*Shezana’s Diary* *Garments for Each Other ©* *Sunday, February 16, 2025* Dear Diary, Bismillah. The world is still dark when I wake up for Fajr, the hush of dawn wrapping the house in a quiet calm. The air is cool, crisp. I pull my shawl tighter around me as I make wudhu, the icy water jolting my senses awake. There’s something so soothing about the stillness of the early morning—just me, my prayer mat, and the whisper of Qur’an filling the space. I complete my Fajr Salah and sit on the musalla, knees folded, hands raised in du‘a. My morning adhkar flow easily from my lips—each word a shield, a protection, a light for the day ahead. The sun has barely begun to rise, and already, my heart feels full. But then, as I sip on my cup of steaming tea, my mind starts to drift. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions. Proposals, decisions, anxieties. It’s strange how life moves so fast. I think back to the first proposal—the one that came so suddenly, the one that I was super - excited about... The boy’s family decided I wasn’t the right fit for them. Their polite rejection came wrapped in carefully chosen words, but rejection, no matter how softly delivered, always carries a sting. "Sorry bhai, we really liked Shezana but.... ." Those words echoed in my mind for days. At first, I felt embarrassed, then hurt, then strangely numb. Did I lack something? Was there something about me that wasn’t good enough? And then, of course, came the unsolicited advice from every direction: "You people should have done proper investigations ." "Maybe next time..." And the list goes on... It was overwhelming. Everyone had an opinion, but nobody understood how it actually felt. Then, just as I was trying to process it all, another proposal came. I did my Istikhara, prayed, gave sadaqah, and approached it with an open heart. I genuinely tried. But every morning, I woke up with a strange heaviness in my chest—an unease that refused to leave. I pushed it aside, tried again, and yet, it always returned. I know people might assume that I declined because of cultural differences, or that Ammi influenced my decision. But the truth is, this was purely between me and Allah. My heart simply did not settle, and I had to listen to that. Now, I wonder—how did he feel about it? Did he feel the sting of rejection the way I had? Did he question his worth, wonder what had gone wrong? Obviously I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Now I understand no one meant to hurt me. It makes so much sense now, what Apa used to tell me: "Rejection is not about you. It’s about something that didn’t agree with the other person." SubhanAllah, how true that is. There is no blame, no failure—just destiny unfolding as it is meant to. I am grateful, really. In such a short time, I have already received two proposals. That in itself is a blessing. I pray that something good, something right for me, will come my way. But for now, my heart is elsewhere. *Ramadan is around the corner.* The thought fills me with a sense of anticipation, a quiet joy that bubbles in my chest. The month of mercy, of purification, of deep connection with Allah. The very air feels different in Ramadan, like the world is coated in a layer of barakah. I can already picture it—the soft glow of the masjid lights, the duas and waiting for maghreb azhaan, the scent of dates and warm soup at iftar, the soothing hum of Qur’an recitation in the stillness of the night. This year, I want to push myself. I want to complete an entire Qur’an every three days, reciting 10 Juz a day. I know it will be challenging, but the thought of immersing myself so deeply in the words of Allah makes my heart race with excitement. I reach for my notebook and begin writing down my Ramadan goals: Complete the Qur’an every three days. Recite 1000 salawaat every day. Pray every Salah on time, no matter what. Make sincere du‘a at every Suhoor and Iftar. Give as much sadaqah as possible. Limit idle talk, social media, and distractions. I take a deep breath and then write down my Suhoor and Iftar du‘as—ones that I plan to read every day, asking Allah for guidance, barakah, and forgiveness. Then, suddenly, I remember something a friend once told me. "Girls who wish to get married soon should write down Surah Ahzaab and keep it safely in one place." I smile at the thought. Surah Ahzaab is long—really long. Writing it down will take time. But what is time if it is spent in an act of devotion? Maybe this is an opportunity to pour my hopes onto paper, to let my fingers trace the words that will bring barakah into my life. "Wow, that’s a long surah," I murmur to myself, stretching my fingers. I might as well begin now so I can finish before Ramadan. With a newfound sense of purpose, I reach for my pen, open a fresh notebook, and begin writing: "Bismillahir Rahmanir Raheem…" And just like that, a new journey begins. Love Shezana