41.

Anam stood in front of the towering skyscraper, her neck craned as she tried to take in its sheer height. The sleek glass exterior reflected the morning sun, casting a mesmerizing glow that made the building look almost ethereal. She turned to Feras, her eyes wide with astonishment.

"This," she said, pointing up at the building, "Ap idher kam karte hain?" (this is where you work?)

Feras, standing beside her in his crisp kurta, simply shrugged as if it were no big deal. "I don't just work here," he said, his tone casual yet laced with pride. "I own it."

Her jaw dropped. She gawked at him, then back at the building, struggling to process what she had just heard. "You... own this?"

Feras smirked at her reaction, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "Yes, Anam. Now close your mouth, or you'll catch flies."

Still in shock, she snapped her mouth shut, but her expression remained one of disbelief. She wasn't sure how to respond. She had known Feras was successful, but this... this was beyond anything she had imagined.

As Feras began walking toward the grand entrance, he looked over his shoulder and gestured for her to follow. "Come on, Anam. Pinche na reh jana." (Come on, Anam. Don't freeze up.)

Anam snapped out of her daze and hurried after him, glancing around in awe. The building's interior was just as luxurious as its exterior. The marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of chandeliers, and the air smelled faintly of citrus and lavender.

As they entered his private elevator, she couldn't hold back any longer. "You're so freaking rich," she blurted, staring at him like he was some sort of alien.

Feras chuckled, leaning against the elevator wall with his hands in his pockets. "Is that just dawning on you now?"

She crossed her arms, her playful expression returning. "Do you know what this means?"

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What does it mean?"

"It means," she said, grinning, "I can buy all the books and jewelry I want without worrying about money. I'm married to a millionaire or billionaire!"

He smirked, shaking his head. "As if I'd ever say no to you, Anam." He said, making her heart fluttered.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped into his office floor. His secretary greeted them warmly, his professional demeanor intact, though his gaze lingered on Anam with curiosity.

"Good morning, sir. Ma'am," the secretary said, bowing his head slightly.

Feras nodded in acknowledgment and led Anam down the hallway to his office.

The moment they entered, Anam was taken aback by the grandeur of his personal space. The office was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The furniture was sleek and modern, and there was a subtle scent of leather and fresh coffee.

Feras turned to her. "Do you want anything?"

She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. "Anything?"

"Anything," he confirmed, watching her with curiosity.

She thought for a moment, then grinned. "I want a mango milkshake."

Feras chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "A mango milkshake?"

"Yes!" she said, her tone firm. "I haven't had one in ages."

He sighed, still smiling, and picked up the phone on his desk. "An espresso and a mango milkshake," he instructed, his voice firm.

Anam wrinkled her nose at him. "How can you drink something as bitter as espresso?"

"It's an acquired taste," he said with a shrug. "You get used to it."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I could never."

He smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Good thing, no one's asking you to."

She shook her head firmly. "Never. I'd rather drink ten mango milkshakes than one sip of that bitter poison."

He laughed softly, watching her as she pulled out her tablet from her purse and curled up on the sofa, engrossed in her book.

Anam shifted slightly on the sofa, adjusting her hijab, and hesitantly looked up at Feras. "Can I take off my burka?" she asked softly, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of the fabric.

Feras glanced at her from his desk, his dark eyes calm and steady. "Of course," he replied. "No one can come in here without my permission."

Reassured, Anam smiled and removed her burka, folding it neatly and placing it beside her. She stretched a little, relaxing further into the plush cushions.

Feras leaned back in his chair, stealing glances at her between his work. He couldn't help the small smile that played on his lips.

Just as a soft knock echoed on the office door.

Feras stood. "Stay there," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He opened the door slightly, ensuring the person outside couldn't see inside the office. It was his secretary, holding a tray with the espresso and mango milkshake. With a polite nod, he took the tray, thanked him, and closed the door without letting him see anything beyond him.

As soon as he turned around, Anam's eyes lit up. "My milkshake!" she squealed, clapping her hands.

Feras smiled, walking over and setting the tray on the table in front of her. She immediately grabbed the glass, taking a delighted sip. "Perfect," she declared with a satisfied smile.

Feras picked up his espresso, taking a small sip, the bitter taste grounding him as he returned to his desk.

