Cryptocurrency is Deek’s last chance to succeed in life, and he will not stop, no matter what.

“Desire for status and prominence is one of the diseases of the heart.” – Al-Ghazali

“It is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, that is poor.” – Seneca (Roman Stoic)

Moonshots and Degen Trades

Deek had two computers and three monitors running at once as he checked his cryptocurrency investments, tracking a different trade on each monitor. His office, if you could call it that, was crammed into the walk-in closet of the master bedroom of his home, which made for a isolating and stifling work experience. He had two fans going, which still barely managed to keep him and the two computers from overheating.

He wiped his face with his t-shirt sleeve, and snagged a potato chip out of a family-sized bag. He owned over sixty different cryptocurrencies, most with a total value less than $100, but only actively tracked two or three at a time. Some were moonshots, which were extreme longshot trades that could potentially make him rich, or could decline to zero. A hundred bucks here, two hundred there. Others were long-term positions, meaning he would hold them until this bull run hit its peak, at which point he would convert them to stable coins and hold for the next cycle.

Still others were major short-term trades into which he dropped between one thousand and three thousand dollars. These were meant to be held for less than an hour, or even just fifteen minutes. They were degen trades, for that was what traders like him were called – degenerates. Extreme risk takers. And that was fine with him, he could live with the label.

In fact he loved it, he was proud of it. He went where other traders were afraid to go, took the risks they would not take, and that’s why he would be rich one day when others were crawling in the dust praying for airdrops, like dogs waiting for digital scraps to fall into their mouths.

Not him. He would make his own future, inshaAllah. He always remembered to ask Allah, and trust in Allah, for though Allah had denied him success thus far, he knew he could never achieve it without the will and permission of his Creator.

Prove Them All Wrong

He’d been doing this for five years and he knew full well that no one believed in him. Most people couldn’t tell a crypto from a corncob, but even so, in the beginning, a few people had found what he was doing interesting, and had encouraged him. His wife, for one. His friend Marco. Zaid Karim, that dynamic young private detective who was his wife’s cousin’s husband. And… Well, that was about it.

As for everyone else – the mosque community, his wife’s friends, and his own two sisters – he knew how they spoke about him, what they thought of him. He was a deadbeat husband, staying at home pursuing a fool’s errand while his wife supported the family. His two children had to attend community college because he couldn’t pay for a state university. He was a slob and a wreck, and had let himself go. He was running the family into the ground, and would bankrupt the household in the end. He was almost sixty years old, and had accomplished nothing of note in this life.

All those superior doctors and engineers at the masjid, with their hundred thousand dollar donations to the Islamic center, their Mercedes SUVs and big houses in north Clovis. One brother even came to Jum’ah in a white Lamborghini, which Deek found disgusting considering all the Muslims around the world who were starving and suffering.

These people all looked down on him, they thought he was a nobody. They discounted him. He could attend an event at the center, walk in and out, without anyone talking to him. As if he were invisible. He was a joke to them. But he would show them who Deek Saghir really was, and what he was capable of.

For the last five years he’d poured everything he had into crypto. He ate crypto for breakfast, he sweated it through his pores, he breathed it in at night when he slept. He studied and traded every day, and every day he learned something new.

He could break down for any listener the difference between proof-of-work and proof-of-stake, he could explain DeFi, layer 1’s, layer 2’s, Solana meme coins vs Ethereum meme coins, why XRP was doomed to fail, why Solana would succeed while Cardano and Avalanche would not, which was the best software or hardware wallet, tokenization of real-world assets using NFTs, and even lesser known crypto technologies like ZK rollups and oracles.

In five years he’d made small fortunes three times, and three times had lost them all. The biggest of these fortunes had been two hundred thousand dollars. The first time it happened, the first time he lost it all, as he saw it crashing in real time, he’d been on his knees, begging Allah, sobbing and saying, “Why are you doing this to me, Allah? Why? What have I done?”

Go The Distance

But Zaid Karim, whose wife Safaa was Deek’s wife’s cousin, and who Deek admired tremendously, had told him, “Allah does not hate you, Deek. He wants good for you. He gave you that sharp intellect and steel-trap memory. Life is waves, it’s peaks and troughs. Prove you can persist, show that you can go the distance, and you will succeed, inshaAllah.”

So Deek had dusted himself off, telling himself, “Go the distance… Go the distance.” And the second fortune had come more easily, and the third – the big one – more easily still, though he’d lost them as well. But he had not despaired. He knew now that he could do it, and do it again, and so he would.

Crypto was his life, and if he did not succeed it would be his death, emotionally at least. But he would succeed. He would prove them all wrong! And it would happen soon, he could sense it. He was a hungry dog who can smell food nearby. His day was coming. He only had to keep going.

His wife Rania peeked around the corner. “Dinner’s ready, baby.”

She was a gorgeous Iraqi-American woman, petite and darker skinned than most Iraqis, which Deek found exotic and lovely. Her hair was cut into a pixie bob and dyed red. Deek preferred the natural black color, but she was lovely nonetheless. She’d put on weight in the twenty years they’d been married, but Deek didn’t mind. It made her more of a real woman.

And of course Deek himself had put on weight too. Quite a lot of it, actually, to the point where it was embarrassing to take his shirt off. He felt uncomfortable in his own body. His torso felt heavy and unwieldy, and his knees rickety. He could barely tie his own shoes. He felt like a stranger in his body. He no longer exercised, or painted, or even read books. He rarely prayed. All he did anymore was obsess over crypto. He used to play racquetball but hadn’t done it in years. And he ate too much junk food, sitting here in front of the monitors.

Lonely

“I made roasted chicken,” Rania added. “With gorgonzola potatoes and green beans. Your favorite.”

Deek’s mouth began watering, but… “I can’t,” he said regretfully. He glanced from the computer screen to his wife’s face, then back at the screen. “I’m waiting on a token that’s about to bond. I have $2.5K riding on it, I literally can’t take my eyes off it.”

Rania remained looking at him, only her head in the closet. “Baby…”

Deek gritted his teeth, steeling himself for the inevitable criticism disguised as loving advice: You’ve taken this crypto thing as far as it can go, I’m the only one bringing in money, we’re behind on the bills, the kids never see you, you’re not taking care of yourself, why don’t you register as a substitute teacher, you could try graphic design, or even apply for a state job. It’s time to live in the real world – and on and on.

But Rania didn’t say any of those things. She only said, “I’m lonely.”

Deek felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest. He wanted to cry for shame for letting his wife down, not only tonight but for the last twenty years. But he could not abandon this trade, it was critical.

“What about the kids?” he asked.

“Amira is studying at her friend’s house, and Sanaya is working a late shift at the store.”

It embarrassed Deek that Sanaya, who was 19 and a sophomore at city college, had to work full time to have enough money to pay for her own expenses, like car insurance, gas, clothing and even textbooks. He loved his two girls like the trees loved the sun. But he had never been financially successful, even before he started trading crypto. When the girls had been young they had wanted to go to Disneyland and Great America, but he hadn’t had the money to take them. One year they’d wanted to go to ISNA to see their Islamic studies teacher speak. Another year they’d wanted to take ice skating classes. And so on. And every time the answer had been no, he couldn’t afford it.

