The Beginning of Forever
⚠️ Content Warning
This story contains depictions of war, loss, death (including that of a child), and emotional trauma. It may be distressing to sensitive readers. Discretion is advised.
Safiya rocked her baby gently, her voice rising and falling in soft melody as she recited verses of Surah Ar-Rahman. The child’s tiny fingers curled against her chest, warm, soft, and delicate, as if clinging to the comfort of her mother’s presence. A tear welled in the corner of her eye, trembling for a moment before slipping free. Then another, following silently behind it.
The curtains hung thick over the window, swaying slightly as a cold draft crept into the dimly lit room. Outside, the land of olives was silent.
Hasan entered quietly, cradling a bottle of milk. The weariness in his posture softened as he saw his wife and child. He sat down beside her, his movements careful, reverent. Taking the baby into his arms, he brought the bottle to its lips.
But then, he noticed.
The tear tracks glistening on Safiya’s cheeks. The way her breath caught, fragile, hesitant, as if afraid to breathe.
With a sigh, he pulled her close. His warmth pressed against her trembling frame. Firm, yet steady.
“I’m so scared, Hasan,” she whispered, her voice filled with uncertainty and fear.
“Allah will make everything okay. Then why fear?” His voice was a balm, soothing, even if it couldn’t erase the shadows in her eyes.
She lowered her gaze to their daughter, brushing a finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “I don’t know what will happen to her.” Her voice cracked, unraveling into quiet sobs.
Hasan tightened his embrace. He understood her fears. Her pain. He always understood.
“Everything will be alright, you’ll see.” He kissed Jannat’s forehead with tenderness. “She’ll grow up, insha’Allah. She’ll be just like you, a doctor. We’ll see her wedding day, Safiya. And then... we’ll become grandparents. Just imagine.”
Safiya’s lips trembled into a smile, fleeting, yet genuine. She nodded. She wanted to believe every word Hasan said. Yet, deep down, fear lingered.
“Hasan... am I a good wife?” she asked suddenly. Her voice was barely audible, as if afraid of the answer.
“You’re not just good, you are the best wife.”
“And... am I a good husband?” He met her gaze, searching.
“Yes... the best husband in this world.”
Hasan smiled at her words, his dimples deepening, like the imprint of a love that had weathered time and storm.
He exhaled, reflective. “Safiya, do you know how much I thank Allah for you? It’s never enough. Not nearly enough. From the moment I saw you after our marriage, I fell in love with you. And since then, every single day, I keep falling in love with you in new ways.”
Her cheeks flushed. The sorrow lifted, even if only for a moment, under the warmth of his devotion.
“Hasan,” she murmured, hesitating, “you won’t forget me in Jannah, right?”
His grip tightened slightly. “Can a heart ever forget its own heartbeat?”
“Still... promise me.”
“I promise. I will never forget you.”
Their conversation shifted. Laughter wove between their words, delicate and warm. In those moments, all the fear and uncertainty faded. Safiya blushed. Smiled. And allowed herself, just for a while, to believe in the promise of safety.
They didn’t know when they fell asleep.
This place was beautiful. Beyond imagination. Peaceful. Tranquil.
Hasan stood there, smiling. His eyes searched.
“Safiya... where are you?” Panic began to swell in his chest. He turned, searching, and then, relief flooded him.
There she was.
His wife. His qurratul ayn. Standing beneath a tree, dressed in green, her face glowing.
“Safiya...” he called, walking toward her. “See? I kept my promise.”
Safiya smiled.
“Where’s Jannat?”
“There,” she said, pointing.
Before Hasan could see her, he woke.
Safiya was beside him. Jannat rested on his arm.
It had been a dream, a very beautiful dream. The images faded, but the feeling lingered.
He remembered, they needed food.
Carefully shifting, he tried not to wake them. But Safiya stirred.
Hasan kissed both his wife and child. “I’ll go out to get food. They’re distributing some.”
Safiya nodded. As he was leaving, she suddenly called out, “Hasan, I will be waiting for you.”
Hasan glanced back and smiled.
Safiya watched him leave, his figure swallowed by the fragile remains of their war-torn city. The walls trembled with distant echoes of destruction, but she clung to his words. His warmth. His love. Most importantly, hope and tawakkul.
Hours passed.
Hasan, exhausted, clutched two loaves of bread to his chest like sacred treasure. Relief filled him as he neared home.
Then,
The sky split apart.
