CHAPTER 1 - Why I'm Writing to You 🌙
Assalamu alaikum...
opens notebook
stares at page
This is getting personal.Isn’t it?
closes notebook
opens it again because running away is not an option
Okay. Let’s try this properly.
My dear girl... 🌙
I don’t really know how to start this without sounding dramatic, but you already know me — I am a little dramatic, so we’re going to accept it and move on.
I didn’t grow up with a big sister.
No one to sit beside me and quietly explain life when it started getting confusing. No one to tell me,“Hey... this feeling? This is normal.”No one to warn me before I made certain mistakes.
So I made them.
A lot of them.
Some small. Some... let’s not discuss in public settings. 💀
And it wasn’t because my mother didn’t care. She did. She really did. But sometimes love and guidance are not the same thing. Sometimes there’s distance — of time, of generation, of exhaustion. My mother worked. And when she wasn’t there, someone else was watching over me.
And that someone... taught me something I wasn’t ready to learn.
pauses. looks down at the page.
I remember how she would light up whenever my cousins came over — the ones with fairer skin and straighter hair. She would carry them, play with them, praise how“cute”they were.
And I would stand there.
A bit darker.Nothing special. Just... not the ‘cute’ one. Feeling... invisible.
It shouldn’t have mattered. I know that now.
But it did.
Growing up, I became the odd one out on both sides of the family. The comments were never loud — they never had to be. They just piled up quietly, like dust on a shelf no one bothers to clean. And because no one sat me down and said," looks don’t decide your worth in front of Allah. Your character, behavior and intention does”— my insecurities grew louder than my own voice.
I started believing I was less.
Less lovable. Less worthy of being chosen. Less worth looking at.
There was no big sister to hold my hand and say,“You are exactly as Allah made you — and that is not a mistake.”
sighs softly. slides chair closer.
So I learned it the hard way. Through tears. Through mirrors and family gatherings and comparison and that awful quiet that comes after someone makes you feel small. Alhamdulillah, Allah pulled me out. Gently. The way He always does , when we’ve finally stopped pretending we’re fine.
And He taught me the truth I wish someone had whispered to me so much earlier.
That’s why I’m writing to you.
Not because I have everything figured out. Not because I’m wise or healed or some perfect version of what a Muslim girl is supposed to look like.
But because maybe — maybe — you’ve felt like the odd one out too.
Maybe someone made you feellessbecause of your skin, your hair, your body, the way you laugh too loud or go quiet too fast. Maybe you’ve stood in a room full of people and still felt completely alone. Maybe you’re still carrying that quiet ache, the one you don’t know how to put into words, the one you’ve never said out loud to anyone.
When I was writingHis Ugly Bride, I knew exactly how I wantedHusnato look. I gave her the dark skin that the world told me was “too much.” I gave her the curly hair that I used to try so hard to tame.
But I gave her something else, too. Something I was still searching for myself back then: Unshakable Confidence.
I knew people expected Husna to cry when he tried to insult her. They expected her to hide her dark skin or feel ashamed of her curls. But I was tired of that story.
I didn’t want a “slow burn” for her self-esteem. I wanted her to walk into the room, look him in the eye, and show him exactly where his place was. I wrote her to be a shield. Every time she stood her ground, she was protecting the younger version of me who didn’t know how to speak up yet.′
Sometimes I look back and wonder:Did it work? Did Husna actually inspire anyone, or was I just dreaming?
But then I see your comments.
Alhamdulillah..
I want you to become like Husna.
Be strong.
Not insecure.
Trust Allah.
Not his creations.
Be grateful to Allah for everything He has bless you with.
But it becomes difficult, you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.
slides chair even closer
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This book is not like my stories.
No plot twists. No dramatic villains. No perfectly timed confessions in the rain. (I know. I’m devastated too.)
Just me. And you.
This is about my life. Your life.Ourlife — the quiet struggles, the embarrassing thoughts, the things we bury because we think no one else feels them.
I’m going to talk about my insecurities. My mistakes. My Wattpad journey — yes, we will be exposing everything, I am not emotionally ready but we’re doing it anyway. And the things I genuinely wish someone had told me before I had to figure them out alone.
And you — you don’t just sit there and read silently.
No. Absolutely not. I did not open my chest and hand it to you so you could ghost me. 👀
At the end of every chapter, I’m going to ask you questions. Real ones. And I wantrealanswers — not“nice chapter bestie”and then disappearing into the void like you were never here.
We are sitting together in this. Both of us.
So let me ask you something, right now, before we go any further.
Have you ever felt like you had to figure everything out alone?
Have you ever stood somewhere — a family gathering, a classroom, your own bedroom — and felt like you were the only one who didn’t belong?
Has anyone ever made you feelless... and you just... swallowed it? Because you didn’t know what else to do with it?
...
You don’t have to answer out loud right now.
But I want you to sit with it. Because this whole book? It starts there. In that feeling. In thatless.
And by the time we’re done —
I want you to know, the way I eventually learned to know, thatlesswas never the truth about you.
Come closer.
Let’s begin. 🌙
— Your big sister, Farzana TutulThe dramatic one. The one who cried writing this opening. The one who is already emotionally unwell about the rest of this book.(✿◡‿◡)
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BEFORE YOU MOVE ON — SIT WITH ME. 💭🌙
My dear Qalbi Hearts, my Dua Darlings, my Moon Muffins, my Chaos Cupcakes, my Cosmic Potatoes 🪐🥔✨ — I see every single one of you.
Drop your answers below. Every comment gets read. Every one.
1.Did you ever have someone in your childhood — a caretaker, a relative, anyone — who made you feel invisible without even realising they were doing it? You don’t have to name them. Just... did it happen?
2.What’s the one thing you wish a big sister had told you earlier? The thing no one explained. The thing you had to learn the hard way.
3.And honestly — when you started reading this chapter, did you feel like I was talkingtoyou? Or did it take a moment to settle in?
Tell me. I’m right here. 🌙
With all my love and the full weight of my heart💕
