WHISPERS BENEATH THE CANVAS

Rain poured endlessly from the dark sky, turning the lonely road into a shimmering river of silver. The wind howled through the trees, carrying the distant rumble of thunder. In the middle of the deserted street stood a tiny white kitten, soaked to the bone. It cried helplessly, its tiny body trembling as it searched for a way out, yet fear kept it frozen in place. On the opposite side of the road, a little girl noticed the frightened kitten. The moment she heard its desperate cries, concern filled her innocent eyes. Without thinking twice, she ran toward it as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. Rain splashed beneath her feet, soaking her clothes within seconds, but she never slowed down. Finally, she reached the kitten and carefully lifted it into her arms, holding it close against her chest. For one peaceful heartbeat... Everything became still. Then— A pair of blinding headlights tore through the darkness. A loud screech shattered the silence. The light grew brighter... Brighter... Until everything disappeared into darkness. --- Aizal Hashmi jolted awake with a frightened gasp. Her breathing was uneven as she sat upright in bed. Instinctively, she pressed a hand against her chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart. Outside, everything was quiet. Only the gentle sound of rain tapping against her bedroom window reminded her of the nightmare she had just escaped. She lowered her gaze and whispered softly, "Ya Allah..." The same dream. Every single time. It always ended before she could understand what had happened. Before another thought could settle in her mind, the beautiful call of the Fajr Adhan echoed through the neighbourhood. Aizal closed her eyes for a brief moment. The fear in her heart slowly began to fade. She quietly got out of bed, performed wudu, and spread her prayer mat beside the window. A cool morning breeze drifted through the slightly open curtains as she stood before Allah in prayer. By the time she completed her Salah and raised her hands in dua, her heart felt much lighter. "O Allah," she whispered sincerely, "guide me toward what is best for me. Protect the people I love and fill my heart with peace. Whatever You have written for me, grant me the strength to accept it with patience." After finishing her dua, she remained seated for another quiet moment before standing up. Her eyes naturally drifted toward the wooden easel beside the window. A half-finished painting rested upon it—a peaceful full moon reflected across the still surface of a quiet lake. A gentle smile appeared on her face. Painting had always been her refuge. Whenever life became confusing, colours somehow expressed the emotions that words never could. After getting ready for the day, she walked downstairs. The comforting aroma of freshly prepared breakfast filled the dining room. "Assalamu Alaikum," Aizal greeted warmly as she entered. Her father, Yousuf Hashmi, looked up from his newspaper and smiled. "Wa Alaikum Assalam, my child." Her mother, Iqra Hashmi, placed a warm cup of tea beside Aizal's plate before returning the greeting with the same gentle smile. "Wa Alaikum Assalam." As always, the three of them began their morning together around the dining table. After a few quiet moments, Iqra looked carefully at her daughter. The slight tiredness beneath Aizal's eyes hadn't escaped her notice. "You didn't sleep well, did you, my child?" she asked gently. Aizal gave a small smile. "Not really, Mom. It was just another strange dream." Iqra wanted to ask more, but before she could speak, Yousuf folded his newspaper and turned his attention toward his daughter. "My child," he said calmly, "I've heard you haven't been coming to the company lately." "That's true," Aizal admitted honestly. He nodded. "May I know why?" Aizal carefully placed her teacup back on the table. "Dad, I truly respect everything you've built. But teaching children makes me happy. Whenever I'm painting or spending time with them, I feel like I'm exactly where Allah wants me to be." Yousuf smiled proudly. "I've always admired your kind heart," he said. "Even when you were little, you could never ignore someone who needed help." He paused before continuing. "I'm not asking you to give up your dream, my child. I simply don't want you to close the door on another opportunity before you've even looked inside." Aizal nodded respectfully. "I understand, Dad. I promise I'll think about it." Yousuf smiled with satisfaction. "That's all I wanted to hear."A few minutes later, Yousuf stood up and picked up his briefcase. Looking at both his wife and daughter, he smiled warmly. "May Allah bless your day." "Ameen," Aizal and her mother replied together. After Yousuf left for work, the dining room grew quiet again. Iqra looked lovingly at her daughter