Now they rarely asked for anything anymore. In fact they hardly spoke to him at all.

“I’m sorry honey,” he said. “I have to watch this trade.”

Rania sighed, and it was a heavy sound, like an anchor tumbling down into the deepest ocean trench in the world. She left to eat alone.

Rug Pull

Deek turned back to the monitor just in time to see that the biggest trade he’d been monitoring, a $2,500 purchase of a meme coin called Hippo Fairy Dust, had just been rug pulled. The chart showed a steady green climb to about $75K market cap, then a vertical red plunge to nothing. The owner of the token, or one of the primary investors, had pulled the liquidity, panicking the remaining buyers and causing an instantaneous crash.

Instantly Deek hit the sell button, hoping to salvage whatever he could. A notice came up: SLIPPAGE EXCEEDED. Dammit! The trade had failed because the price was falling too fast. He increased the slippage to 25%, ignoring the warning that popped up, and hit SELL again. The trade went through… He received $90 He’d just lost $2,410, which was over 50% of his entire crypto net worth.

His hands balled into fists as he suppressed a scream. It wasn’t fair. He’d checked this token for any vulnerability. No one owned more than 3.5% of the token, and a portion of the liquidity was locked. It was supposed to be rug-proof. But he knew full well that experienced scammers could find ways around these things.

He pushed his chair back from the computer and ran into the wall behind him. His heart felt like a jagged chunk of dry ice. If someone struck him with a hammer his body would shatter and fall into pieces. He felt a pressure in his chest, and thought he might be having a heart attack. The pressure and pain increased, rising toward his throat, and he realized it was an acid attack.

He rushed to the bathroom, making sure to close the door so Rania wouldn’t hear, and vomited half-digested potato chips into the sink. The pressure in his chest abated but did not disappear, so he stuck two fingers down his throat and vomited again, then again once more. At that, the pain was gone.

Patience Is At The First Blow

He returned to his computer station and sat. There was a part of him that wanted to curse and demand answers from Allah, but a bigger part of him knew that there was still a chance for success, and for that he needed Allah. He had to stay on Allah’s good side.

Imam Saleh had said something during a khutbah that had always stuck with him. He’d said, “Patience is at the first blow. That first moment when you’re hit with terrible and even devastating news, that is the moment of the test. That is the moment when you say, ‘Qaddar Allahu ma-sha’ fa’al. This is Allah’s decree and He does what He wills.’ Or, ‘Laa hawla wa laa quwwata illa billah. There is no striving and no strength except in Allah.’”

So that was what Deek did. He dropped his head into his hands and ran his fingers through his curly hair, and said, “Qaddar Allahu ma-sha’ fa’al. Laa hawla wa laa quwwata illa billah. Alhamdulillah for everything.”

He lifted his head and for a long time sat like a lizard watching for an insect to eat. His eyes moved blankly from one monitor to the next, his mind empty. Something would come to him. Some idea would bubble up out of his brain like a subterranean creature rising to the surface. He reached into the potato chip bag and popped a few chips into his mouth. There was no thought of giving up. That concept did not exist in his world. Crypto was his last gasp, his life’s moonshot.

A Mistake or A Scam?

A thought occurred. He had not checked his SolFlare wallet lately. His primary wallet was Phantom, but he’d also created a few others, not wanting to keep all his funds in one place. He’d downloaded and tried the SolFlare wallet for the first time recently, but found it unwieldy, and had stopped using it. Nevertheless there was some money in it, including a few moonshots he’d put money into a few weeks ago.

Unlike the Phantom wallet, which he used on his computer as a Chrome extension, the SolFlare wallet was on his phone. He dug the phone out of his pocket, and used his thumbprint to open the wallet.

The total dollar value balance of the wallet showed at the top.

$1,769,251.02

One point seven million dollars.

Deek stared, uncomprehending. He gaped at the number with wide eyes, then glanced around the closet at the hanging clothes and white stucco ceiling, as if confirming that he was awake and not dreaming. He looked back at the wallet. His chest felt heavy, and he realized that he had stopped breathing. He took a deep breath, and let it out. His lower lip began to tremble and his eyes grew wet.

Was it possible that this was a mistake? Or a joke? Or a scam? Yes, it must be a scam, that was the answer. He’d seen scams like this before.

Nearly the entire $1.7 million was due to a meme token called New York Zilla. He’d purchased $300 worth of it two weeks ago on a crypto launchpad called Pump fun. The token had just launched, and he’d been one of the first buyers. Because of this, his $300 had gotten him a full 10% of the supply. Now, according to SolFlare, the token had risen to a total market cap of over $17 million.

He must try to sell the token. That would be the proof, one way or another. But how much should he sell? If he tried to sell it all, it would crash the price of the token and he would receive considerably less than the listed value.

He would sell 10% of his holdings, which would be only 1% of the total supply. Not enough to start a panic. He laughed softly at his own foolishness. This was a scam. The token would turn out to be frozen, or there would be no liquidity, so he would be unable to sell. Something incredible like this could not happen to him. Good things did not gravitate to him. He was a failure and would always be so. This was definitely a scam.

With a mouth as dry as Mojave desert dust, licking his cracked lips, he set up a trade of 10% of his holdings, and hit the sell button.

Part 2 will be published next week inshaAllah

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

Related:

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As Light As Birdsong: A Ramadan Story

 

The post Moonshot: A Short Story [Part 1] appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

We speak with We Are Not Numbers editor Ahmed Alnaouq, discuss Pope Francis’ support for Palestine, censorship at 60 Minutes, resumed resistance operations in Gaza and more.

Man held in Italy over killing of worshipper in French mosque amid growing concerns over Islamophobia

• Europe live – latest updates

French Muslim leaders have said more must be done to counter anti-Muslim hatred in France after a man was arrested on suspicion of stabbing a young worshipper to death inside a mosque in a southern village.

Olivier A, 21, a French national born in Lyon, surrendered to police in Italy on Sunday after three days on the run, French prosecutors announced on Monday morning.

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Groups such as Muslim Votes Matter and The Muslim Vote are hoping to gain support from those who feel left out of the major parties and disenchanted by the status quo

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When I first arrived in Melbourne four years ago, my introduction to the country’s political landscape came in an unexpected form – posters.

They bore the image of a fellow Afghan from the Cameleers’ era, accompanied by the curious label: Aussie. I spent weeks pondering its significance and discovered much later that this striking image was the work of Australian artist Peter Drew, who sought to challenge the exclusivity of national identity and acknowledge the often overlooked histories shaped by the White Australia policy.

