*Shezana’s Diary* *Friday 23rd May 2025*, *Garments for Each Other©* *– Laced with Tears and Threads of Hope* *Dear Diary*, *Bismillah* This morning unfurled like a whispered dua… the kind you don't hear out loud, but feel deep within the depth of your chest. The sky was veiled in soft grey, and the wind had the scent of distant rain, gentle and cool. I sat by the window with my ginger tea, watching the sleepy world stretch itself awake, and thought—what a mercy to witness the beginning of another day. Subhan Allah!! After Fajr, I sat with my Mamulat in the outside verandah breathing and deeply inhaling the fresh air. The day began as usual just that i didn't have breakfast with Ahmad. He left in a rush without having any breakfast I phoned Ammi and gently brought up the Tajweed class. Her voice came alive with excitement , just the way it used to when she would hear a child recite beautifully. I told her I had spoken to the Tajweed Teacher, and she was officially enrolled for the upcoming week. She hesitated at first, her voice tinged with doubt, _“Beta, at this age? I’m not sure I’ll manage...”_ I paused and said, “At this age, Ammi, it’ll mean the most. Every letter you perfect will get you so much reward ,. .” She excitedly agreed. By mid-morning, Zahra’s message came. She had finally told her parents everything. Her husband’s betrayal. The wound that bled inside her every night as she smiled and tried to hold her home together. Her parents were shocked but composed. They sat as a family, made istighfar together, and Zahra told them she wanted to forgive him, to offer their marriage another chance, for the sake of Allah and their future. They felt truly proud of their daughter and their own Tarbiyah at that moment. But when she told him about it … he said he needed time to deal with his guilt. That he wanted a long-term separation. My heart clenched hearing her voice break. She said, “I was willing to let go of the past Shezi… but he wasn’t willing to return to the present.. Imagine ” Surprisingly, her parents agreed, although devastated, giving him the time he asked for. But I could feel her slowly breaking, her hope being peeled away like old wallpaper. Ya Allah, bring healing into her heart. I silently prayed. Just as my heart sank into a sea of sadness, Rehana’s call brought a burst of laughter. She sounded chirpy, happy—her husband had taken her out the night before, bought her the latest perfume, and they had dessert by the hillside restaurant. She giggled saying, “Shezi, he said I was the best thing that ever happened to him… and told me I’m the calm to his chaos!” “ Wow” I exclaimed and smiled with my whole being. “But Shezi, I still need to see apa.. “ she said with a little bit of uncertainty. *OK let's go after halaqah today? “ I suggested. “No, Shezi I can't… Are you free now? “ She asked. “ Give me half an hour please… I need to finish everything before I come. ” I said I finished my chores and left with Rehana around 11 a.m. . Apa welcomed us with warm eyes and sweet words. Once settled, Rehana shared her concern. “Apa my husband is kind, so very generous, and affectionate even expressive—but his nights and weekends belong to his friends.” She said worriedly. “What do you mean Rehana!? “ Apa prompted “Like he leaves with them after Maghreb and comes around 2am. Some days he comes early like before midnight “ Rehana continued. “Did you talk to him about it? “ “Yeah, he says it's just friends. And they spend time together and have a good time… * “I see… “ Apa gently acknowledged “They’re all unmarried, Apa. They mess around a lot. Sometimes I feel… like he’s still living a bachelor life,” she said, eyes lowered. Apa listened with the gentleness of a mother and the wisdom of a sage. She said, “Beta, men crave comfort, but they chase excitement. Your job is to become both. Join him in what he enjoys, even if it bores you. Watch the match, laugh at the jokes, be the joy in his weekend. But also set boundaries. Speak from love, not control.” Then Rehana mentioned the password on his phone. “It just feels… strange. Like he has something to hide.” Apa replied calmly, “Privacy is one thing, secrecy is another. A marriage thrives on transparency. Talk to him without accusations. Say, ‘I want us to be open. I don’t want doubts to have space between us.’ Let your love feel like safety, not surveillance. He’ll open up.” Rehana nodded, grateful. I could see relief wash over her face. I whispered a prayer in my heart that her joy continues to grow, and her concerns melt into trust. In the evening, Ammi called. Her voice held that warm motherly excitement. “Beta, I want to invite you both—with your in-laws—for lunch on Saturday. I want to cook for all of you. This house needs laughter, the kind that only family brings.” I laughed and told her that her son in law will not manage to come but I promise to be there. I know she’s trying to fill the spaces that echo now… spaces left by us daughters when we became someone else’s home. As I sit here, I think of how these days are intertwined with the most fragile strands—tears, hope, uncertainty, little joys. All of them are like garments we wear daily. Some are warm. Some are heavy. But all of them—every thread— every strand - is part of what Allah is weaving for us. Ya Allah, clothe my sisters with sabr, my parents with peace, and my heart with contentment. And then there is Ahmad. What can I say? He’s travelling abroad early tomorrow morning for an important meeting. It’s a big opportunity for his project—something he’s worked hard for . I saw the way his eyes sparkled while he explained the details to me. I smiled, nodded, encouraged him. But now, as I sit on the edge of our bed folding his clothes into his suitcase, my smile has faded. A strange ache sits in my chest. A part of me wants to beg him not to go —“Stay… let’s go somewhere together instead. Let’s just be still in each other’s presence and forget the world outside.” But another part of me—perhaps the part that truly loves him—wants him to go. Wants him to succeed. Wants to see him reach new heights and return with good news. I fold his white thobe slowly, press out the creases with my hands, and whisper, “Ya Allah, protect him. Let his efforts be accepted. Open doors for him. Bring him back to me safely.” Tears begin to glide down my cheeks without warning. They fall onto the fabric of his thobe like silent duas. I don’t wipe them. Let them soak in. Let them travel with him. Maybe they’ll be a source of Barakah. May be he will feel my presence with him. He came in a while ago, hugged me and said, “I’ll miss you, Shezi.” I just smiled and nodded. Couldn’t speak. My heart was too full. After a while I said, “Please keep your phone charged and do stay in touch. “ It’s strange, this emotion. How deeply we can love. How much it hurts to let go, even for a short while. I pray his journey is blessed. I pray our home remains calm and filled with Dhikr while he’s away. And I pray for the day he walks back in—tired, successful, and smiling—with stories to tell and dreams that took their first flight. Tonight, I wear the garment of patience. It’s a bit tight around the neck. But it’s the one that suits the occasion. *Ya Rabb. Be with him. Be with me.* *Love Shezana*