As the wind blew harshly on Asya’s small frame, she shivered once more. Her nose, of which she inherited from her mother, was turning a slight tinge of red. She sniffled, silently wishing she had taken her mother’s advice. Asya knew she should have listened to her Mama when she told her to take a jacket, or even a packet of tissues. But she was already out the door, promising to be home before dinner.
Now, she suffered the bitter consequences and was left to walk in this insufferable cold. As she trudged, step by step, Asya thought about how she often got herself in these situations. She was a responsible girl.At least that’s what my teachers say. I mean I’ve never been in a school fight, I do well in my exams. And I’m even on the Student Council Team, she thought to herself.
She sighed in defeat. Asya knew exactly how she got herself in this situation, and the very thought of it made her stomach churn. As she turned into the now quiet street, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle during the day, her house came into view. It was a modest house, enough for her family. The living room light was on, and the faint smell of dinner wafted through the air.
Mama looked to be pacing the room, probably uttering any dua her mind could think of. Her baba was sitting on his worn-out armchair, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor, a trait he had since Asya was a little girl. As she approached the old wooden door and intricate doorknob, she paused. Asya had no excuse for coming home past dinner. At least in her mind, she couldn’t tell her parents the actual reason why she was late. They’d think of her as a weak person, as someone who couldn’t stand up for herself, and Asya cared a lot about what people thought of her—especially her parents.
She bit her lip, and knocked three times, each knock more timid than the last. As she stood, waiting for her parents to open the door, Asya took a deep breath and muttered a hopeful, Bismillah. Asya fiddled with the hem of her shirt, while trying to take in Baba’s words. It hurt, seeing them both so flustered, so confused.
How did I go from the girl who used to carry her little teddy around with her everywhere? The girl who used to follow her parents around everywhere, insisting on copying their every action. The girl who used to be so brave, so outspoken, so herself!Asya stopped her thoughts before they threatened to bring tears to her eyes. She looked at her Baba, the eyes he shared with her, a haze of coffee brown with little green specks.
Her Baba used to always say that the green specks in his eyes was Allah’s way of letting him take some of his land back to Australia. These specks were passed down to Asya and her older siblings as a way of connecting back to their roots. Their home. Lebanon.
Whenever her siblings, Illyas and Zackariya would ask how he stayed so strong, Baba always replied with the same answer, and one Asya knew by heart. “Our Prophet Muhammed ﷺ said, ‘Anyone who trains to be patient, Allah will give them the strength to be patient. Nobody can be given a blessing better and greater than patience.’”
Their family lived by this teaching, and as she drifted back to reality, she realised her parents had done so much for her and her siblings. “Me was worried. So worried. And know this, no trust. It’s finished,” her Baba spoke, his English as broken as his heart. His gaze was full of disappointment, a feeling Asya had become all too used to in the past few months. As her Baba leaned back in his armchair, and closed his eyes, she saw a single tear drop down his wrinkled cheek.
Her Baba was … crying? The same Baba who escaped war and death? The same Baba who told her that with hardship comes ease. “My Baba,” she whispered, her voice cracking. And it was all her fault. As she stared at her Baba, now rubbing the back of her troubled mother, she wished she was still that little girl. The girl who used to dance in public, without a care in the world.
But ever since she stepped into the teenage realm, that little girl was a mere memory. Nothing more. Now her life is full of what girls at school think of her. Is she wearing enough makeup? Is she skinny enough? Is she eating more than she should? Asya knew that this wasn’t the way she should be thinking, but no matter how hard she tried, she knew that there was no point in climbing back up. Why should she when she was already in so deep.
Asya groaned for the hundredth time that night. Sleep had never taken longer to come. She made her wudu, read all her surahs, and said the dua of sleep. Twice. To make matters worse, her stomach was still churning from earlier today. She felt guilty for making her parents feel that way, especially after all they did for her. She decided a quick scroll on Instagram would take her mind off all the drama and chaos.
As her eyes adjusted to the light on her phone, she scrolled and scrolled. Images of girls showing their “perfect meal plan” and videos of how to “perfectly apply blush and contour” popped up. Asya saved plenty in a folder named “One Day”. But as she continued scrolling, one particular image caught her attention. It wasn’t rare for Asya to get Islamic reminders every now and then. But it was what was written that made her eyes water.
“Be kind, for when kindness becomes a part of something, it beautifies it.” She looked up to face her bland, cream wall. In the middle was a beautiful watercolour painting of wildflowers. Her mother had gifted it to her when she chose to wear the hijab earlier that year. She still remembers the happiness on her face. Both her brothers had given a big hug each. There smiles showed their pride. Her Baba and Mama were embracing each other, both feeling immense joy.
Amongst the picturesque wildflowers was the same teaching Asya came across on her phone. Her mother had told her that she was the kindest girl she ever met, but that she should direct some of that kindness towards herself. Asya sat on her bed and contemplated what her mother said. Her mother was right. Asya always ran herself ragged trying to please everyone. Whether it be barely eating her dinner to look like the popular girls or buying the latest shoes to fit in at school, Asya always played the game of cat and mouse. And she was tired of being a mouse. It led to her having strained relationships with her family, and her family was Asya’s greatest gift from Allah.
Earlier that day
Asya checked her watch for the hundredth time that hour. It was 6:34 pm. Her family wouldn’t have started dinner without her, and they would have been worried sick. She turned to her friends, Maryam and Isra.
She plastered her best smile, and said as confidently as she could, “Hey guys, I-I have to leave, it’s getting kinda dark. My parents are waiting for me a-at home,” Asya gulped.
She knew her friends wouldn’t let her leave so soon. They still wanted to shop more, and they needed her. Maryam spoke first, her voice covered by an unusual sweetness. “Asya, you know we only just started. And well…” Maryam paused, nudging Isra to continue. “We kinda forgot our wallets at home, and you promised we could use some of your money to pay,” Isra batted her eyelashes and put on her best pout. Asya pushed down the sense of urgency to head home, and nodded, her face still plastered with the fake smile. She urged them to continue, promising she would be right behind them.
Asya slowly got up from her bed and walked carefully, tiptoeing through her room. She stopped in front of her bookshelf, filled with books of all genres. Without any hesitation, she turned to a book she had been gifted earlier that year. She wiped the dust with her sleeve, then read the cover: The Nur of our Prophet ﷺ
She took a deep breath, and turned the first page, embarking on a new chapter of her life, determined to follow in the footsteps of the Messenger of Allah, Prophet Muhammed ﷺ .
The End
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