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Shadi Khan Saif is a Melbourne-based journalist and former Pakistan and Afghanistan news correspondent

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Inshah Malik, blinded at age 14 by a pellet gun fired by an Indian soldier at a Kashmiri freedom demonstration in Srinagar

Since the terrorist attack on Indian tourists in Kashmir this week, in which two of the attackers were reported to be Pakistanis (which according to the Hindu nationalist/fascist government in India implicates the whole state of Pakistan), Zionists — Jewish and not, and in this case not — have sought to draw connections between India and Israel and Pakistan and the Palestinians, on count of both of the latter being Muslim (mostly in the case of Pakistan, more than half in the case of the Palestinians). I came across this profoundly ignorant tweet the other day, by someone who has spent the time since October 2023 gleefully repeating every bit of pro-Israel propaganda she can get her hands on while also cheering on Donald Trump’s repressions against anti-genocide protesters in the US:

India was formed in 1947, with Muslims going to Pakistan. They’ve been dealing with terrorism ever since. 

Israel was formed in 1948, with Muslims going to Palestine. They’ve been dealing with terrorism ever since.  

It’s so interesting to me that I’ve never heard anyone ask if India has a right to exist.

On this evidence, Brianna Wu seems to know nothing about the history of India and Pakistan, why Pakistan was formed and why there has been conflict between the two states intermittently since they were formed (as part of Britain’s withdrawal from its empire) which has ramped up in the past ten years or so. The conflict originated because the Hindu maharaja of Kashmir sided with India while its majority Muslim population sought to join Pakistan. Pakistan ended up with what are known as the “northern areas” as well as a small part of the Kashmir valley known as Azad (Free) Kashmir; India ended up with most of the valley, the majority Hindu Jammu area (the province is called Jammu and Kashmir) and Ladakh which is majority Tibetan Buddhist. However, this left a large population of Muslim Kashmiris marooned in India under an often oppressive occupation.

India has not “had to deal with terrorism ever since”. It does not have to maintain control over Kashmir; that is their choice. Whatever terrorism has taken place is not aimed at Indian Hindus for just being Indians or Hindus but at ending India’s occupation of Kashmir. It is also dwarfed by India’s violence against ordinary Kashmiris as well as that of the fascistic movement which rules a number of states in India and from which the prime minister, Narendra Modi, comes. To give a recent example from Kashmir itself, Indian troops have fired pellet guns at not only peaceful demonstrators but also ordinary people going about their business and even at people just looking out of their home windows, resulting in people losing their sight including some children. Over the years, Muslims in much of India, the north-west in particular but intermittently in other states (e.g. Karnataka in the south-west), have been subjected to a reign of terror which has included orchestrated pogroms with state collusion, lynchings of innocent Muslims (often on the pretext that they were in possession of beef), rapes, destruction of homes, mosques and businesses either by mob burnings or by legal and bureaucratic means, and deprivation of citizenship for Muslims living in border areas. This has all been amply reported in the international media over many years; the destruction of the mosque at Ayodhya in 1992 by an organised Hindu mob made front-page news here in the UK. Ten years later came the Gujarat pogrom, in which there is clear evidence of state collusion.

There is another crucial difference between India and Israel, which is that the supremacist movement that dominates India is not based on a recent history of oppression or trauma. There is no Hindu equivalent of the Holocaust (not that the Palestinians are to blame for that; the country principally responsible is now on Israel’s side). Much like the Serbian nationalists in Europe, it exploits grievances from centuries and dynasties long past to foment hostility to their peaceful neighbours to further their eventual aim of a ‘pure’ Hindu nation. In more recent history, Hindus and Muslims (and Indians of other religions, such as Christians and Buddhists) were oppressed together by the British colonials: the exploitation of India’s resources to fuel the British industrial revolution (at the expense of India’s own industries), the punitive taxation, the regular famines (such as the one in eastern India in the 1940s which killed between 800,000 and 3.8 million) which have not reoccurred since independence. Muslims have in nothing like living memory oppressed Hindus in India, yet Hindu chauvinists find ways to whip up their flock to hate their Muslim neighbours.

Wu’s tweet also utterly overlooks the complexities of Partition. Muslims did not all just go to Pakistan; there are more Muslims in India than in Pakistan. The majority of those who relocated were in the Hindi-speaking north of the country, and in Punjab and Bengal (the majority of Muslims here relocated to what is now Bangladesh, as did a large body of Muslims from Bihar, to the west of Bengal). Until the rise of the BJP and the associated fascist movement, many Indian Muslims considered their position to be superior to that of Pakistanis as India had remained a democracy, Muslim sensitivities were respected in law and customs that were different from those of Hindus remained legal, and the country was in some ways more prosperous than Pakistan (although there are more extremes of wealth and poverty than in Pakistan). Outside of Kashmir, there was no reason for there to be any terrorist campaign. It was Hindu fanatics who started one.

Brianna Wu is the same age as I am; she is old enough to have read of some of the major developments in the world’s biggest democracy in mainstream newspapers, radio and TV channels. She is choosing to gloss over the closest thing nowadays to a KKK-style regime of terror against a minority community, one that employs lynchings and mob violence on a regular basis while the authorities sit and watch, by portraying the victims as the terrorists. This is, of course, the history of her party, the US Democratic Party which ruled much of the United States (including her home state of Mississippi) on a similar basis, with African Americans disenfranchised and subject to mob violence, legally mandated segregation and public lynchings for several decades from the 1890s to the 1950s. (Wu is white; her husband is of Chinese background.) She has stated recently (after previously denying it) that she is considering another run for office, having been defeated in a primary in Massachusetts in 2018. If this is the future of American liberalism, a wilfully ignorant bigot who cheers on a criminal administration as they round up legal immigrants for lawful protest, denies an obvious genocide and pretends not to notice the state terror that threatens to lead to it in another country, one with a billion population where a ‘small’, less sophisticated genocide could claim more lives than the Holocaust, there really is no hope for her already benighted country.

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An Israeli attack on a charity kitchen west of Khan Younis on 7 April killed 7 people waiting for a meal, including 3 children. 

600 children killed in Israeli attacks over five weeks.

Critics of Islam often recycle tired allegations about the supposed incoherent structure of the Qur’an. For those who have not fallen prey to their seething prejudice, this mind map of Surah al-Baqarah demonstrates how the chapters of the Qur’an are not only thematically seamless but also miraculously sophisticated.

