*Shezana’s Diary* *Garments for Each Other ©* *Wednesday , February 5, 2025* I’m back home. The holiday was exactly what I needed. My mind feels light, my heart less burdened. But now that I’m here, reality is knocking again. This afternoon, I have to go to Madressa. I’m still debating whether I’m ready to face the world again—the whispers, the pity, the unsolicited advice. Part of me wants to stay cocooned in the peace I found over the weekend, but another part of me knows I can’t hide forever. I decide to meet Apa in the morning. I don’t know why, but something tells me she’ll have the words I need to hear. It’s drizzling lightly when I step out. The smell of rain lingers in the air, earthy and fresh. The sky is painted in soft grey hues, the kind that make the world feel still, like it’s pausing to breathe. When I reach Apa’s house, she opens the door with the warmest smile. “Oh, Shezana! It’s so good to see you.” The warmth in her voice wraps around me like a comforting blanket. She leads me inside and puts the kettle on. The sound of water bubbling is oddly soothing, filling the quiet morning with its soft rhythm. As we sip our coffee, Apa speaks about Taqdeer—Allah’s divine plan. “Acceptance, my dear, is not weakness. It is strength. When we truly accept Allah’s decree, our hearts stop resisting, and life becomes lighter. Struggling against what is already written only makes us restless. But when we embrace Taqdeer with open arms, we find Qana’at—contentment. And Qana’at brings peace like nothing else.” I listen, absorbing her words like a parched desert drinking in the rain. “You see, Shezana,” she continues, “sometimes Allah removes something from our lives not as a punishment, but as protection. When you trust that what He has written is better than what you wanted, you will feel relief instead of regret.” I leave Apa’s home feeling lighter. She was right. Holding on to disappointment is like holding onto thorns—it only hurts me. When I reach home, the delicious aroma of biryani fills the house. Ammi, in her usual way, has made my favorite apple and celery salad to go with it. The warmth of home, the sound of my family’s chatter, and the first bite of that flavorful biryani—it all makes me grateful. Maybe my life isn’t going according to my plan, but it is still filled with love. I pack my Madressa bag, take a deep breath, and step out. To my relief, Madressa is… normal. Everyone is kind, treating me just like before. No awkward glances, no pitiful sighs. I had spent so much time worrying about people’s reactions, but in the end, people move on. And so must I. When I return home, the sky has darkened, and a soft breeze sways the curtains. I switch on the kettle, and my favorite nasheed is playing on Radio Islam—Kun Sa’eedan… Be happy. I hum along as I prepare my tea. Just then, Rehana walks into the kitchen, spreading peanut butter on her bread. She takes a bite, then suddenly says, “You know Ammi and Abbu were having a heated discussion?” I stop humming. My parents? Heated discussion? That’s rare. “About what?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. Rehana hesitates, then shrugs. “I think… a proposal.” I freeze, the cup of tea halfway to my lips. “For goodness’ sake, a proposal?!” She doesn’t say anything, just continues eating. The silence is thick with unspoken thoughts. “Should I ask Ammi?” I whisper. “No, of course not,” Rehana says quickly. We both fall silent. The air is heavy with apprehension. What’s going on? Why haven’t they said anything? I don’t know whether to feel anxious or just wait. But something tells me, whatever it is… I’ll find out soon enough. *Shezana*