I Found You (the missing beat of my Qalbi)

Chapter 5—They couldn't Make it

"Come in with me, please." Her uncle's voice, soft but firm, cut through Ariya's desperate plea. Taking her by the shoulder, he gently guided her inside. Ariya opened her mouth, a fresh question forming, but no words came out. Instead, she just looked at him, then at the silent, somber figures getting out of the cars outside, before her gaze snapped back to his face.

Once inside their living room, they sat together on the two-seater sofa. "How are they doing, Uncle?" Ariya asked again, her eyes fixed on his, searching for any sign of hope. He didn't answer right away, his painful gaze fixed on her.

"Uncle, how are they?" she pressed, placing a hand on her chest as her heartbeat began to quicken, a terrifying premonition stirring within her.

Her uncle still said nothing, only lowered his head. "Have they suffered serious injuries?" she whispered, the quietness of her voice betraying her raw desperation.

He slowly raised his head, his eyes red and brimming with pain. How could he possibly tell her? He wished he didn't have to, but she had every right to know. He couldn't keep it from her. How would she possibly handle this?

Thousands of agonizing questions raced through his mind. He reached for her hand, holding it tenderly, his gaze darting between her eyes as he swallowed hard. Ariya looked back, her eyes wide, desperate for any news about her parents.

"Ariya..." he began, his voice hoarse. "Your parents were seriously injured." Ariya gasped, a fresh wave of tears bursting forth as she heard him. She pulled her hand from his, pressing it to her furiously pounding chest, her lips trembling uncontrollably.

Her uncle rubbed his head and face, visibly struggling to speak. He knew, from her reaction, that the news would shatter her, but he couldn't hide it. Even he was battling to accept the unimaginable.

Never expected.

Too shocking for him, but... he was a Muslim, and death awaited all. Not just when we grow old, but at any time.

"Ariya, your parents couldn't... make it... they... are... they are with Allah," he finally choked out, each word a painful stutter.

Ariya froze, one hand on her chest, the other covering her mouth. She remained completely still, staring at her uncle without speaking or blinking for what felt like an eternity.

He furrowed his brows in deep worry, edging closer to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he asked gently, "Ariya, did you hear what I said? Are you okay?"

She gasped, as if waking from a terrible dream. "What? No!" Ariya shouted, leaping to her feet in shock. "No, that's not true! I spoke with them this morning. That was just a few hours ago! No!" Tears began to stream down her face, ceaselessly.

Jamal shook his head, his own eyes filled with pain as he watched her.

Her parents? No! She shook her head violently. Seeing her raw anguish, her uncle could no longer hold back his own tears. They flowed freely down his cheeks. He had never expected this to happen to his only, younger brother.

Not this soon.

They had just been together this morning before he left... he was healthy, no sign of anything...

Hmmm! He exhaled painfully.

Kullu nafsin za'iqatul maut (Every soul shall taste death).

Indeed, death was upon everyone. No one could escape their appointed time. This was their time, and he prayed that Jannah would be their final destination.

"Ariya, I'm sorry. Take it easy. They're gone. Is there time? They now need your prayers. Be patient, my child," Uncle Jamal said, watching her pace back and forth, shaking her head in denial.

He then noticed her clutching her head, and before he could react, she began to collapse. He lunged forward, catching her before she hit the ground, just as the people he had brought with him entered the living room.

"We need to take her to the hospital right now!" he yelled.

The Aftermath

Ariya was hospitalized for three days. The immense stress of her final exams, combined with the sudden, brutal news of her parents' death, had completely broken her. After three days, Alhamdulillah, her condition improved, and she was discharged. Her parents had already been buried on the day they passed. Her uncle returned home on the third day to check on his business, promising to be back soon.

Ariya was now an orphan.

Alone.

Her uncle's wife was present in the house, as were other relatives. Hafsat also stayed with her for the first three days, offering quiet comfort. But Ariya barely spoke. Anyone who saw her could tell how profoundly her parents' deaths had affected her.

She was so utterly broken that she would simply stare blankly ahead or quietly recite the Quran, praying for her lost loved ones.

Hafsat left after three days, as she lived a bit far from Ariya, and her own father was unwell.

Today was the fifth day since her parents' deaths. People continued to come and go, offering their condolences to Ariya. She would simply nod and quietly say "Amen" to their prayers.

