Chapter Twenty-Five: Tears Before Asr and Understanding After Pain

 Nīkah Written by Qādr, Tested by Genotype

Chapter Twenty-Five: Tears Before Asr and Understanding After Pain

It was almost the time of Asr prayer, and the light inside the house had begun to shift gently, becoming softer as the afternoon slowly moved toward evening. The atmosphere was calm, but the emotional weight from the earlier conversation still remained in the room like something invisible but deeply felt.

My eyes were still filled with tears, and I could no longer hold them back or hide them. They were not tears of weakness alone, but tears that came from years of experiences finally reaching a moment of expression. I tried to wipe them quietly, but they kept returning because what we had just spoken about had opened emotions that had been buried for a long time.

Ghurobah looked at me carefully, her small face filled with confusion and concern.

Ghurobah: “Mama, why are you crying?”

Before I could respond, Julaybib gently placed his hand on her shoulder and spoke in a calm voice that carried both sadness and understanding.

Julaybib: “Your mother is crying because she has carried a lot through all these years of marriage.”

The room became quiet again, even quieter than before. Sibghatullah looked at me with a different expression now, not confusion, but awareness slowly forming in his eyes.

Julaybib continued speaking, not rushing his words, because what he was saying needed to be understood deeply.

Julaybib: “From the beginning of our marriage, your mother has been through situations that many people would not have tolerated for long. She stood through sickness, hospital visits, emotional stress, financial pressure, and long nights of uncertainty.”

He paused slightly and looked at both children.

Julaybib: “When Sibghatullah had surgery, your mother did not leave his side. She stayed awake, prayed, cried silently, and still continued caring for the family.”

He turned slightly toward Ghurobah.

Julaybib: “And when Ghurobah was born and faced health challenges as a child, your mother was also there, managing everything with patience and strength.”

My tears continued falling quietly, but I listened because he was not exaggerating anything. He was simply speaking truth that had been lived.

Julaybib continued.

Julaybib: “There were times when she could have chosen a different life. There were moments when she could have walked away, or chosen comfort elsewhere, but she did not.”

He looked at me briefly before returning his gaze to the children.

Julaybib: “She stayed. Even when things were difficult, even when she was tired, even when life felt heavy, she stayed.”

Sibghatullah looked down for a moment, then spoke softly.

Sibghatullah: “Mama is stronger than I thought…”

Then he added, trying to lighten the emotional weight in the room, though his voice still carried sincerity.

Sibghatullah: “Actually… Mama is like a patient mountain that never complains, just standing there protecting everyone from wind and rain.”

There was a small pause, and then unexpectedly, Ghurobah laughed softly.

Ghurobah: “So Mama is a mountain now?”

Sibghatullah nodded quickly.

Sibghatullah: “Yes, a very stubborn mountain.”

That comment made even Julaybib smile slightly despite the emotional atmosphere.

I wiped my tears and tried to speak, still emotional but now slightly calmer because of their words.

Tahira: “You two are just trying to turn my tears into jokes now.”

Sibghatullah immediately responded.

Sibghatullah: “We are not joking, we are describing your strength scientifically.”

Ghurobah laughed again.

Ghurobah: “Scientifically?”

Sibghatullah nodded seriously.

Sibghatullah: “Yes, Mama belongs to the category of strong women who survive everything without crashing.”

Julaybib shook his head slightly, smiling now.

Julaybib: “Leave this boy, he will start writing books soon.”

The room became lighter again, but the emotional truth remained present beneath the laughter.

Then Julaybib spoke again, this time more gently.

Julaybib: “I want you both to understand something very important today.”

The children looked at him attentively.

Julaybib: “Everything we went through, every difficulty, every hospital visit, every sickness, every sleepless night, is not just something random. It is part of what Allah ﷻ has written for us.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle.

Julaybib: “We do not always understand why certain families face certain tests, but we know that nothing happens without wisdom.”

Sibghatullah nodded slowly.

Sibghatullah: “So it is from Allah?”

Julaybib: “Yes.”

Ghurobah quietly repeated.

Ghurobah: “From Allah…”

Then Sibghatullah suddenly spoke again, this time trying to bring comfort in his own way.

Sibghatullah: “Mama, I think Allah chose you to be patient for a very long time, because not everyone can handle this much reward waiting.”

I looked at him, slightly confused at first, then slowly realized what he meant.

Tahira: “Reward waiting?”

Sibghatullah nodded confidently.

Sibghatullah: “Yes. Because every patience has reward, and you have been collecting a lot without realizing it.”

That statement broke something emotional inside me again, but this time it was mixed with a small smile through tears.

Julaybib looked at him and nodded.

Julaybib: “That is a good way to understand it.”

Ghurobah then added innocently.

Ghurobah: “So Mama is saving rewards like money in a bank?”

Sibghatullah replied quickly.

Sibghatullah: “Yes, but this one never loses value.”

That made all of us laugh softly again, even through the tears.

The room became calmer, and the emotional intensity slowly transformed into understanding.

Julaybib then leaned back slightly and spoke in a more reflective tone.

Julaybib: “One of the biggest lessons I have learned in this marriage is that patience is not just waiting, it is enduring with trust that Allah is writing something better even when you cannot see it.”

He looked at me.

Julaybib: “And your mother has shown that more than anyone I know.”

At that moment, I could not speak again. My tears returned quietly, but this time they were not only from sadness. They were from recognition, reflection, and acceptance of everything we had lived through.

Sibghatullah and Ghurobah both looked at me silently, understanding now in a deeper way than before.

And in that quiet moment before Asr, surrounded by family, memory, and truth, we all realized something without needing to say it again:

Everything we had gone through was not meaningless. It was from Allah ﷻ, and it carried wisdom we were only beginning to understand.

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Written By: Ahmād Zāhir Enagi Abū-Khālif