🌙 Prologue – “Years in Sujood”

🌙 Prologue – “Years in Sujood”

> “Indeed, He is the One who originates creation and repeats it, and He is the Most Forgiving, the All-Loving.”

(Surah Al-Buruj – 85:13-14)

Intro:

Liyana Aliz —

A soft-hearted girl with eyes that always searched for signs — not in the sky, but in her prayers.

She wasn't perfect. She missed fajr sometimes. She overthought. She held on too long.

But she loved Allah more than anything. And every time she broke, she broke in sujood.

She believed in gentle love, the kind that was pure and halal — the kind that reminded you of your Rabb.

Rayyan —

The boy who grew beside her, yet stayed a step out of reach.

He never made promises, but his kindness made her wait.

In every family function, he made sure she wasn’t left alone — not too much, not too little.

He never crossed a line, but he understood her silence.

He was the reason she learned to love through prayers — and let go through faith.

Mohammed Taym —

A stranger by distance, but familiar by soul.

Not loud, not chasing the world — yet the world seemed gentler around him.

He lived simply, walked humbly, and spoke less… but his silence carried the remembrance of Allah.

The kind of boy who washes his heart in wudu, and his home in light.

The kind who prays not for love, but through love.

The one she never thought to pray for… until her heart began to soften in his silence.

📖 A story of heartbreak, healing, and the divine way Allah replaces pain with something so precise — it feels like your soul had asked for it long before you ever knew.

A few months ago:

It's all began with one call... A name i whispered in sujood for years.

I don’t know when it all began —

There was no thunder, no dramatic music.

Just soft, ordinary moments that stacked quietly like prayer beads.

Like the way I admired how innocent his eyes were, how they searched every room with gentleness.

Or how his smile — subtle, respectful — seemed to carry concern for everyone around him.

There was something in him that made my heart feel safe even from a distance.

He was my cousin, rayyan

Not the kind you grow up playing with — we met once or twice a year,

mostly during weddings or family gatherings.

We didn’t have a friendship.

We had recognition.

He’d make sure to talk to me — even if briefly — to make sure I wasn’t awkward.

We’d exchange “Assalamualaikum,”

and then a few careful words…

But never too much.

We never shook hands, never crossed lines —

we kept it halal even in our silences.

And yet, there was a softness… something that lingered between us long after the events ended.

There’s one memory I carry like a pressed rose in my diary of duas.

It was at his Dada’s relative’s house.

I didn’t want to go, but my aunt convinced me.

I remember how shy I felt — hiding away in rooms, avoiding large crowds.

I played with a little girl there just to look busy.

When lunch was served, they gave me too much rice — I gently said it’s enough,

but the aunty smiled and said, “Put some more, kanna.”

Then came the chicken. I tried to refuse again.

She chuckled, “Why don’t you eat, huh?”

Before I could answer, he quietly said:

“It’s okay, phuppu. She doesn’t eat much. Chicken upsets her stomach — this much is fine.”

I froze.

We weren’t close enough for him to know that.

But he did.

He noticed things I never said.

And that day, something inside me said: he sees me.

I never told him how I felt.

I just whispered his name in sujood.

Day after day. Year after year.

He was the first boy I cried for.

And the only boy I begged Allah for.

But life had its way of returning memories when you least expect.

Until one day — I couldn’t hold it anymore,

out of nowhere, my phone lit up. His name.

A call. After all this time.

What happened in that call, perhaps, changed everything.

_ To be continued....