There are many supplications (adhkār) that are recommended for a person to recite after completing the prayer before leaving the place of prayer. Moreover, remaining seated in the spot where one finished praying—without standing up or engaging in conversation—earns a person the benefit of the angels of Allah continuously seeking forgiveness for them until they rise from that place. So you see, as long as a servant remains there, they are constantly receiving Allah’s forgiveness without interruption. This is why you find some people devoted to staying in the mosque, prayer after prayer.
He only nodded his head at Sultane. She, however, was not impressed by such people at all. She saw them merely as people who unnecessarily made life hard for themselves, whereas that was not how the Lord intended things to be. There was no need to overburden or complicate matters—so long as one avoided what is forbidden and unlawful, that was sufficient. She used to say Subḥānallāh, Alḥamdulillāh, Lā ilāha illā Allāh, and Allāhu Akbar thirty-three times each. But later, as life became busier and responsibilities increased, she abandoned the practice, doing it only occasionally.
There was a religious teacher whom Sultane specifically hired to teach her Islamic studies, but the companionship did not last long. She openly declared that she disliked the teacher. In fact, she developed such a deep resentment toward him that even before he arrived at the house, she would disappear and be nowhere to be found. Sometimes he would spend hours without seeing her until he eventually left. She never enjoyed his lessons at all. He was among those who simply did not know how to teach. On the other hand, she gradually realized that he was someone overly attached to worldly gain—one of those people often referred to as those who eat through religion. He might even beg, despite the fact that at the time Sultane ensured he was well provided for, with a good salary and full provision for his family.
He had never attended Western school at all. Even his religious knowledge had not been transmitted in its pure form as it came from its original source—the foundation and root of all knowledge and enlightenment, even that which Westerners or modern thinkers boast of possessing. This caused them to reject all forms of enlightenment, clinging instead to mere traditionalism—ignorance, rural backwardness, cruelty, and love of worldly things. This was the very first thing that planted in her heart a terrible belief and a terrible suspicion—deep hatred, resentment, and disgust.
No matter what you did for such a person, as long as it was worldly, it meant nothing to him. Even parents shared no real bond of blood or compassion with him. From that moment on, she began to view anyone like him with a particular look—an ugly interpretation—and she distanced herself from anything connected to them.
She felt knocking echo inside her head, piercing through her deep sleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of irritation.
She wondered who had the audacity to wake her up, when everyone knew the rule—no one was to disturb her while she slept unless she woke up on her own. This was why she always set an alarm whenever she went to bed, especially for prayer, because prayer was one of the few things she firmly held onto. She never allowed herself or her time to be wasted, no matter how important what she was doing.
She placed her hand on her head as the knocking continued, as if the person did not realize it was her room they were pounding on. Furious, she sprang up from the bed, muttering internally that whoever it was would regret the audacity.
The two people standing in front of her were deep in conversation, so absorbed that they did not even notice when she opened the door. She could not hear their voices from inside because the door was soundproof, and likewise, from inside, no noise escaped outside.
They were Aisa and Shehinaz—her section—her sisters and friends. Her sleepy eyes widened as she stared at them, realizing they were chatting like people who had not seen each other in years, completely oblivious to her presence.
She was in trouble—the headache she suffered from had returned, the kind that sometimes made her lose her senses. Her dark complexion contrasted sharply with that of Aisa, though beneath her chocolate-colored skin lay a subtle, hidden beauty.
It was Shehinaz who first noticed the door was open.
“Elle a ouvert la porte (She opened the door),” she said, tugging Aisa’s hand. They stepped aside to let her pass as they entered, still complaining.
“Tu pionces comme un mort (You sleep like a corpse),” Shehinaz added.
She only held her forehead, enduring their noise as they reached the room. She knew Shehinaz was deliberately speaking French at her—just to make sure Aisa understood everything she had said about what brought them together with Jamaal.
She straightened herself and turned back toward the room.
“Didn’t you hear our knocking?” she asked while tying the scarf she picked up from the dressing mirror over her loose hair.