An explosion.
The world turned upside down. Earth and sky exchanged places in an instant.
The bread remained in his grasp, fingers clenched around it as if his body hadn’t yet accepted that survival had become irrelevant.
But his leg... his leg was gone.
A sharp, metallic taste coated his tongue, dirt, blood. He spat weakly, but the taste remained, lodging itself in the back of his throat like a cruel reminder.
And then, the sounds reached him.
Not words. Not voices.
Cries. Screams. The kind that came from deep within the chest, raw, primal, torn from throats that could barely muster the breath to scream anymore.
Around him, the ground was littered with pieces of people. A severed hand curled into itself, as if still clinging to life. A torso, detached from its owner, lay in the dirt like discarded debris. The air stank of burnt flesh, dust, something bitter and acrid that settled in his lungs.
Still, none of that mattered.
Pain pulsed through him, but his mind was locked onto only one thought:
Safiya. Jannat.
He dragged himself forward, pain so sharp it blurred his vision. His fingers clawed at the ruins of their home, blood staining the rubble as he whispered, “Ya Allah... Ya Allah...”
And then, he saw it.
A hand.
Her hand.
His breath caught in his throat. He forced himself forward, trembling.
Buried beneath the rubble, their bodies intertwined. Safiya’s arms locked around their daughter in a final embrace. Dust frosted their lashes. Jannat’s tiny fist still clutched a scrap of Safiya’s scarf.
Their faces were untouched by fear.
Safiya’s lips were parted slightly, as if she’d been whispering a verse when the sky fell. Jannat’s cheek pressed to her mother’s chest, as though lulled by an eternal heartbeat.
Their faces were radiant.
Peaceful.
With trembling hands, he brushed his knuckles against Jannat’s forehead. Her skin was cold, but for a heartbeat, he imagined she might stir. Whimper. Open her eyes.
She didn’t.
Hasan closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Safiya’s shoulder.
And then, he broke into tears, clutching them to his chest.
“Inna Lillahi wa Inna Ilayhi Raji’un (إِنَّا لِلَّٰهِ وَإِنَّا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُون)( To God, we belong. To Him we will return) ...” he whispered over and over, his shoulders shaking.
Then his voice steadied.
“Alhamdulillah... Look, Allah has ended our test.”
He pressed them closer. He kissed Safiya’s forehead. His fingers brushed Jannat’s cold cheek. His eyes filled with tears, but his lips... smiled.
“Let’s meet again very soon. In a place where there is no pain. No separation. Only peace. Only forever.”
The world burned around him.
He understood his time had also come. He had already lost a lot of blood.
His chest rose, then fell. His lips formed the words, steady, unwavering:
“O Allah, I am pleased with You as my Lord.
I am pleased with Muhammad ﷺ as Your Messenger.
And I am pleased with Islam as my deen.”
And then, louder, toward the heavens:
La ilaha illa Allah. La ilaha illa Allah.
A light flickered.
Then, another blast.
Fire swallowed everything.
Including his voice.
But in the aftermath, in the silence and smoke, when rescue workers arrived, they found him.
Burnt.
Still holding them.
Still together.
A journalist snapped a photo of a beautiful family who had met a tragic end.
The photo went viral.
People cried.
But they were wrong.
This wasn’t the end.
It was the beginning.
They had won.
“And never think of those who have been killed in the cause of Allah as dead. Rather, they are alive with their Lord, receiving provision.”
— Surah Āl-’Imrān (3:169)
Notthe End... butthe Beginning of Forever.
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Author’s note:
I cried immensely while writing this story.
Some stories don’t need many words. They speak through the silence, through the heartbreak, and through the unwavering faith of those who endure.
Safiya and Hasan’s story is not just fiction, it’s a reflection of real hearts, real pain, and real hope. In a world torn by war and sorrow, their love stands as a reminder that victory isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s quiet. Sometimes, it looks like loss to us, but in the eyes of Allah, it is triumph.
They have already won.
It’s we who remain, who must remember that this life is a test. That every tear, every moment of fear, every act of love, is seen. Counted. Rewarded.
May we carry their story as a reminder:
That nothing is lost in Allah’s eyes.
That true peace comes not just in this life, but in what waits beyond.
And that the end is never really the end.
For the ones who endured.
For the ones still enduring.
For the ones who will meet again in Jannah, insha’Allah.
For the people of the land of the olives.
— Farzana Tutul