Anam watched him for a moment, her curiosity bubbling up. "Feras?" she asked tentatively.

He looked up, raising a brow. "Yes?"

"Can I ask you something? I mean, if you're not too busy?"

"I'm listening," he replied, leaning back slightly in his chair, giving her his full attention.

She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Which Islamic date is it today?"

He thought for a second. "It should be the 19th of Jamadi ul Awwal now," he answered.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. "Ayam-e-Fatimiya," she whispered, her voice filled with sadness.

Feras's expression softened as her words pulled at something deep within him. His mind flashed back to the day she was in a coma... the quiet drive to the hospital, listening to the tragic accounts of Bibi Fatima Zahra (AS), and the desperate prayer he had made to God, pleading for Anam's life in the name of Bibi's immense sacrifice.

"Feras?" Her voice brought him back to the present. "After work... can we go to the nearby Imam Bargah and listen to the majlis?"

He didn't answer immediately, his thoughts momentarily lost in that memory.

"Can we, please?" she asked again, her hopeful tone breaking through his silence.

He smiled gently, nodding. "Yes, we can."

Her face lit up, her happiness infectious. Feras returned to his desk, setting down his espresso and focusing back on his computer, though his thoughts lingered on her request.

Anam, content, lay back on the sofa with her milkshake in hand. She opened her tablet and resumed reading, occasionally sneaking glances at her husband, her heart feeling lighter with each passing moment.

Feras glanced at her briefly, catching her smile before she quickly looked back at her screen. He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, and returned to his work.

.....

Feras parked the car near the Imam Bargah and turned to Anam. His voice was gentle but firm. "If you feel any pain or your head starts hurting, call me immediately. Don't try to manage it alone."

Anam gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine, Feras. Stop worrying so much."

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, still unconvinced but unwilling to argue. He watched as she adjusted her hijab and walked toward the women's entrance. Only when she disappeared from view did he let out a breath and turn toward the men's side.

For Feras, stepping into the Imam Bargah was like entering a different world. The air was filled with quiet reverence, and the soft hum of whispered prayers resonated in the background. He took a moment to absorb his surroundings... the walls adorned with verses from the Quran, the names of the Ahlul Bayt (AS) beautifully inscribed, and the serene faces of those present.

It was his first time in an Imam Bargah, and though he wasn't sure what to expect, a strange sense of peace washed over him. As he moved further inside, he noticed a familiar figure... Jawad, his distant cousin and close friend.

"Feras?" Jawad's voice carried a note of surprise. He stood and approached Feras, his expression a mix of curiosity and delight. "What brings you here?"

Feras offered a small smile and shook his hand. "Anam wanted to come, and I thought I'd join her."

Jawad nodded approvingly, a warm smile spreading across his face. "That's wonderful."

Before they could converse further, the Allama entered, and the atmosphere shifted. Everyone settled down, the room falling into a respectful silence.

The Allama began with the fazail (virtues) of Bibi Fatima Zahra (AS), the daughter of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH). His voice was calm yet deeply impactful, each word drawing the listeners closer to the essence of her unparalleled status in Islam.

"Bibi Fatima (AS) is not just the daughter of our beloved Prophet. She is the very embodiment of purity, strength, and piety," the Allama began. "When the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said, 'Fatima is a part of me,' he was not merely referring to her as his child but as an extension of his very soul. Her virtues are countless... she was the first to support her father's mission, a devoted wife to Imam Ali (AS), and a nurturing mother to her children, who became the leaders of heaven."

Feras listened, his heart stirred by the Allama's words. He had known bits and pieces about Bibi Fatima (A.S.), but hearing this made him realize how little he truly understood her greatness.

Then the Allama's tone shifted, his voice growing heavy with grief. He began recounting the masaib (tragedies) that befell Bibi Fatima Zahra (AS) after the Prophet's passing.

"The death of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) was not just a loss to the Muslim Ummah but a moment when the enemies of truth began to reveal themselves," the Allama said, his voice trembling. "And at the center of their oppression stood the Ahlul Bayt (AS), the family of the Prophet."

Feras leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on his knees as he listened intently.

"They came to the house of Bibi Fatima (AS)... the house blessed by angels, the house where the Prophet himself would stand at the door and recite Salam. They came with fire and weapons, demanding Imam Ali (AS) pledge allegiance to their illegitimate rule. When he refused, they set fire to the door of her house."