Ariya remained withdrawn. She insisted on helping with housework, which she used as a distraction, then would retreat to her room. Her days consisted of praying, doing Zikr, reciting the Quran, sleeping, or helping around the house. She rarely spoke, only answering direct questions or asking basic ones.

Her aunties would occasionally call her to talk, trying to help her cope, but she would simply say she preferred to stay in her room. This routine continued until the tenth day of her parents' passing.

Her uncle returned for the second time. He gently told her that she would be coming to live with him at his house in City L during his next visit.

She didn't say anything, just nodded. Hafsat called Ariya almost daily, a steady lifeline. Two weeks after her parents passed, Ariya moved with her uncle to his house, planning to stay there until her exam results were out and she could figure out her next steps.

Her uncle's house in City L was beautiful and spacious - a four-bedroom flat with separate boys' quarters in the backyard. The household now consisted of her uncle, his wife, their son, his wife's brother, and Ariya.

From the moment she arrived, Ariya made an effort to help her uncle's wife with the household chores. She kept herself busy, hoping to keep her mind from dwelling too much on her parents' death.

She was no longer the lively, bright young woman she once was.

Saliha, her uncle's daughter, who had gotten married three weeks ago, had visited Ariya twice. It was Saliha's wedding that her parents had attended, suffering the accident on their way back. Saliha resembled her mother in appearance and build, but her loving and caring nature was clearly inherited from her father.

Since Ariya had moved in, Saliha's mother had dismissed the housekeeper. She saw how hardworking Ariya was and decided there was no need to waste money on a maid. Her son, Salisu, also lived in the house, but his job required frequent travel, so he was rarely home.

"Ariya, could you help me wash my clothes? I need to go somewhere," Sa'eda, her uncle's wife, said, finding Ariya in the kitchen washing plates. Sa'eda was eager to visit her friend; she had some exciting gossip to share. She chuckled to herself, thinking, What is life without a little gossip?

"Yes, Anty. Just put the clothes in the laundry basket, and when I'm finished, I'll wash them," Ariya replied, continuing to wash the plates.

"Assalamu alaikum," a masculine voice announced as a man walked into the kitchen.

"Wa alaikum Salaam, welcome back, Hamza. You're back!" Sa'eda greeted her brother, Hamza, who worked nearby and usually finished around 3-4 PM.

"Welcome, Uncle," Ariya murmured, continuing her work.

"Thank you. Sister, I'm starving. What do we have for lunch?" Hamza asked, rubbing his stomach.

"Fried rice is in the flask. I'm heading out now; Ariya will serve you," Sa'eda replied as she left for her room.

"Okay. I'll be at the dining table," Hamza said, heading out of the kitchen. Ariya was almost done with the dishes, so she quickly finished and went to serve Uncle Hamza.

"Here it is, Uncle Hamza," she said, placing his food and a bottle of water on the dining table before turning to leave.

"Thank you," he said, watching her walk away after a slight nod, her head still bowed low. He sighed audibly, then began eating.

Ariya went into the laundry room and washed her auntie's clothes. When she was done, she hung them out to dry. She cleaned the laundry room thoroughly before heading to her own room, as it was time for Maghrib prayers.

She prayed, then took her rosary beads and performed her Zikr. When she finished, she walked to her wardrobe and pulled out a small box. She returned to her prayer mat and sat down, placing the box carefully in front of her.

She hadn't opened this box since her parents died, but today, she wanted to. Inside was the Quran her father had given her as a birthday gift, and a special book where he used to write comforting words and Hadiths for her.

She took the book out, kissed it gently, and then opened it. A painful smile touched her lips as she saw one of his handwritten notes.

Motivation for Soul:

Bear with patience that which burns you inside for whatever befalls you was not to weaken you nor break you rather your Rabb, the Most Generous, only wants to strengthen you and raise you so you may attain the ranks of the pious. Be patient and rely on your Rabb, for the One that cooled the fire for Ibrahim (peace be upon him) will cool the fire that burns inside of you and set right your affairs. Looking for relief through patience is an act of worship since tribulation never remains forever. Patiently bear every calamity, take heart Knowing that harm never endures forever. Be patient, just as the nobles were patient: It is a fleeting event; here today, gone tomorrow.

As she finished reading, tears flowed endlessly from her eyes. She clutched the book to her chest and sobbed, closing her eyes tightly.

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A traveller we are, and every soul shall test death

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