“Biftuuuu,” Shehinaz called again, forcing her to stop at the bathroom door and turn back, revealing her blue eyes.
“Didn’t I open the door, Shehinaz? … Fiche-moi la paix (Leave me alone, please),” she finished, sounding as though she might cry. She disliked long conversations or noise immediately after waking up, and everyone knew that was her nature. Yet here they were, determined to torment her—clearly a plan.
She went into the bathroom, leaving them behind. She quickly purified herself and performed ablution, wondering how deeply she had slept—so deeply that even her alarm rang and stopped without her hearing it. She only faintly remembered silencing it in what felt like a dream and going back to sleep. Whenever she was exhausted or upset, her sleep became heavy, which was why she never slept deeply just anywhere.
After spreading her prayer mat, Shehinaz and Aisa were no longer paying attention to each other. She calmly began her prayer. Just as she was about to finish, a call came in on Shehinaz’s phone, which she answered, lowering the noise in the room.
She remained seated on her prayer mat while Shehinaz spoke softly on the phone. Aisa picked up the remote and began switching channels on the large TV mounted on the wall.
She slowly stopped at the Iman channel. A program was on, featuring a young cleric whose religious knowledge was evident at first glance. Aisa set the remote aside, listening attentively. Gradually, his words reached Akhnan’s ears. She lifted her head, glanced at the screen, and scoffed.
“Can you turn off that TV or switch it to Bluetooth and use your headphones?” she asked.
Aisa stared at her in shock.
“Do you have no faith? You want me to wear headphones for the TV?”
“Yes… it seems you want to watch it.”
“It’s interesting,” Aisa replied bluntly.
The response startled Akhnan, who turned quickly to look at her.
“Who?” she asked sharply.
“The cleric,” Aisa replied directly.
Silence filled the room. Even Shehinaz paused her call.
“You really mean that—from your heart?” Akhnan asked.
“Yes… from the depths of my heart.”
Something shook Akhnan deeply. She stared at Aisa, struggling to find words.
“Understand this… there is a hidden secret and benefit in loving and marrying a cleric or a religious scholar. They are different…”
“Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn,” Akhnan uttered quietly.
Shehinaz ended her call abruptly.
“What’s going on?”
“Ask Aisa that question—I’ve reached my limit,” Akhnan replied as she gathered her prayer mat.
She felt Aisa’s words pierce her heart. She had no desire whatsoever to marry such men—not just Aisa, but anyone she loved. She saw nothing in it but stagnation and regression.
She sank into a beanbag chair, pulling socks onto her feet against the cold marble floor, listening as Aisa continued justifying her stance. Neither she nor Shehinaz responded.
Eventually, she called Birra to bring her fruit. She reclined silently as Birra arrived with a beautifully arranged tray of fruit.
“Dinner will be served—do you want something different?”
She shook her head.
“Cook whatever suits you.”
That meant she would not be eating dinner at home—perhaps not at all. Sometimes she went out to French restaurants, craving the tastes and aromas she missed after five years abroad.
“Do you understand my reasons now?” Aisa asked.
She looked up slowly.
“What?”
“You,” Aisa laughed softly.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she replied coldly. “What I know is this—your children will curse you for choosing an ignorant father for them.”
Aisa’s mouth fell open. Shehinaz stood up silently and left.
“Are you out of your mind?” Aisa shouted.
“Continue,” she replied calmly, standing up and leaving despite not intending to.
She could outtalk Aisa if she wanted, or match her argument for argument—but she couldn’t endure long debates. When things escalated, she simply withdrew.
As always, her true focus was her company and office work—she could devote hours to that. Only prayer interrupted her.
“I have a guest tomorrow,” Shehinaz announced. “I informed Mother and Baba Soulaimane.”
“May Allah allow us to meet,” she replied. “Will you leave the office early?”
“Yes—that’s exactly what I plan.”
She headed to the kitchen, as she loved cooking, unlike Akhnan, who had no connection to cooking whatsoever.
