farharaeem

[farharaeem]

I’m Afraid to Say Your Name

I knew you were religious from the way you spoke. The way your words carried weight, the way you pronounced them with certainty—it was my first impression of you. Your question was meant for me, but someone else answered, and I sat there, listening to the debate you had unknowingly stirred. I could have left. At some point, I didn’t even understand what you all were discussing. It was frustrating. It was annoying.

And so were you.

The more I heard your voice, the more I wanted to drown it out. You talked. Endlessly. About your practices, your rationality, your politics, your sciences. I would pull out my earphones just to take a break from you. But for some reason, I never could ignore you completely. Maybe it was because you always seemed to know exactly what I was curious about, answering my unspoken questions before I even dared to ask.

And then, one day, you disappeared.

When you returned, something shifted. And you still have no idea.

I would have given anything to speak to you again, just to hear your voice. I started telling you things I had never told anyone, things I once thought I would take to my grave. And you—without even trying—made me feel safe enough to say them. You called me by my childhood nickname. And in all honesty, my name had never felt so soft, so warm, so loved as when you said it. I didn’t know how to react, so I only hummed in response. But my soul felt like a boulder, standing in defiance against crashing waves.

We spoke in depth, you and I. Of things that mattered, of things that didn’t. And sometimes, I let silence fall between us. But you never mistook it for distance. You saw me. You understood me in a way no one else did. You even questioned it. Did I say something that hurt you? you would ask. Who even does that?

You claimed me, so openly, so boldly, in front of your kind. Possessive and protective, you had said. And I didn’t doubt you for a second. You came to me in the form of guidance, and I have learned more from you than you will ever know. I have no will to let you go. Everything I have ever let go of has had claw marks on it. But you—I never even called you by your name, out of respect.

And then, you disappeared again.

I whispered your name in a sigh, after I was done greeting the angels on my shoulders. It was agonizing. It was quiet. But I waited. I knew you would come back. I just didn’t know when.

Some nights, I watched the moon rise and wondered if you were watching it, too. If, at the very least, its light was reaching you through your open window.

Little things reminded me of you. A gust of wind against my face, the piercing cry of an eagle, leaves drifting from their branches even as summer approached, the flicker of candlelight in a dimly lit room, an empty bus at dawn. And one day, you will realize; when you see me feeding ducks on our morning walk, that through all your storms, I was there.

When your faith wavered. When your body ached. When the world refused to acknowledge you. When your own family didn’t feel like home. When your wallet was light and your accounts were empty. I was there.

For one reason.

Love.

And trust me. I know that if we had a future together, it would never, never fall apart. You know why? Because we made God the center of our relationship.

You have never seen me, and I have never seen you. But I know what you look like, and I pray you know what I look like, too. I hope my voice sounds as soothing to you as yours sounds to me. I hope you love the meals I prepare for you. I hope you love the home I make from your house. I hope you adore me more than I adore you.

When you call me now, I just want the conversation to last as long as possible. You never run out of things to say, and I never run out of things to feel. Every word, every pause, every breath you take on the other end of the line is something I want to bottle up and keep with me forever. You talk, and I listen, not because I have to, but because I want to. Because I crave the way your thoughts unravel, the way your mind works, the way your voice carries a weight that so few voices ever do.

Sometimes, I close my eyes as you speak, just to let your words settle deeper. Sometimes, I let you go on tangents I don’t even fully understand, just to keep hearing you. Sometimes, I say nothing at all, hoping you’ll notice and ask, Are you still there? And when you do, I smile.

Because I am here. I am always here.

And in my phone, exists a folder with your name. Every time I miss you, I open it up and write down my entry. I write when you're talking, too. Your dreams, your likes, your dislikes—the sort of life you live, the sort of life you want to live. The kind of woman you want to marry and my endless practice of being that woman. The dreams I have of you, your favorite climates, the weathers that make you pause and take a deep breath. How everything I tell you makes a difference, how it all matters. How you hate when people lie to you, and how you despise those who have the truth in front of them yet still choose to ignore it.

I open my duas with you and your family, and then I move on to my family and myself. I ask Allah to protect you, to bless you, to guide you more, to keep you steadfast on the road you’re walking down. Because if I was to follow you, I’d never get lost. I’d always have a leader holding the burning torch in one hand and holding my hand in another.

To brief that entire folder in one sentence: Are you aware my heart would crawl out of my chest to get to you?

I’ve heard people claim that they would die for their beloveds. Others claim they would kill for love.

But for you, I would do the hardest thing known to mankind: live.

So my dear guiding light, make space in your ribs—I’d like to reside in my home country eternally.

[farharaeem]

my dear dear lavender;

I hope you never come across this post, my dearest. But I need to put this down somewhere, because my heart is too full, and I don’t know where else to place it.

I know; we both know, how different our beliefs are. And I have never forced my way into your faith, nor have I ever let our differences shadow the love I hold for you. But wallahi, if only you could feel what I feel when I bow my head in sujood, when my forehead touches the ground, and I surrender every ache, every joy, every unanswered question to the One who never turns away. If only you could taste even a drop of the peace I find in my Rabb, you would never look elsewhere for solace. You would never need to cry alone again.

I know you are afraid. Your family speaks against my people, and though you don’t say it aloud, I see the way you hesitate, the way you hold a trembling distance from the faith that I live and breathe. But when your heart is heavy, when this world fails you over and over, it is me you call. You let your pain spill through the phone, your voice cracking, your sobs raw, and I stay, always, until the storm in your chest calms and I make and hear you laugh again. And every time, I wonder, what if you knew the One who holds my heart steady? What if you knew Him as I do?

If you did, I wouldn’t just be the friend who wipes your tears. You wouldn’t have to carry your burdens alone. We would be standing shoulder to shoulder, whispering the same prayers, our hands raised to the same sky. You would be the friend I’d turn to after my salah, the one who would say ‘Aameen’ with me, our voices trembling with hope. Instead, there is this aching space between us, a space where I wish real faith could bridge the gap.

I will pray for you for as long as I live. And even when my voice can no longer call out your name, I will have already pleaded with the One who hears all, the One who guides whom He wills. Ya Allah, bring her to You. Hold her heart in Your mercy. Let her find what I have found. Because wallahi, my dear dear best friend, if you ever do, if you ever step into this light, I promise, you will never regret it.

Some nights I gaze at the ceiling and I imagine us in a place where sorrow is but a distant, fading memory, where every hardship we endured in this world feels like a dream we barely recall. A place where our patience, our prayers, our love for each other, rooted in nothing but dense sincerity, blossom into rewards beyond anything we could have imagined that was promised by our creator.

I picture you standing beside me, your face radiant, your eyes reflecting the light of Jannah’s eternal sky. We laugh, not the way we did in this world, where grief sometimes lingered beneath our smiles, but with a joy so pure, so weightless, it fills the air like the scent of paradise itself. There are no heavy hearts here, no unspoken worries, no silent tears shed in the darkness of our rooms.

We would walk together by rivers that softly recite praises to the Most Merciful, our hands grazing the silk-like leaves of trees whose branches bend to greet us. The air is filled with the melody of contentment, with words of peace exchanged by those who made it home. And when we turn to each other, we remember-- remember the nights we spent on the phone, the whispered "Why me's" and "Because your soul can endure it", the unwavering hope. We'd remember how we carried each other through this fleeting world, how we wished for nothing more than to see one another in this place.

And we could stand side by side, our hands raised in gratitude, whispering thanks and praise of Allah togetherwith a million other companions. No distances nor differences between us, no aching space left unfilled. That's how I see us some nights, as we were always meant to be, in the light of His mercy, forever through the rest of eternity.