Chapter Three: A Love That Felt Like a Du‘ā

 Nīkah Written by Qādr, Tested by Genotype

Chapter Three: A Love That Felt Like a Du‘ā’

It was a very breezy morning. The air was cool and calm, and everything around me felt unusually peaceful. The kind of morning where the wind gently brushed against your skin, carrying with it a sense of quiet comfort. The sky was soft and clear, and the world seemed to be moving at a slower pace than usual.

I sat by the window in my room, watching the trees sway lightly as the breeze passed through them. There was something about that morning that felt different, though I could not explain why.

At that time, I never truly understood what love was. I had seen it in others, heard people talk about it, and even watched my friends experience it in their own ways. But for me, it had always felt distant, almost unreal. I believed in it, but I had never felt it deeply enough to call it my own.

Until that morning.

That was when Julaybib entered my life.

He was not a stranger in the sense that I had never seen him before. Our families were familiar with each other, and we had crossed paths a few times in gatherings, but we had never spoken in a way that meant anything. He was known for his calm nature, his modesty, and the way he carried himself with quiet dignity.

But everything changed when we were nineteen.

Our connection did not begin the way most people expected. It was not based on appearance or influenced by the expectations of society. It was something deeper, something rooted in the way we were raised. We were both brought up upon the Deen, taught to value sincerity, modesty, and the importance of seeking Allah’s pleasure in everything we did.

And somehow, without planning it, we found ourselves drawn to each other for that very reason.

It started with a simple message.

I remember the exact moment I saw his name appear on my phone. My heart paused for a second, not out of fear, but out of curiosity. I hesitated before opening it, unsure of what to expect.

When I finally did, the message was simple.

“Assalamu Alaikum, Tahira. I hope you are doing well.”

I stared at the screen for a moment, reading it again and again. There was nothing unusual about it, yet something about it felt… intentional.

I took a deep breath before replying.

“Wa Alaikum Assalam. Alhamdulillah, I am well. I hope you are too.”

That was how it began.

At first, our conversations were brief and respectful. We spoke about general things—family, daily life, and small reminders about the Deen. There was a sense of caution in the way we communicated, as if both of us were aware of the boundaries we needed to maintain.

But as days turned into weeks, our conversations became more frequent.

And more meaningful.

One evening, as I sat on my bed holding my phone, a message from him appeared again.

“Can I ask you something?”

I felt a slight nervousness as I typed my reply.

“Yes, you can.”

There was a short pause before his response came.

“What do you look for in a person you would want to marry?”

My heart skipped a beat.

It was not a casual question.

It carried weight.

I stared at the message for a while, thinking carefully about my answer. I did not want to respond impulsively.

Finally, I typed:

“Someone who fears Allah, someone who is sincere, kind, and responsible. Someone who values the Deen over everything else.”

A few moments passed before his reply came.

“That is exactly what I pray for too.”

I felt a warmth in my chest as I read his words.

Then he added:

“I believe that if two people come together for the sake of Allah, He will place barakah in their relationship.”

I smiled softly.

“That is true,” I replied.

From that moment, our conversations took on a different tone. They were no longer just casual exchanges. They became intentional, focused on understanding each other’s values, goals, and beliefs.

We spoke about marriage—not as a distant dream, but as a serious possibility.

One night, our conversation went deeper than usual.

“ Tahira,” he wrote, “I want to be honest with you.”

I felt my heart race slightly.

“I am listening.”

“I do not want to waste your time or mine. I am speaking to you because I see qualities in you that I admire. And if Allah wills, I would like to take this the right way.”

I read his message over and over again.

It was direct.

Sincere.

And respectful.

I replied carefully.

“I appreciate your honesty. I also do not believe in wasting time. If something is to be done, it should be done in the right way.”

He responded almost immediately.

“Then, if you are comfortable, I would like to involve our parents.”

I felt a mix of emotions—nervousness, happiness, and a sense of seriousness that I had never felt before.

“Yes,” I finally replied. “That is the best way.”

And just like that, what we had began to take a new direction.

Our parents were informed, and to my surprise, they were not only accepting but also happy. They appreciated the fact that we approached things in a respectful and halal manner. There was no secrecy, no hidden intentions, just clarity and sincerity.

From that point on, our communication became even more meaningful, though we remained careful and mindful of our boundaries.

We spent a lot of time talking on WhatsApp, discussing everything from our daily routines to our future plans. But what made our conversations special was the intention behind them.

One particular conversation stayed with me.

“Are you happy?” he asked one evening.

I smiled as I typed.

“Yes, Alhamdulillah. Are you?”

“I am,” he replied. “But I want to make sure that whatever we are building is pleasing to Allah.”

“That should always be our priority,” I responded.

He paused before sending another message.

“I do not just want to love you. I want to help you get closer to Jannah.”

My heart softened at his words.

“And I want the same for you,” I replied.

Our conversations were not filled with empty words or unrealistic promises. They were grounded in faith, responsibility, and a shared desire to build something meaningful.

Of course, it did not take long for my friends to find out.

The day they discovered it was unforgettable.

We were sitting together when Sajidah suddenly grabbed my phone.

“Give that back!” I said quickly, trying to reach for it.

But she was faster.

Her eyes widened as she read the messages.

“SubhanAllah!” she exclaimed. “Tahira?!”

Sawberah and Tasliyah rushed closer.

“What is it?” Tasliyah asked.

Sajidah turned the phone toward them.

“Read this!”

Within seconds, they were all staring at me with expressions of shock and excitement.

“You were hiding this from us?” Sawberah asked.

I felt my face grow warm. “I was not hiding it. I just… did not know how to tell you.”

Tasliyah crossed her arms. “So you, the ‘careful one,’ are now the one in love?”

I sighed. “It is not like that.”

Sajidah laughed. “Oh, it is exactly like that.”

They began teasing me non-stop.

“‘I want to help you get closer to Jannah,’” Tasliyah repeated dramatically. “Ya Allah, this is serious!”

Sawberah smiled. “It is actually beautiful.”

I shook my head, trying to stay composed. “You all are exaggerating.”

But deep down, I knew they were right about one thing.

This was not something ordinary.

This was not the kind of love that came and went without purpose.

This was something intentional.

Something built on the foundation of faith.

Something that felt like a du‘ā’ being answered.

And as I sat there with my friends laughing and teasing me, I realized something I had never fully understood before.

Love was real.

Not the kind that leads people astray.

But the kind that brings two hearts closer to Allah.

And for the first time in my life, I was not just observing it.

I was living it.