It being the longest, most comprehensive surah of the Qur’an should render its diverse topics most difficult to harmonize, and yet an aerial view of this chapter quickly reveals a staggering degree of symmetry and synchrony therein. In a word, Surah al-Baqarah is the summary of Islam (submission to God), or call it the story of servitude. Nothing about it falls beyond the scope of that overarching theme. Consider the following, and judge for yourself:

1. The surah begins by capturing the believers’ unwavering “faith in the unseen” (3) and the disbelievers’ defiant rejection “irrespective of what warning signs” are seen (6-7). It ends celebrating a true believer’s “faith in Allah , His Books, Angels, and Messengers—never differentiating between” those they have and have not seen (285), and seeking help against the oppositional disbelievers (286).
2. It then proceeds to unpack the psyche of the hypocrites (8-20); those lost between the faith they profess and the faithlessness they conceal. Returns full circle with reminder that Allah is capable of punishing those secretly harboring ill hearts (284).
3. The surah openly declares its central underlying theme: servitude to Allah (Islam); “O humanity, serve your Lord who created you,” (21) and uniquely honored you by “creating everything on earth for you” (22, 28).
4. Next, we find Adam representing humanity being honored and capable of serving God in ways the angels could not fathom (30-34), despite human limitations such as susceptibility to forgetfulness and the devil (35-37).
5. What follows is a detailed account of the Israelites (40-123); an entire nation honored by God to lead the world in faith, but who ultimately became a people whose hallmarks were ingratitude, pride, cruelty, and disdain for servitude. The very name of the surah, “The Cow,” alludes to a moment when their stubbornness and defiance of God’s Prophets was epitomized.
6. Enter Abraham , whose honorable legacy the Israelites claimed with their tongues and trampled with their actions. The location of these verses seems to declare: You could not even get yourselves to sacrifice a cow after Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son, forgetting that it was his “unconditional submission that deemed him a leader for humanity” (124).
7. The honoring has shifted, and the once-chosen Israelites are now taunting the next nation (that of Muhammad ﷺ) because they, unlike them, obeyed God in reverting the qiblah (prayer direction) from Jerusalem to the Sacred House (142) once built by Abraham .
8. With inimitable precision, especially that the Qur’an was spoken and not penned, we find God now declaring, “And thus We have made you a middle (balanced) nation,” in the exact midpoint (143) of the surah. This center point of the symmetry also serves as a conceptual boundary between a nation that submitted genuinely and another satisfied with genealogy.
9. The second half of the surah is replete (153-283) with diverse domains of servitude enjoined upon the nation of Muhammad ﷺ; patience with trials, wholesome eating, social justice, devotional fasting, ethical warfare, Hajj, family law, resisting tyranny, calling to God, charity, fair lending, and more.
10. Finally, God showcases their “wholehearted submission” (208) by prompting them to even regulate their thoughts (284). But upon accepting the impossible mission without reluctance, saying “We hear and We obey” (285), they discovered as Abraham (as) did, that it was only his willingness for servitude being tried, and that “God holds no soul accountable except within its capacity.” (286).

Befittingly, when the Prophet’s Companions came forward and fell on their knees, admitting their inability to guard their passing thoughts (284), the Prophet said,

“The Messenger has believed in what was revealed to him from His Lord, and [so have] the believers. All of them have believed in Allah and His Angels and His Books and His Messengers, [saying], ‘We make no distinction between any of His Messengers.’ And they say, ‘We hear and we obey. [We seek] Your forgiveness, our Lord, and to You is the [final destination.” [Surah Al-Baqarah; 2;285]

They in fact said this, and once it started flowing comfortably off their tongues, Allah abrogated this verse and declared, “God burdens no soul beyond its capacity.” [Sahih Muslim 125]

And Allah knows best, and may His finest Peace and Blessings be upon His Messenger Muhammad .

 

Related:

– Structural Cohesion In The Quran: Heavenly Order

– Think Like Ibrahim | The Essence of Surah Baqarah | Shaykh Akram Nadwi

The post Stringing The Pearls Of Surah Al-Baqarah | Sh Mohammad Elshinawy appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

I can no longer share life's joys and sorrows with my once constant companion.

Some candidates don’t want to mention the war

• See more of Fiona Katauskas’s cartoons here

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How Israel is quietly annexing the West Bank.

Campaigns that have sprung up to energise Australia’s 650,000 voting-age Muslims say the ramifications will extend well beyond 3 May

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In elections gone by, Az Fahmi volunteered for Labor’s home affairs minister, Tony Burke, in her electorate of Watson in Sydney’s south-west. Now she wants change.

“Enough is enough. We’re sick of being taken for granted. We’re sick of being ignored,” says the campaign volunteer, who works in communications.

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My friend and I shared everything.

[Content Warning: This article makes mention of sexual assault. Please read with care and caution.]

As Muslims further their careers, personal relationships, and education of a secular or sacred nature, khalwa (seclusion) is front of mind for both brothers and sisters. While many may not be aware of the exact ḥadīth, we know that our beloved Prophet ﷺ advised us to avoid khalwa.

And what did he say?

In a narration related to us by Ibn ʿAbbas (may Allah ﷻ be pleased with them both), the Messenger ﷺ stated: “No man should remain with a woman in khalwa except in the presence of a maḥram (nonmarriageable person).”1

But what counts as seclusion? Is a text message between a male and female student khalwa? Should a man and a woman getting to know one another for the purpose of marriage have their entire extended families present at their conversations? Are two colleagues of opposite genders forbidden from sitting next to one another, sending emails, or having meetings without the whole team brought in?

These are all valid concerns. In matrimonial affairs, some parents hesitate to allow their children to partake in private phone or video calls between their children and unfamiliar bachelors or bachelorettes. Many talented Muslims feel uncomfortable applying to mixed workplaces where they must communicate with the opposite gender, often wondering if it is ḥalāl. Others restrain their activities in educational institutions to classes, citing organizations with male and female involvement as a slippery slope.

This article will aim to dispel discomfort around these three areas using the Qur’an, Sunnah, and fatāwā of learned scholars, and provide suggestions for each.

Establishing Khalwa

In a purely linguistic sense, khalwa (خلوة) is a word that means “seclusion.” But it also has a spiritual meaning—one can practice khalwa with Allah ﷻ. When the Prophet ﷺ retreated to Cave Ḥiraʾ, this could be understood as a form of khalwa. Musa practiced khalwa away from his community in prayer and fasting, and even Mary, the mother of Jesus (peace be upon them both), secluded herself in worship.2 And all of us aspire to practice iʿtikāf in Ramadan; to totally isolate ourselves from the dunya to focus on our dīn. Naturally, this would be a beneficial kind of khalwa that a Muslim engages in.

[PC: Hasan Almasi (unsplash)]

However, in a world that increasingly leaves the boundaries between men and women open to personal discretion, there is a range of opinions as to what constitutes khalwa. Furthermore, some take a hardened understanding of yet another ḥadīth: “Whenever a man is alone with a woman, the devil is the third of them (ie, also joins them).”3 This concurs with Shaytan’s promise to mislead and delude humanity with false hopes,4 to ambush all on the Straight Path,5 and to approach us from every corner.6 The Prophet ﷺ also warned us that the Devil “reaches everywhere in the human body as blood reaches in it, (ie, everywhere in a person’s body).”7

There is no disagreement that complete isolation between two people can cause temptation in one or both parties, and also leads to a threat in their physical safeties and inner spiritualities. Even Yusuf faced this horrifying trial when the wife of the governor sought to seduce him. She had locked the doors and separated the two of them from her husband and household. The altercation even ended with his shirt being torn away as she rushed to prevent him from the door.

