📖 *Shehzana’s Diary* *Friday, 6th June 2025* *Garments for Each Other* Dear Diary, There’s a stillness in the air on this day — a hush that falls over the world as the pilgrims stand in devotion on the plains of ‘Arafah, drenched in tears and du‘a. I felt it too, deep in my chest, as if all of humanity was quietly holding its breath, waiting for Allah’s mercy to rain down. I spent the day fasting, as did most of the family. It felt… powerful. As if I was holding a thread that stretched all the way to Arafah. Between my tasks, I paused to whisper du‘a — for my parents, for Rehana, for my marriage, for my heart to stay soft and grateful. Ya Allah, forgive our sins. Accept us. Keep us near to You. Heal this Ummah. Let peace replace pain. Let love replace loneliness. Let tawakkul drown our fear. Ameen. *Iftar Last night* : As the sun began to dip low and the house buzzed with guests preparing for iftar, I stole a quiet glance at my husband across the room. He was helping set dates on the trays, sleeves rolled, a soft smile on his face as he joked with the younger cousins. Despite the noise and movement around them, our eyes met briefly — and in that glance was an entire unspoken du‘a. The sacredness of the day wrapped around us like a gentle shawl. As the adhaan echoed and all hands rose in du‘a, he came and sat beside me for a short while, whispering, “Make a special du‘a today… for us.” I smiled, my heart full, and whispered back, “Already did.” In that shared silence and simplicity, with the scent of samosas and rose milk drifting through the air, we both felt something deeply precious — a stillness, a togetherness, a love nurtured upon the love of Allah Tala. . The table was glowing with dates, fruit chaat, rose milk, and Mum’s famous chickpea chaat. Ameera had folded serviettes into tiny crescent moons with Arafah Mubarak written in gold calligraphy After Iftar with dates and savouries and rose milk everyone left to pray Maghreb Salaah Then once again the kitchen was busy for the main meal — steam rising, pots clanking, laughter weaving through the spices. Everyone left satisfied choosing their spots to chat. I was doing some finishing touches on the pepper steak and putting the final coriander garnish on the lamb korma when Mum (my mother-in-law, but really my Mum♥️ now) walked in. She watched me for a moment, then came close and gently asked me to sit with everyone and enjoy, “Beta, don’t work so much. Dawat ka maza tabhi hai jab tum bhi baitho, haso, family ke saath waqt guzaro.” I smiled, “Just the garnishing, Mum. I’ll come now.” But she stepped closer, placed her hand softly on mine, and said, “No no no,,, come with me, let's sit and enjoy. We will do everything together. Tum sirf kitchen ke liye nahi aayi ho is ghar mein.” Then she gave me a gentle hug, held my hand and said, “Aajao, tum mere paas baitho. Tum tow mujhe bohot pyari lagti ho.” Her words wrapped around my heart. I smiled and nodded, and sat right beside her. . Rehana’s mother-in-law was quietly watching this from the corner. She looked surprised — as if this kind of softness was foreign to her. Like she was re-learning what love in a home could look like. We raised our hands for du‘a just before Maghrib, our whispers filling the room. Tears, smiles, duas… this is family. At iftar time, we all sat together. The men in one corner, and us women gathered close. Rehana sat beside me, and Ameera chatted away with one of our young cousins who’d come along. After iftar, while others were chatting and the kids were munching on kiwi slices, Rehana leaned over to me and whispered, “Shehzana, everything's been better between us… but I found a vape again. Hidden in his cupboard. I don’t even know what to say anymore.” I placed my hand gently over hers. “I know that must hurt. But listen, Rehana — let Eid pass. This weekend is for peace, for families. You’ll have your moment. And when you do, don’t go in too hyped. Vaping… it’s become so normalized. People don’t even see it as wrong anymore.” She frowned slightly. “But it is wrong.” I nodded, “It is. But if you go in with a battle cry, you might lose the war. Step by step, gentle but firm. We’ll talk it through after Eid, okay?” She sighed. “Okay. I’m glad I have you.” “And I’m glad you’re here,” I said, and meant it. Later that night, when everyone had left and I was helping Mum clear up, she pulled me aside. “Beta… I didn’t want to mention it earlier, but Rehana’s mother-in-law found a moment alone with me in the hallway and said something odd.” I raised my eyebrows. “What did she say?” Mum sighed softly, but her voice remained composed. “She said, ‘Why are you spoiling Shehzana so much? If you keep treating her like this, she’ll become lazy and of no use to you.’” My stomach sank. “But I smiled,” Mum continued, “and said, ‘A daughter-in-law is also someone’s daughter. And she didn’t come into my home to be used. She came to be loved, supported, and valued. When we care for our daughters-in-law like our own, they give us everything from the heart — not out of duty, but out of love.’” I couldn’t speak. I just hugged her. “You’re not just my Mum,” I whispered, “you’re my du‘a come true.” Can't wait for Eid and Qurbani. Imagine, it's my first Eid at my in laws in my own home, with the people I love❤️ Loads of love *Shezana*