There are many supplications (adhkār) that are recommended for a person to recite after completing the prayer before leaving the place of prayer. Moreover, remaining seated in the spot where one finished praying—without standing up or engaging in conversation—earns a person the benefit of the angels of Allah continuously seeking forgiveness for them until they rise from that place. So you see, as long as a servant remains there, they are constantly receiving Allah’s forgiveness without interruption. This is why you find some people devoted to staying in the mosque, prayer after prayer.
He only nodded his head at Sultane. She, however, was not impressed by such people at all. She saw them merely as people who unnecessarily made life hard for themselves, whereas that was not how the Lord intended things to be. There was no need to overburden or complicate matters—so long as one avoided what is forbidden and unlawful, that was sufficient. She used to say Subḥānallāh, Alḥamdulillāh, Lā ilāha illā Allāh, and Allāhu Akbar thirty-three times each. But later, as life became busier and responsibilities increased, she abandoned the practice, doing it only occasionally.
There was a religious teacher whom Sultane specifically hired to teach her Islamic studies, but the companionship did not last long. She openly declared that she disliked the teacher. In fact, she developed such a deep resentment toward him that even before he arrived at the house, she would disappear and be nowhere to be found. Sometimes he would spend hours without seeing her until he eventually left. She never enjoyed his lessons at all. He was among those who simply did not know how to teach. On the other hand, she gradually realized that he was someone overly attached to worldly gain—one of those people often referred to as those who eat through religion. He might even beg, despite the fact that at the time Sultane ensured he was well provided for, with a good salary and full provision for his family.
He had never attended Western school at all. Even his religious knowledge had not been transmitted in its pure form as it came from its original source—the foundation and root of all knowledge and enlightenment, even that which Westerners or modern thinkers boast of possessing. This caused them to reject all forms of enlightenment, clinging instead to mere traditionalism—ignorance, rural backwardness, cruelty, and love of worldly things. This was the very first thing that planted in her heart a terrible belief and a terrible suspicion—deep hatred, resentment, and disgust.
No matter what you did for such a person, as long as it was worldly, it meant nothing to him. Even parents shared no real bond of blood or compassion with him. From that moment on, she began to view anyone like him with a particular look—an ugly interpretation—and she distanced herself from anything connected to them.
She felt knocking echo inside her head, piercing through her deep sleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of irritation.
She wondered who had the audacity to wake her up, when everyone knew the rule—no one was to disturb her while she slept unless she woke up on her own. This was why she always set an alarm whenever she went to bed, especially for prayer, because prayer was one of the few things she firmly held onto. She never allowed herself or her time to be wasted, no matter how important what she was doing.
She placed her hand on her head as the knocking continued, as if the person did not realize it was her room they were pounding on. Furious, she sprang up from the bed, muttering internally that whoever it was would regret the audacity.
The two people standing in front of her were deep in conversation, so absorbed that they did not even notice when she opened the door. She could not hear their voices from inside because the door was soundproof, and likewise, from inside, no noise escaped outside.
They were Aisa and Shehinaz—her section—her sisters and friends. Her sleepy eyes widened as she stared at them, realizing they were chatting like people who had not seen each other in years, completely oblivious to her presence.
She was in trouble—the headache she suffered from had returned, the kind that sometimes made her lose her senses. Her dark complexion contrasted sharply with that of Aisa, though beneath her chocolate-colored skin lay a subtle, hidden beauty.
It was Shehinaz who first noticed the door was open.
“Elle a ouvert la porte (She opened the door),” she said, tugging Aisa’s hand. They stepped aside to let her pass as they entered, still complaining.
“Tu pionces comme un mort (You sleep like a corpse),” Shehinaz added.
She only held her forehead, enduring their noise as they reached the room. She knew Shehinaz was deliberately speaking French at her—just to make sure Aisa understood everything she had said about what brought them together with Jamaal.
She straightened herself and turned back toward the room.
“Didn’t you hear our knocking?” she asked while tying the scarf she picked up from the dressing mirror over her loose hair.