 

And she, in whose house he was, sought to seduce him. She closed the doors and said, “Come, you.” He said, “[I seek] the refuge of Allah . Indeed, he is my master, who has made good my residence. Indeed, wrongdoers will not succeed.” [Surah Yusuf: 12;23]

This terrifying incident of sexual assault is, unfortunately, all too common in today’s climate. The National Sexual Violence Resource Center reported unsettling statistics in 2025. A few are:

• Over 53% of women and over 29% of men reported experiencing contact sexual violence
• More than 1 and 4 non-Hispanic Black women (29%) in the United States were raped in their lifetime
• 1 in 3 Hispanic women (34.8%) reported unwanted sexual contact in their lifetime
• More than 4 in 5 American Indian and Alaska Native women (84.3%) have experienced violence in their lifetime
• 32.9% of adults with intellectual disabilities have experienced sexual violence

This is not to suggest that the prevention of khalwa is a complete solution to abhorrent crimes like sexual assault. Rape culture provides an avenue for the perpetrator to be excused for being “tempted,” and the victim/survivor to be blamed for not “taking every precaution.” As a society, we cannot use the prohibition of khalwa as a band-aid to these egregious incidents; rather, it is one way that we can limit them from happening. As in all things, we turn to the sunnah for an understanding of how we are to conduct ourselves—even when it comes to a sexual assault in our community. We center the survivor and punish the perpetrator.

“When a woman went out in the time of the Prophet for prayer, a man attacked her and assaulted her. She shouted and he went off, and when a man came by, she said, ‘That man did such and such to me.’ And when a company of the Muḥājirīn (emigrants) came by, she said, ‘That man did such and such to me.’ They went and seized the man whom they thought had assaulted her and brought him to her. She (mistakenly) said, ‘Yes, this is him.’ Then they brought him to the Messenger of Allah ﷺ. When he ﷺ was about to pass a sentence, the man who had actually assaulted her stood up and said, ‘Messenger of Allah, I am the man who did it to her.’ The Prophet ﷺ said to her, ‘Go, for Allah ﷻ has forgiven you (due to the mistaken confession).’ But he told the (mistakenly accused) man some good words, and of the man who had assaulted her, he said, ‘Stone him to death.’ He ﷺ also said, ‘He has repented to such an extent that if the people of Medina had repented similarly, it would have been accepted from them.’”8

[Note: when a rape occurred in the life of the Prophet ﷺ, he did not even ask the survivor whether she had been in isolation with him, but simply who he was. Then, he commanded the punishment be towards the perpetrator, and no blame be set on the survivor.]

Similarly, the male muḥājirīn acted swiftly on the accusation from the assaulted lady to seize whom they believed was the rapist, and brought him for swift judgement in front of the Prophet ﷺ. Madinah al-Munawwarah, the truly prophetic community, took a stand against rape culture. The Prophet ﷺ had also enforced the ḥadd punishment on the man who committed the crime, publicly—and what a comfort it must have been for someone who suffered something so severe. Furthermore, there was no victim-blaming, as well as no advice for her to abstain from khalwa—it was irrelevant in this case, as the man forced himself upon her in a public pathway.

So what constitutes khalwa? We see from the Prophet ﷺ’s original admonition that for khalwa to be established, the following conditions must be met:

• only one man and only one woman
• are bāligh (have reached physical maturity)
• are non-maḥram to one another
• are in a physical space totally isolated from others
• are completely unable to be seen, heard, or entered upon by others

It is important to note that the aforementioned conditions are relatively the same for a married couple (except, of course, that they would be maḥram). The other differences are:

• the mahr (marriage gift) has been paid (in full according to some madhāhib)
• the nikkaḥ contract is valid with no contradictions
• there are no physical ailments or illnesses preventing intercourse
• there are no sharʿi restrictions; such as iḥram, ḥayḍ, or nifās9

Thus, khalwa does not constitute actual intercourse, it is the potential for intercourse. Some scholars, however, even consider khalwa and consummation of a marriage to have the same legal implications for a couple, even if no intercourse happened. A widow who did not consummate her marriage, but lived in a separate house with her husband, would still observe an ‘idda (waiting period).

Exceptions and Suggestions

We must be careful not to categorize every interaction between a man and a woman as khalwa based on our limited perception. Some argue that khalwa is a type of ikhtilāṭ, or “intermixing.” While both are forbidden, ikhtilāṭ has ranges of acceptability. Consider the following ḥadīth: “Let no man from now on visit a woman whose husband is absent, except when he has with him one or two (other) men.”10

Here, the Prophet ﷺ has placed an exception to the original rule of a man and woman being alone together. If another party is present or privy to the interaction between a man and a woman, it cannot be legally considered khalwa.

In the West, most men and women must study in mixed classrooms and work alongside both genders. The advent of the Internet has also brought a plethora of mobile applications to seek companionship. But the lines aren’t necessarily blurred—we can still apply those same principles from before.

In any of these situations, keep renewing your intention if necessary to speak with someone of the opposite gender. Ensure that your conversations are purposeful. Lower your gaze and dress modestly.

In Educational Settings

In an educational setting, reach out only if there is an absolute need (ḍarūrah). If you can communicate with a TA or classmate who is of the same gender (or all of you are in a group chat), it is best to do so. If an in-person meeting is necessary for group work, then offer to study in a public space, like a library, to lower the risk of harm to either party. Many Islamic schools, seminaries, and conferences will also place a partition between the two sides, just as mosques build separate entrances. Some also choose to further their studies in an online-only or a gender-segregated setting, and if the programs are suitably comparable, this can be best.

In Professional Settings

In a professional workplace, keep communication direct, straightforward, and respectful. Meetings can be held in conference rooms with glass windows, where all colleagues can view the interaction behind the doors. A Māliki opinion even states that if there is no fear of fitna, a lady may eat with a non-maḥram. We might use this opinion to allow for a company lunch or a work meeting at a coffee shop, where others are present. Generally speaking, it is wise not to communicate after work hours unless there is ḍarūrah.

In Matrimonial Settings

If the two decide to meet (for the purpose of marriage), they can do so in a busy restaurant, an occupied museum, or on any other public avenue where they can be seen by others.v[PC: Yasara Hansani (unsplash)]

In a matrimonial message, call, or video chat, the two parties understand that the only goal is a marriage for the sake of Allah ﷻ. A lady could, for example, have a wali be CC’d to your online exchanges. Each person should be mindful of how much they share, especially in the early stages, and try not to converse in the late hours. Family should be involved as soon as possible. If anyone has any concerns about what the other person has told them, they can share their messages with trusted friends and family. If the two decide to meet, they can do so in a busy restaurant, an occupied museum, or on any other public avenue where they can be seen by others. It is, of course, advisable to have the lady’s family member or friend to chaperone from a safe distance.

In the Digital Space

Interacting with scholars, fellow colleagues, classmates, professionals, activists, and others is now easier than ever. At the click of a button, one may get access to someone’s digital diary, their family, and even their appearances.

Again, think of the ultimatum: a hājjah, or a need. Is it necessary to follow this person, especially if they only post photos of themselves? Is it necessary to comment and like on those posts? When privately messaging them, is it with a concern that is beneficial to you and them? Are you engaging in purposeful or idle chatter?

