Episode 2: Growing Awareness

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.

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✦

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.

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✦

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.

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✦

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.

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