1.

ANAM'S POV

I've always had a secret crush on him. It's the kind of crush that sneaks up on you and grows quietly until, one day, it's all you can think about. He's calm, composed, and carries himself with such effortless strength that it leaves me in awe. There's a quiet dominance about him that doesn't rely on loud words or grand gestures. It's in his steady gaze, in the way people instinctively respect him.

But I know he'll never see me the way I see him. To him, I'm just his sister. Nothing more. And how could I ever be more? He's out of my league, way out of my league, in every way that matters.

I'm not like my cousin. She's slender, beautiful, and confident in ways I'll never be. Me? I'm soft, and round in places I wish I weren't. I've always been a little chubby, and no matter how much I try to embrace it, there's always that nagging insecurity pulling at me. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I can't help but think, Why would someone like him ever notice someone like me?

sigh

But even in my worst moments, I remind myself... Allah made me just the way I am, and I should be grateful for it.

At home, life isn't exactly easy. My Chachi and her children have never let me forget that I don't quite belong. Ever since my parents passed away and my sister and I started living here, we've felt more like guests than family. Chachi doesn't hide her disapproval of me, and her son, Aman, has a way of making me feel small with his cutting insults and condescending remarks.

Seher, my cousin, isn't much better. She doesn't say things to my face, but I've heard her talking behind my back. The whispers about how I don't measure up, how I'm not "good enough" for this family, sting more than I'd like to admit. They see me as stubborn, too different, too much of everything they don't like. And they never let me forget it.

Despite all of that, I've never let their disapproval shake my faith. My connection with Allah is my anchor, the one thing that keeps me grounded. Every prayer is a moment of solace, a reminder that my worth doesn't come from their opinions but from the One who created me. In my prayers, I find strength, even when the world feels heavy around me.

And then there's him. The one person who confuses me more than anyone else. He's kind to me, always. Not in a loud, showy way, but in his quiet, steady way.

Every night, when the house is quiet, I rise for Tahajjud. It's my sanctuary, my time to pour my heart out to Allah without fear of being overheard. I don't ask for much. I know better than to hope for the impossible. But I pray for his happiness, for his success, for Allah to grant him all the good in this world and the next. I pray for his safety, for his heart to always remain steadfast and at peace.

Sometimes, I wonder if it's wrong to pray for him like this. Does it make me selfish? Foolish? But then I remind myself that dua is never wasted. Even if he never sees me, even if he never knows how much I care, I'll still pray for him. Because that's what love is, isn't it? Wanting the best for someone, even if it's from a distance.

For now, I'll keep my feelings to myself. I'll keep praying for him in the quiet hours of the night, asking Allah to grant him all the goodness he deserves. And I'll keep pretending that it's enough, even when my heart aches for more.

"Do not be a slave to others when Allah has created you free."

-Imam Ali as.