Written in Du’a
Amina had always believed in the quiet power of du’a. She had never been the type to dream of grand romantic gestures or cinematic love stories. For her, love looked like gentle understanding, a shared prayer mat, and someone who would remind her of Allah when the world became loud. So when her mother mentioned that a family had inquired about her, Amina was calm. Not excited, not anxious, just grounded. “Let me pray Istikhara,” she had said, as always. The boy’s name was Zayd. A civil engineer, slightly older, who had returned to Sri Lanka after finishing his studies abroad. His mother had seen Amina at a community workshop where she was tutoring underprivileged children in English and had been quietly observing her ever since. “A girl with adab, not just ambition,” she had told her son. The first meeting was arranged at Amina’s home , in the presence of both families. There was no awkward silence just respectful conversation, tea, and the rustle of intentions being tested. Lat...