The Allama paused, his eyes closing as if in pain.

"Bibi Fatima Zahra (AS), who was pregnant with her child, Mohsin, stood behind that door, trying to protect her home and her family. But they pushed the door with such force that it crushed her between the door and the wall. Her ribs broke under the pressure. Her cries echoed, but no one came to her aid."

Feras felt a lump form in his throat. His hands clenched tightly as he fought back tears.

"The injury caused her to miscarry her unborn son, Mohsin. But even in her pain, Bibi Fatima (AS) stood firm in her defense of Wilayah... the divinely appointed leadership of Imam Ali (AS). She faced insults, threats, and physical harm, yet she never wavered in her faith or her duty."

The Allama's voice broke as he continued. "She endured unimaginable suffering, yet her concern was not for herself but for the message of Islam, for the truth that her father had worked so tirelessly to establish."

The hall was filled with the sound of quiet sobs. Feras could no longer hold back his tears. They fell freely as he thought about the immense courage and sacrifice of Bibi Fatima (AS).

The Noha khwan entered and began reciting a noha, a lamentation for the tragedies of the Ahlul Bayt. The mourners rose, and the rhythmic beating of their chests filled the room. Feras hesitated for a moment, unfamiliar, but something deep inside compelled him to join. As his hands struck his chest in unison with the others, he felt a strange sense of connection... both to the people around him and to the pain they were mourning.

After the majlis, the men began distributing tabarruk (blessed food). Feras joined in, helping hand out plates to the attendees. There was something fulfilling about serving others, something that brought him an unexpected sense of calm.

As the gathering dispersed, he bid farewell to Jawad, who gave him a warm smile. "I'm glad you came."

Feras stepped outside and called Anam. She answered almost immediately. "Yes, I'm here. Coming out now."

Feras parked the car in the dimly lit lot, his movements slower than usual, as if the weight of the evening still hung heavily on him. He stepped out and turned to see Anam walking toward him from the women's section, her face solemn and her steps careful.

"Assalamu alaikum," she said softly, her voice laced with the grief that lingered in both their hearts.

"Wa Alaikum Salam," he replied, his tone just as subdued. Their eyes met briefly, and though no words were exchanged, the shared sorrow in their gazes said everything.

Anam's eyes glistened with unshed tears, reflecting the pain she felt for Bibi Fatima (AS) and her unimaginable sacrifices. Feras' eyes, red and tired, mirrored the same anguish.

As they drove home, the silence between them wasn't empty... it was filled with an unspoken understanding of the immense sacrifices made by Bibi Fatima Zahra (AS) and her family, a truth that had touched his heart deeply.

Neither of them spoke for a while, lost in their thoughts and the emotions stirred by the majlis.

As they approached a quieter road, Anam glanced at him and asked softly, "Did you eat anything there?"

Feras nodded. "Yes, I had some of the food after helping with the distribution."

She smiled faintly, relieved, before he turned the question back to her. "Did you eat?"

Her face lit up just a little. "Yes, and oh, Feras, the naan and chicken were soooo good!" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement.

Feras couldn't help but chuckle at her sudden shift in tone. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and for a moment, the heaviness in his heart eased. "You really are something else, Anam," he said with a soft smile.

When they reached home, they walked together to their room, still wrapped in a calm and reflective mood. Once inside, Anam went to take off her scarf while Feras prepared for prayer.

"Let's pray Isha together," she said as she came back into the room, her voice eager.

He nodded, placing their prayer mats side by side. She stood a little behind him, their focus united in worship. The serenity of prayer seemed to wash over them, bringing a sense of solace after the emotional evening.

When they finished, Feras helped her take her medicine, handing her a glass of water. "Here, take this and rest," he said, his voice carrying a note of care and concern.

Anam smiled at him, taking the medicine obediently. "Thank you, Feras," she said softly before lying down.

He watched her for a moment, ensuring she was comfortable before he turned off the lights and lay beside her. The room fell into a peaceful silence, the grief of the day gently giving way to the comfort of each other's presence.

Both of them drifted off to sleep, their hearts still tender with the love and respect they had felt for Bibi Fatima (AS) and her legacy.

"Fatima (S.A.) is the leader of all women, from the beginning until the end."

—Imam Sadiq a.s.