The Measuring Scale

“Aju… hey Aju, you still haven’t gotten up? Do you even know what time it is? Get up quickly!” It was my mother’s call that made me grab my phone and check the time—8 o’clock had already passed. A wave of laziness washed over me. I pulled the blanket over my head and snuggled back into the warmth. “He still hasn’t gotten up, has he?” “No, he’s still lying there.” “Aju, aren’t you ashamed of still being in bed?” Oh no…it was Dad. I jumped up halfway, startled by his voice. “We have to be there by nine. Hurry up and get ready.” “Yes, Dad.” Today was the day. I was going to see a potential bride. A marriage proposal. This wasn’t my first time, though. I had been to several such meetings before. Coming from a well-off family, my father’s expectations were naturally aimed at finding someone from a financially stable background. However, I had always been inclined to choose someone from a middle-class family—someone who had a strong sense of faith and spirituality. I believed that such qualities were less common in affluent families. Because of this, I had previously turned down several proposals, sometimes easily, other times with a bit of difficulty. But today, my role was limited to just meeting the girl. My father had already made all the other decisions. By the time I finished getting ready, Dad called out again. “Aju, it’s time. Aren’t you ready yet?” “Coming, Dad!” I rushed downstairs. “Mom, we’re leaving now.” My father, my brother, and I headed to the girl’s house. After some time, we arrived at a large house and parked in the yard. A man came out to greet us as we stepped out of the car. “Assalamu Alaikum.” “Wa Alaikum Assalam. Please, come inside and sit down.” We entered the house and sat down. Soon, I was faced with a barrage of questions. “What’s your name?” “Ajmal Shajahan.” “What do you do for a living?” “I’m a college lecturer.” “Which college did you study at?” After answering a long series of questions, the meeting was over. There wasn’t anything about the girl that I particularly disliked. Still, there was an unease deep within me. Thoughts about all the shattered dreams I had once cherished created a subtle ache in my heart. Even after returning home, the discomfort lingered. “Do you have some new plan to call this one off too?” My father’s question came as I leaned against a pillar in the sit-out. He asked as if he already knew everything. There seemed to be no way out but to agree this time. The preparations and events that followed happened quickly. Soon enough, a beautiful poster was placed on the wall, announcing, *“Ajmal Shajahan weds Fathimathul Misriyyah.”* On the decided day, Misriyyah, the girl who was now my wife, entered my house as a daughter-in-law, holding my hand. The wedding and feast were conducted grandly, and everyone seemed delighted. But my unease and restlessness hadn’t left me yet. Smiling reluctantly and posing for photo shoots, the day dragged on until night finally arrived. Exhausted and troubled, I went to my room and lay on one side of the bed. She was downstairs, surrounded by relatives and neighbors—a whole group of women chatting with her. At some point, I fell asleep, only to wake up to the sound of sobbing. It was past 2 a.m. when I turned on my phone flashlight to find Misriyyah sitting on the floor, crying. Her eyes were swollen and red. Seeing her like this startled me. “Misriyyah, what happened? Why are you crying?” I asked softly. She remained silent, covering her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Please, tell me what’s wrong, Misriyyah. Why are you crying like this?” Sensing the urgency in my voice, she finally began speaking in a low tone. “I pray Tahajjud (the midnight prayer) every night. But tonight, I don’t know where the facility to perform ablution is. I didn’t want to wake anyone, and I was afraid I might miss my prayer. That’s why I was crying.” Her words erased all the worries I had carried within me. Like cool rain in a desert, they brought immense relief to my soul. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” “When I came, you were already asleep. I didn’t want to disturb your rest.” “It’s alright. Let’s go outside together and perform ablution.” We went to the tap outside, performed ablution, and then prayed Tahajjud together for the first time. After the prayer, I raised my hands in supplication: “Lord, make all our affairs blessed. Grant us happiness and peace throughout our lives.” After the prayer, I lay down on the bed. She rested her head on my chest, a radiant smile lighting up her face. “Dear…” “Yes?” “Did my routine bother you?” “Not at all. It makes me happy.” “You didn’t look enthusiastic this morning. Did you not like me?” Her question caught me off guard. Wives are intuitive like that, capable of sensing even unspoken thoughts. There was no avoiding an answer. “It’s not that I didn’t like you. I’ve always wanted a life partner with a deep sense of faith. I was worried you might not be that person.” “Do you still have that worry?” “How can I, when the partner I prayed for is right beside me?” As she traced patterns on my chest with her finger, I pulled her closer and held her tightly. The triumph of finding such a partner resonated within me like the joy of conquering the world. She truly was the *houri* (heavenly companion) gifted to me by my Lord. **Note:** Never let wealth be the measuring scale for someone’s spiritual or moral worth.