 

We ask Allah ﷻ to make us people of upstanding character and righteous behavior, who follow His divine words and His Messenger’s words ﷺ without question, and all those who strive to interpret them for His sake.

 

Related:

– Blurred Lines: Women, “Celebrity” Shaykhs, and Spiritual Abuse

– Podcast: Sex, Marriage, and Mutual Obligations in Islam | Ustadh Mukhtar Ba

1    Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, 52332    Qur’an 19:16-17.3     Mishkāt al-Maṣābīḥ, 31184    Qur’an 4:1195    Qur’an 7:166    Qur’an 7:177    Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, 20358    Sunan Abi Dawud, 43799    Ibn Abidin, Al-Durr al-Mukhtar, Vol.3/P.114, and Al-Mawsuli’s Al-Ikhtiyar li Ta’lil al-Mukhtar, Vol.3/P.10310    Ṣaḥīḥ Muslīm 2173

The post The Perspective of Khalwa from the Quran and Sunnah: Advice For Modern Day Interactions appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

A flimsy wall and English teaching rekindle writer’s hope and bring a brief moment of respite.

Arrest of Mohammed Khatib signals that repression is about to get worse.

Parents argue constitutional religious rights should allow them to opt children out when LGBTQ+ books are read

The US supreme court is considering on Tuesday an attempt by Christian and Muslim parents in Maryland to keep their elementary schoolchildren out of certain classes when storybooks with LGBTQ+ characters are read in the latest case involving the intersection of religion and LGBTQ+ rights.

The justices are hearing arguments in an appeal by parents with children in public schools in Montgomery county, located just outside Washington, after lower courts declined to order the local school district to let children opt out when these books are read.

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When Hamid takes a balloon ride at the Eid picnic, an accident throws all his beliefs into doubt.

[This is part 1 of a two-part story. Part 1 is here]

Do Not Desert One Another

Turning his back on Ali, Hamid gripped the top of the basket wall and looked out over the park. A smile crept over his face as they rose, and as the park began to shrink beneath them.

“The kids miss you,” Ali said. “They ask about you.”

These words tugged at Hamid’s heart. He missed them too. But there was nothing to be done. Ignore him, he told himself. He could see up and down the river now. Beyond it were miles of rice fields, and orange groves beyond that. It was stunning. His stomach was still grumbling, and he pressed into it with the heel of his palm, willing it to behave.

“We’re all the family we have,” Ali persisted. “It’s just you and me.” Blessedly, Ali left the rest unsaid. That their parents had died when they were both nineteen, and they had no other siblings. And most of their uncles and aunts were still in Afghanistan, except for a few who had migrated to Iran. Hamid avoided thinking about all that.

Hamid turned to face Ali. His nostrils flared. “No, you have a wife and kids. I have no one. You saw to that.”

“All the more reason to stay close to us. The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said, ‘Do not desert one another, do not nurse hatred towards one another, do not be jealous of one another, and become as fellow brothers and servants of Allah. It is not lawful for a Muslim to stop talking to his brother for more than three days.’”

“Doesn’t apply. You’re not my brother. You betrayed me. Brothers don’t do that.”

A Volcano Awakens

Ali exhaled loudly. “I didn’t betray you. You weren’t involved with Hala. You weren’t engaged; you weren’t even talking to her. Am I right?”

“You knew I was in love with her.” Hamid heard his own voice rising even as the balloon continued to climb higher in the sky. He couldn’t seem to stop it. He was a shy, quiet man who buried himself in books and research. He didn’t shout or fight. But he knew himself. Deep down, he had a terrible, fiery anger. It was a dormant volcano, and it woke rarely and slowly. But when it did, it could tear his life apart like Krakatoa. Now it was awake, and he felt the lava rising.

“You stole her,” Hamid said.

“This is ridiculous.” Ali waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away a street urchin. “There’s no talking to you.”

“Guys,” Jean cut in. “This stops now. This is NOT the place. You’re closer to God up here, so act like it. Be quiet, face away from each other and enjoy the view.”

Hamid heard her the same way he heard the wind that rushed past the balloon at this altitude. It was mere noise. “Tell me why you did it,” he insisted. “That’s all. Tell me why you took the life I should have had. Why you robbed me of my happiness. Were you jealous because I had better grades in school? Is that why you took Hala from me?”

Ali’s face flushed deep red. “How dare you! That’s my wife you’re talking about. Have some shame! La hawla wa la quwwata illah billah.” He stepped forward and jabbed a finger into Hamid’s chest. “I don’t want to hear her name come out of your stupid mouth.”

The volcano erupted. Hamid felt his face grow hot, even as his vision narrowed. He seized Ali’s shirt in both hands and began screaming curse words. He didn’t even know what he was saying. He was operating on a level of pure rage, with no rational thought whatsoever.

Over the Edge

“Stop this!” Jean shouted. “Think about where you are!” She took a step forward to separate the brothers physically, but it was too late. Still gripping Ali’s shirt, Hamid pressed forward with all his weight, driving Ali backward. He had no objective in mind. The volcano was in pure lava eruption mode, and Hamid was a puppet of his own fury as surely as if he were a jinn dancing to the commands of Iblis.

Stumbling backward, Ali seized a handful of Hamid’s curly hair in one hand, while his other hand shot out, seeking something – anything – to hold himself up. His face registered sheer terror, no doubt at the prospect of being pushed out of the balloon basket, and plummeting to his death.

What Ali’s hand found was the burner cord. He seized it as he fell, all his bodyweight pulling it down. There was a loud roar as the burner released a large amount of fuel, sending a huge tongue of flame into the envelope. The balloon leaped upward. Ali lost his grip on the burner cord and fell flat on his back in the basket, throwing his hands out to break his fall.

Hamid had been pressing forward into Ali. When Ali suddenly fell, Hamid stumbled forward into the basket wall. It was only as high as his sternum, and with his forward momentum, he tumbled right over the edge.

He saw the world spread out before him like heaven’s forecourt, all green and blue. His hands flew out, but there was nothing to hold. For an instant, time seemed to freeze. Hamid had read about this, how the brain sped up at the moment of death, so that subjectively, time came to a standstill. He was about to die. He saw the crowd of Eid-goers below, their faces tiny ovals peering up, and he heard their collective scream as they saw him go over the edge. He only prayed he did not fall on someone. That would compound his sin to the Nth degree.

What a fool he was. His native country, Afghanistan, was suffering under the weight of so many problems. But his people were, mostly, farmers, and he was an agricultural specialist. He could have done some good for them, he could have helped, even if only in a small way. Besides that, he could have had a relationship with his brother, or at least with his niece and nephew. Instead his life would be wasted for nothing. Would Allah have mercy on him, even though he was the biggest fool in the world?

Time un-froze, and Hamid began to fall.

