burned with desperate hope. "I have to..."He shoved back his chair, the loud clatter silencing the table's chatter. Heads turned, eyes widening at the sudden outburst. Zayan was already on his feet, pushing past the stunned waiters, a whirlwind of purpose on a mission only he could see. The frantic rhythm of his movements echoed as he burst out of the restaurant. The night air was a stark contrast to the warm glow left behind. The city's sounds sharpened, amplifying the tension as he weaved through the crowd, oblivious to startled shouts and bumped shoulders.

"Zayan!" Marco's voice chased after him, tinged with concern and bewilderment. "Where are you going?"But Zayan's answer, barely a whisper, was lost in the wind, "Somewhere I need to be!"He reached the street's end, the asphalt stretching infinitely before him. However, the girl, the figure his eyes craved, was nowhere to be seen. Disappointment washed over him, a wave crashing against the jagged rocks of his hope. He stood alone, lost and confused, the echo of his friend's voice a phantom in the city's hum.  "What was I thinking?" he muttered, shoulders slumping in defeat. Turning back to the restaurant, the warmth of the lights mocked his empty pursuit. His friends gathered around him, faces etched with a mix of worry and concern. Abrar placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice tentative.

 "Dude, seriously, what's going on? We're starting to think you're sleepwalking.  

"Zayan looked up, eyes haunted by a strange blend of longing and frustration. 

"I am not feeling well. I want to go home," he said, his voice hoarse. 

His friends exchanged worried glances. Zayan left. The Mercedes emerges from the neon labyrinth, the open road stretching before it like a blank canvas. He shook his head, the weight of his unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. Am I chasing a phantom or something more? The answer, like the girl in his dreams, remained tantalizingly out of reach. Zayan grips the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. "I can't live like this," he declares, his voice echoing in the hushed cabin. A vow, a commitment to unraveling the mystery.

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Hello readers!

This is an exciting moment as the story that has been swirling in my mind for so long finally begins its journey into the world. The first chapter is here, and I would love to know what you think.

Did the story hook you? Are you intrigued by the characters? Are you wondering what mysteries will unfold?

Don't be shy, leave a comment and share your thoughts! I would love to hear your feedback, suggestions, and anything that caught your attention.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you join me on this journey!

Sincerely,

Farzana Tutul

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