His Hafizah and her Hafiz

Acceptance

Huzaifah POV:

"What?" I shrieked in disbelief, making a few brothers look at our direction. "I have to learn Arabic to become an Alim (Islamic scholar)?"

Ali rolled his eyes for the third time, shaking his head at my stupidity as he sat crossed legged on the carpet of the mosque. "No Huzaifah we're supposed to learn Greek because Zeus is stupid." He grumbled sarcastically with annoyance. 

"I'm serious here." I exclaimed with a poker face, unconciously poking the afternoon rays that streamed down through the mosque's floor-length window, marking the carpet with it's yellow extraordinariness.

"I'm serious here as well." Ali deadpanned, sitting beside me as we waited for the adhan to be called out for Asr salah. "Do you even know what an Alim is?"

"Yes," I nodded. 

He raised his brows questioningly but still continued, "We study the hadiths (the prophet's sayings and orders), the verses of the Quran and understand them in depth. In other words, the Quran is in Arabic and all the hadith is in arabic as well. So yes, you must learn Arabic to understand all that!"

"Oh come on, that's too much." I exaggerated, throwing my head back. "I'm kinda having second thoughts of backing out now."

"Oh come on," Ali hollered irritably, "This is Jordan for god's sake, just be glad that it's not India, Pakistan or something, they'd force you to learn Urdu along with it as well. Just be grateful!"

"Oh Allah, what is happening to my life?" I cried.

"You're overreacting here." Ali deadpanned, glancing down at his huge hadith book flipping through the pages of it while biting his nails in stress. "Arabic is not so hard."

"I don't think I can do Alim course for six years. My life is doomed!" I sighed heavily, leaning my head back against the wall with exhaustion.

"Time flies. You'll do it." He mumbled inattentively, not prying his eyes off of the arabic words engraved in his hadith book. "It's better to prepare yourself for the hereafter before death comes than not doing anything at all."

True, he had a point.

"What happened to Hafiz Abu Hurairah?" Ali asked, bursting my bubble. "I haven't been seeing him attend the mosque since the past few months. Is he fine?"

"Are you serious?" I looked at him, baffled. Other than the week vacation I took off for Osman's wedding in my parent's house, I have spent the last few months in this kingdom racing through a heavily hard-pressed schedule. My mornings and afternoons were busily spent in medical school and the rest of the evening in the Alimiyyah institution struggling to learn the constituents of Arabic and mastering it. Sometimes, taking Hawa to the doctors for a pregnancy check was also an essential part of my schedule leaving little to no gaps for relaxation other than the night. 

Now that I think of it, I have been totally chained to my busy timetable not noticing that Abu Hurairah's attendance in the mosque was always missing. When was the last time we actually had a talk after Aunt Hajara's death?

"Why are you asking me? You're his cousin, you're supposed to know." Ali furrowed his eyes, glancing up at me.

"Woah man, you're his best friend." I defended with my hands raised. 

"Uh, he's married and I literally don't want to intrude in his life. On the other hand, you happen to be his wife's brother, you should know how he's doing."

"Oh Allah," I facepalmed myself stressfully, "It's been a really busy year, I totally forgot about him. I'll call him right now." Ali nodded as I immediately dialed up Abu Hurairah's number and placed it against my ear waiting patiently for him to pick up.