Struggle

A hand like iron seized his ankle, arresting his fall. Hanging upside down, he looked up. It was Jean. Her face was as white as if she had seen a jinn, but her hand locked onto his ankle like a vice. She must be incredibly strong, but there was no way she would be able to pull Hamid up. His body was lean, but he was tall and moderately muscular, and weighed over 180 pounds. He heard her screaming something but couldn’t understand a word. The wind rushed past his ears as he swayed back and forth. It was a miracle she was able to hold onto him, but soon her grip would fail.

La ilaha il-Allah, he breathed. Muhammadun Rasul-ullah. O Allah forgive my sins, have mercy on me, and admit me into Your Jannah. Forgive my temper and my hard heart. Forgive my hatred of my brother and my envy. I know I’m neither a good Muslim nor a good man, Ya Allah, but forgive me.

A second pair of hands grabbed his other leg. His brother. A moment later he felt himself being pulled up, incrementally, inch by inch. He tried to help by pushing against the basket with his hands, but it was probably no help at all. A critical moment came when his waist crossed over the edge of the basket wall. Jean and his brother gave a tremendous pull, and he tumbled back into the basket.

He lay there, gasping for breath, unable to believe that he was alive. Jean did not give him a moment, however. Her powerful hands hauled him up to a sitting position, with his back against the basket wall.

Just Sit There

“Are you okay?” the pilot demanded. Her hands probed up and down her legs, then at his sides. “Are you injured?”

“No,” Hamid gasped. “Just winded. Thank you so much, thank you.”

Jean slapped his face, hard. “You knucklehead! Lord have mercy.” She stood and glared back and forth between Hamid and Ali, who – Hamid realized then – was seated right beside him, also gasping for air. Her blue eyes blazed with anger.

“This balloon is governed by FAA regulations,” she went on. “You understand? What y’all just did up here? That’s a federal offense. Not some slap-on-the-wrist county fair nonsense. I’ve flown through thunderheads and dust storms. But I ain’t never seen anything as shameful as what y’all just pulled. I oughta have both of you arrested the second we hit the ground.”

She ran a hand through her silver hair. “Now stay there, hush up, and let me get this damn balloon back to earth. We are way too high.” She turned away, unclipped a radio from her belt and began talking to the ground crew while she worked the balloon controls.

Vindication

“You almost killed us both,” Ali said quietly.

Hamid glanced at his brother. Ali’s shirt was torn, and his cap was gone. Hamid opened his mouth to apologize, but what came out instead was,

“Just admit that you stole her. That’s all I want. I just want to hear the truth.”

Ali’s eyes flashed and his hands balled into fists, but only for an instant. The anger drained from his face, and he looked at the floor. “Yes,” he said. “I knew that you wanted her. You asked me what I thought of her. I had never really noticed her. I knew how shy you were, and that you would never talk to her on your own. So I went to talk to her on your behalf, to tell her of your interest.”

Hamid let out a deep, shaky breath. He felt he might cry. Just to hear the truth from his brother’s lips was such a vindication.

“I didn’t expect her to be so captivating,” Ali went on. “I found out she could speak three languages, could tell a good joke, and had been volunteering at the hospital, reading books to sick kids, since she was fifteen. I fell in love. Look, you had never even spoken to her. I… I justified it to myself. I told myself you wouldn’t care that much, that there were plenty of other women.”

“There are no other women,” Hamid said. “No one else is remotely interested in me. Women avoid me like smallpox, and you know why? Because Hala was the one meant for me. She was my qadar. You stole my life.”

Toxic

“Oh, stop it,” Jean said harshly. Hamid hadn’t realized she was following the conversation. “Do you have any idea how idiotic that is? What’s your name?”

Hamid pointed to himself. “Me? Hamid.”

“Hamid,” Jean repeated. “Let me tell you something. You might be the most visually striking man I’ve ever seen in my life. I seriously don’t know that I’ve ever seen a more handsome man. Even more than your brother. I mean, I can see that y’all are identical, but he’s a little too straight laced, while you got this whole Marlboro man thing going on, which is cute. You know why women avoid you? It’s not because your brother married your one true love, or any such treacly nonsense. Do you know why?”

“Uhh…” Hamid was still trying to process Jean’s comment about his appearance. “No. Why?”

“Because you’re a jerk. You got a chip on your shoulder the size of Texas. You’re bitter, angry, self-pitying and generally pathetic. I don’t care how handsome you are. Even if I was your age, and I met you, I wouldn’t touch you with a bee pole. You’re toxic.”

“And you,” she went on, pointing at Ali. “What’s your name?”

“Ali.”

“Ali. Tell him the whole truth about your wife. Go on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your wife – Hala was it? Hamid here thinks she’s an angel. Flawless, like the Hope Diamond. That’s because he doesn’t know her the way you do. You need to disabuse him of that idiocy. Tell him the sordid details. I get that she’s your wife, but he needs to hear it.”

The Sordid Truth

Ali nodded slowly. “She, uhh… You won’t repeat this, right?”

“What?” Hamid said.

“She picks her nose. Right in front of me. It’s really disgusting.”

Hamid stared at his brother. “No way.”

“Yes. She doesn’t like to pray, I have to cajole her to do any salat whatsoever. We fight about it all the time. She’s a terrible cook.”

“What about the home cooked dishes you always send me on our birthday?”

“That you’ve never acknowledged or thanked me for? Catered. She leaves her dirty clothes on the bedroom floor, uses too much makeup, doesn’t throw out old food until it molds, her father is the biggest jerk you’ve ever met in your life, he calls me Tinker Bell because I don’t do any sports. Hala doesn’t always brush her teeth, so her breath stinks in the morning, she -”

“I think he gets the point,” Jean interrupted.

Hamid was shocked. “But…” he stammered. “Why do you love her then?”

“Some days I don’t know if I do. But then she tells me about someone she helped at the hospital. Or I come home from a hard day and she puts an arm around me and kisses my cheek. Or I see her down on the floor, playing with the kids, all of them happy. And I remember that this is the reality of love. It’s difficult, messy, and imperfect. But it’s also sweet. Ultimately it’s a choice.”

“Do you get it now, Hamid?” Jean said. She angled the burner slightly and pulled gently on the vent line. “You never loved the real Hala at all. You fell in love with a fiction you created. Real women are problematic. You have to be patient and kind. You have to let go of ego. And you know what? The world is full of real women, waiting for a good man to love them.”

Ali put a hand on Hamid’s shoulder. “Bakhana ghwaram warwara. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone after Hala. I did you wrong.”

“No…” Hamid breathed deeply, then let it out. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve been so stupid. I’m starting to understand. So, so stupid.”

“Just never mention any of the things I told you,” Ali said. “Not a word. Or I’m a dead man.”

The Bargain

“Listen boys,” Jean said. “We’re almost down. The ground crew says the police are waiting to question you.”

“Oh my God,” Ali said. “I could lose my job.”

Hamid shrugged. “I understand, Miss Jean. I want you to know how grateful I am to you. You saved me, and I’ll never forget it. Not only that. You’re so patient and wise. You’ve changed my life. I’m so sorry for the trouble I caused.”