“Biftuuuu,” Shehinaz called again, forcing her to stop at the bathroom door and turn back, revealing her blue eyes.
“Didn’t I open the door, Shehinaz? … Fiche-moi la paix (Leave me alone, please),” she finished, sounding as though she might cry. She disliked long conversations or noise immediately after waking up, and everyone knew that was her nature. Yet here they were, determined to torment her—clearly a plan.
She went into the bathroom, leaving them behind. She quickly purified herself and performed ablution, wondering how deeply she had slept—so deeply that even her alarm rang and stopped without her hearing it. She only faintly remembered silencing it in what felt like a dream and going back to sleep. Whenever she was exhausted or upset, her sleep became heavy, which was why she never slept deeply just anywhere.
After spreading her prayer mat, Shehinaz and Aisa were no longer paying attention to each other. She calmly began her prayer. Just as she was about to finish, a call came in on Shehinaz’s phone, which she answered, lowering the noise in the room.
She remained seated on her prayer mat while Shehinaz spoke softly on the phone. Aisa picked up the remote and began switching channels on the large TV mounted on the wall.
She slowly stopped at the Iman channel. A program was on, featuring a young cleric whose religious knowledge was evident at first glance. Aisa set the remote aside, listening attentively. Gradually, his words reached Akhnan’s ears. She lifted her head, glanced at the screen, and scoffed.
“Can you turn off that TV or switch it to Bluetooth and use your headphones?” she asked.
Aisa stared at her in shock.
“Do you have no faith? You want me to wear headphones for the TV?”
“Yes… it seems you want to watch it.”
“It’s interesting,” Aisa replied bluntly.
The response startled Akhnan, who turned quickly to look at her.
“Who?” she asked sharply.
“The cleric,” Aisa replied directly.
Silence filled the room. Even Shehinaz paused her call.
“You really mean that—from your heart?” Akhnan asked.
“Yes… from the depths of my heart.”
Something shook Akhnan deeply. She stared at Aisa, struggling to find words.
“Understand this… there is a hidden secret and benefit in loving and marrying a cleric or a religious scholar. They are different…”
“Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn,” Akhnan uttered quietly.
Shehinaz ended her call abruptly.
“What’s going on?”
“Ask Aisa that question—I’ve reached my limit,” Akhnan replied as she gathered her prayer mat.
She felt Aisa’s words pierce her heart. She had no desire whatsoever to marry such men—not just Aisa, but anyone she loved. She saw nothing in it but stagnation and regression.
She sank into a beanbag chair, pulling socks onto her feet against the cold marble floor, listening as Aisa continued justifying her stance. Neither she nor Shehinaz responded.
Eventually, she called Birra to bring her fruit. She reclined silently as Birra arrived with a beautifully arranged tray of fruit.
“Dinner will be served—do you want something different?”
She shook her head.
“Cook whatever suits you.”
That meant she would not be eating dinner at home—perhaps not at all. Sometimes she went out to French restaurants, craving the tastes and aromas she missed after five years abroad.
“Do you understand my reasons now?” Aisa asked.
She looked up slowly.
“What?”
“You,” Aisa laughed softly.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she replied coldly. “What I know is this—your children will curse you for choosing an ignorant father for them.”
Aisa’s mouth fell open. Shehinaz stood up silently and left.
“Are you out of your mind?” Aisa shouted.
“Continue,” she replied calmly, standing up and leaving despite not intending to.
She could outtalk Aisa if she wanted, or match her argument for argument—but she couldn’t endure long debates. When things escalated, she simply withdrew.
As always, her true focus was her company and office work—she could devote hours to that. Only prayer interrupted her.
“I have a guest tomorrow,” Shehinaz announced. “I informed Mother and Baba Soulaimane.”
“May Allah allow us to meet,” she replied. “Will you leave the office early?”
“Yes—that’s exactly what I plan.”
She headed to the kitchen, as she loved cooking, unlike Akhnan, who had no connection to cooking whatsoever.