Leilah Usman awaits an acceptance from a university abroad so she can leave the country she never loved when she stumbles upon an ancient diary. Through the eyes of Mahrosh Irfan, she finds herself in a world so completely different from hers.
One w...
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The room was crowded. At the front, Walid sat cross-legged; his encouraging eyes set on Shayan. Shyness enveloped the younger boy; his hands fiddling with the hem of his sleeves and his eyes gazing over at the men; all of whom were older than him. For a second, his throat clogged and the desire to return to his seat was too strong. But then his gaze flickered towards Walid. He was smiling; just like he had when Shayan had first brought it up —
"How come the Quran always knows what I need, Walid Bhai?"
Walid had looked up from his book, noting Shayan's glazed eyes as he peered down at the verse of the Quran in front of him.
After a day of facing bullying at school; of being called yateem*- as if it were some abuse, and missing his father till it became unbearable, Shayan had felt more alone than ever.
Until he had opened the Quran.
By the forenoon.And by the night when it is still; Your Lord has neither forsaken you nor is He displeased.And indeed the Hereafter is better for you than the present. And verily, your Lord will give you so that you shall be well-pleased.Did He not find you an orphan and gave you a refuge?
Tears streamed down his eyes. "How does it always know, Walid bhai?"
He had felt Walid's hand on his head. "Is Allah not closer to you than your jugular vein, Shayan?"
Shayan looked up.
Walid's smile did not falter; and in his calmness, Shayan found his strength. He took a deep breath and began reciting the surah that had begun his hidfh journey.
His voice echoed off the walls of the room; and Shayan kept his eyes lowered as he recited. He felt each word, trying his hardest to not let his voice break out of the intensity of emotions that crashed over him — and while he was in a world of his own, so was the man who sat at the front of the room.
He was in the narrow alleyways of London; collar torn and face bruised. His knuckles were red; he sat under a streetlamp, gaze lowered to the pages of a book. It was small; barely fitted his bruised hands; but he continued to stare at the page open before him. Birds left their nests, flying over him at the break of dawn. A teardrop fell on the open page — the boy broke down.
Later that day, Walid handed Shayan that hardcover book. Shayan turned it over with interest; before realizing that it was an English translation of the Quran. "I thought you'd like it. This is where my journey began," Walid said. Shayan couldn't keep his happiness in bounds, tiny hands gripping the book as if no treasure could beat it.
"And Shayan?" Walid said before he left, "The Surah that you started your journey with... it was the same surah that started mine."
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