Jean’s eyes softened, and she sighed. “Listen. Maybe there’s a way I could avoid pressing charges.”

“How?” Ali said. “Anything.”

“I won’t be able to continue giving rides today. You’ve damaged my business and reputation. You cost me a lot of money.”

“Name your price.”

“Five thousand dollars.”

“Done.” Ali stood and extended his hand, and Jean shook it. “I can transfer it to you right now.”

“You know I can’t help, right?” Hamid said. “I could chip in two hundred dollars maybe.”

Ali waved. “Don’t worry about it.”

Hamid stood and saw that they had arrived at the ground, or several feet above it. A huge crowd was gathered all around, with several police officers at the front. Hala was there as well, with the kids. She looked stricken and pale.

Hamid descended the ladder on shaky legs. A man he did not know stepped forward and supported him. Ali went to his family, who embraced him. The strange thing was that Hamid wasn’t jealous. He didn’t look at Hala and see the most beautiful woman in the world, as he had for most of his life. Instead he saw an ordinary woman. He realized, incredibly, that he was happy for Ali. All his envy and anger were gone.

SubhanAllah.

Jean explained to the cops that they weren’t needed. It had been a simple case of vertigo. The passenger lost his balance and fell over the edge. The cops looked unconvinced, but they took a report and departed.

Judge People or Love Them

“Hamid,” Hala demanded. “Is that true? You lost your balance? It wasn’t… something else?”

Ali answered quickly. “That’s what it was. You know he can’t handle heights.”

Hala threw her hands out. “Then why did he go up in a balloon?”

“It was stupid of me,” Hamid admitted.

People pressed in around them, asking questions, or clapping Hamid on the back. He didn’t want to talk. He recovered his messenger bag, which had been heavily trampled. As he turned to leave, a strong hand gripped his shoulder. It was Jean. Hamid faced her, meeting her intense, still slightly angry gaze.

“One,” said the pilot with the iron hands. She held up a finger. “You can judge people, or you can love them. It’s hard to do both.” This statement hit Hamid like a bullet, and he rocked back on his heels. Suddenly his entire life, his opinions about people, his attitude toward his brother – everything – was cast into sharp relief.

“Two.” Jean held up a second finger. “When we judge others, we’re usually just judging ourselves.” A second bullet, fired into the heart of his insecurities about his own self-worth. “I gave you back your life today,” the pilot concluded. “Go and live it with love.”

Hamid nodded silently, and turned away. Together with Ali’s family he pushed his way through the crowd, and exited the park.

Generalizations

In the parking lot, Hamid and Ali embraced, then Hamid went down on one knee and hugged the kids.

Hala beamed. “This is wonderful to see. And all it took was you almost dying.”

Hamid stood. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say alhamdulillah,” Ali suggested.

“Alhamdulillah for everything.”

“By the way,” Hala said. “There’s something I’m not supposed to tell you, but I think you might like to know. Do you know Esin, my old friend from school?”

Hamid nodded. “Mm-hm.”

“She always asks about you. Are you still single, what’s your work, what are your hobbies, that kind of thing. I think if you were to talk to her father, it would not be unwelcome.”

Hamid frowned. “She asks about me?”

“Yes, why not?”

“I… I mean. That’s surprising. But I don’t want an Afghan girl. I want a convert.”

Hala raised an eyebrow. “Okay. But why?”

“Well… It’s just that the converts are sincere. Afghan girls are materialis -” He froze, realizing that he was doing it again. Judging people. SubhanAllah, Jean was right. His entire worldview was tainted from top to bottom.

“La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah,” Ali muttered. “Here we go again with the crazy assumptions and generalizations.”

Hamid waved his hands. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Hala was visibly annoyed. “You know what? Esin has a law degree but she gave up corporate law to work as a public defender, because she cares about people. And I’ll tell you something about convert sisters. Many of them are amazing, but most of them are carrying baggage. And not just one suitcase. Whole steamer trunks.”

“What do you mean?”

“She means,” Ali broke in, “that people are people. This whole narrative you have going of, I can only love this person, I can’t love that person, these people are shallow, those people are angels – it’s all nonsense. Human beings don’t come in bunches like grapes. We’re all individuals.”

Hamid rubbed his forehead. “I have a lot to learn.”

Blueberries

“Where’s your car?” Ali asked.

“Out of commission. I took the bus.”

“We’ll take you home. Come on.”

Hamid took a step, and a wave of vertigo rocked him. It was just hitting him that if Jean’s reflexes had been a split second slower, he would be a pile of broken bones and splattered brain matter right now. Or he could just as easily have sent Ali over the edge, widowing Hala and leaving the children without a father. His vision grew gray, and he swayed on his feet. Ali leaped forward and caught him.

“You’re in shock,” Ali said. He helped Hamid to a green SUV and sat him on the bumper. “Let me get you some water.”

“It’s alright. I have something in my bag.” Opening it, Hamid took out the box of blueberries. They were half crushed and dripping juice, and had made a mess in the bag. He popped a few into his mouth, not caring. They were as sweet as a Mexican sunrise. The flavor burst on his tongue, confirming that he was indeed still alive. He ate more, his hands shaking.

“Those look disgusting,” Ali commented. “They’re smashed.”

“Good things are sometimes difficult, messy and imperfect,” Hamid said between bites. “But they’re still sweet. Your words, remember? Glorious and sweet and beautiful. I never thought I would eat anything again. I thought I was dead.” His lower lip trembled and he pressed a shaking, blueberry-stained hand to his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Ali put an arm around Hamid’s shoulders. “Allah decrees and does what He wills. It wasn’t your time yet.”

Hamid nodded and held the blueberries out. “Eat some.”

“No, they’re gross.”

“Jean said I’m more handsome than you.”

Ali laughed. “Get in the car, bro. I think you’re going to be fine.”

THE END

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

Related:

Uber Tales: A Driver’s Journal

River Delta: A Love Story

The post Hot Air: An Eid Story [Part 2] appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The Catholic church has taken the first steps to canonise the architect of Barcelona’s extraordinary Sagrada Família

I don’t understand the processes by which people become saints, but the case for the canonisation of the great Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí, now progressing with the blessing of the pope, seems strong. He was devout – he tried to go without food for 40 days in emulation of Jesus Christ, until a bishop friend talked him out of likely death. The unprecedented phantasmagoria that he designed in stone, iron and ceramic could be called miracles. He even suffered a form of martyrdom, being hit by a tram while apparently deep in thought about his most famous work, the church of Sagrada Família. It’s not quite the same as a burning at the stake or a fusillade of arrows or the other grisly ends of ancient saints, but has its own significance. Gaudí’s mission was to find spiritual meaning in a world transformed by industry and machines, of which the fatal tram might be considered a representative.

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On the show: Why Trump vetoed Israel’s attack on Iran, the latest from Gaza and Yemen and we speak to ADC legal director Chris Godshall-Bennett about protecting rights amid US crackdown.