before speaking. "My child, I know painting makes you happy. Whenever I look at your paintings, it feels as though I can see your heart in every colour." Aizal smiled softly. "I know Dad only wants what's best for me." "He does," Iqra replied with a reassuring smile. "One day, Allah will open the right path for you. Until then, don't burden yourself with worry." Aizal nodded. "I won't." After finishing breakfast, she picked up her shoulder bag and sketchbook before stepping outside. The cool morning air felt refreshing. She unlocked her car, settled into the driver's seat, and picked up her phone. A smile appeared on her face as she called her best friend. The call was answered almost immediately. "Assalamu Alaikum," Amna greeted cheerfully. "Wa Alaikum Assalam," Aizal replied. "I'm already on my way. Give me five minutes and I'll be there." Amna laughed. "Five minutes? I've been waiting for you for quite a while already. Let's see if you actually make it in five minutes this time." Aizal started the engine and laughed. "You have absolutely no faith in me." "I know you too well," Amna teased. "Whenever you say five minutes, I prepare myself for at least ten." "You'll owe me an apology today." "We'll see about that." The call ended with both friends laughing. Exactly five minutes later, Aizal pulled up outside Amna's modest home. As soon as Amna opened the passenger door, she pretended to check the time on her watch. "I can't believe this." Aizal raised an eyebrow. "What happened?" "You were actually on time." "I told you I would be." Amna fastened her seatbelt with a grin. "I was already preparing a long lecture." "You'll have to save it for another day." Both friends laughed as Aizal drove toward the school. Despite coming from completely different financial backgrounds, their friendship had never changed. Aizal had never believed that wealth made a person important. In her eyes, sincerity, kindness, and respect were worth far more than money. The moment they entered the school, cheerful voices echoed across the playground. "Miss Aizal!" Several children came running toward her with bright smiles. Aizal immediately knelt down so she could greet them at eye level. "Assalamu Alaikum, everyone." "Wa Alaikum Assalam, Miss!" the children replied happily. One little girl shyly stepped forward and held out a drawing. "I made this for you.. Aizal accepted it carefully and smiled. "It's beautiful." The little girl blinked in surprise. "Really?" "Of course," Aizal replied warmly. "Do you know what makes a painting beautiful?" The little girl shook her head. "The love you put into it." The child's face instantly lit up with happiness. Amna watched the exchange with a smile. "You always know exactly what to say." Aizal glanced at the children. "They don't need perfection," she said softly. "They simply need someone who believes in them." The rest of the day passed peacefully. Aizal spent hours teaching art, encouraging children who lacked confidence, and quietly buying a box of colours for a student whose parents couldn't afford one. She never mentioned it to anyone. She believed kindness was most beautiful when only Allah knew about it.By evening, Aizal returned home feeling pleasantly tired. She had spent the day doing what she loved most, and although her body was exhausted, her heart felt at peace. She had dinner with her parents, sharing a few light-hearted conversations before quietly making her way upstairs to her room. As she entered, her eyes instinctively fell upon the moon painting resting on the easel. She walked closer and stood there for a few moments, silently admiring the gentle reflection of the moon dancing across the painted lake. A faint smile touched her lips. After offering Isha Salah and making a heartfelt dua, she switched off the bedside lamp and lay down. Sleep came quickly. Darkness surrounded her once again. Everything was silent. No rain. No road. No headlights. Only endless darkness. Then... Very slowly... A tiny hand appeared before her. It belonged to a little boy. His small fingers stretched toward her, as though he were desperately trying to reach her. Aizal instinctively took a step forward. "Who are you...?" she whispered. The tiny hand remained outstretched. She tried to see his face. Just one more step... Just one more second... Before his face could become clear— Aizal suddenly jolted awake. Her heart pounded violently against her chest. She looked around the dark room, her breathing uneven. The image of that tiny hand refused to leave her mind. She wrapped her arms around herself, still trying to steady her breathing. After a long moment, she looked toward the window, where the night lay calm and silent. Almost unconsciously, the same question escaped her lips once again. "...Who are you?" The room answered with nothing but silence.