Let’s share a story, i.e. Not a Fairytale – A Girl Who Loved the Right Way!
There was a girl—quiet, dignified, and determined. She walked through the corridors of her university with grace, her black abaya flowing gently as she carried her books close to her chest. Besides this, She wasn’t just another face in the crowd. She was different—an engineering student who held tightly to her values, her faith, and an unshakable passion for learning. Her name isn’t necessary for the world to know. What matters is the journey her heart would soon endure.
She spent four long years in that university—four years of balancing her studies with her principles. She never spoke much, never mingled unnecessarily. But amidst the silent library days and hurried cafeteria lines, there was someone she noticed. A guy—not overly charming, not one who stood out intentionally—but someone with kind eyes, and a calmness that drew her in without words. They never spoke. Just two or three formal interactions over group projects, or university events. Nothing more. But she admired him, quietly, respectfully.
After graduation, they went their separate ways. The world had moved on, and so had their paths. But fate has its own timing. One day, years later, she posted a picture from her graduation—a simple moment captured in time—on her mobile status. She wasn’t seeking attention, just revisiting a memory. But he saw it.
She hadn’t restricted him from her story, not intentionally. And perhaps, that tiny digital window was all fate needed. He liked the photo. That tiny gesture opened the door. A message followed. And before long, conversations bloomed. What began with pleasantries grew into late-night texts, long conversations about life, aspirations, and a connection that neither had expected.
The girl, grounded in her faith, made it clear: if this was meant to be, it must be halal. She didn’t want to waste time in meaningless affection. Her heart was already too sincere, too honest. They decided to meet. It was a rainy day—the kind that carries the scent of fresh beginnings. She wore a soft pink abaya, delicate and graceful. He wore a green shirt, casual but fitting. They met at Hardee’s, shared burgers, and ice cream in the car. They laughed, they looked at each other, maybe a little too long. But everything was respectful, wrapped in warmth and unspoken hopes.
But hope can be fragile.
When she returned home, her sister noticed. She saw the signs, the glow on her face, the trace of something unsaid. Concerned, protective, and perhaps a little harsh, her sister confronted her. “If he’s serious, why doesn’t his family know?” she questioned. The girl couldn’t answer. The guy hadn’t told his family. And with that, he refused to move forward.
Her heart sank. But he promised—you are mine, he said. I will love you, I will make you mine one day. She held onto those words. She believed them.
But time tested her patience.
A few months later, her sister again discovered their secret chats. This time, she texted him directly. “Do you want to marry my sister?” she asked.
He didn’t reply.
The girl waited for a response, but none came. Later, she found out—his mother was in the hospital, undergoing surgery. He was emotionally overwhelmed, lost, and unsure. Instead of proposing, he asked her for duas—for prayer. And she prayed for him, with all her heart. She prayed in tahajjud, in every sujood, with every tear.
But soon, the silence between them stretched longer.
Whenever they spoke, arguments flared. She wanted clarity, commitment. He remained silent. Yet, she never doubted that he loved her. That he would come back. That one day, this heartbreak would have a beautiful end.
Then came a new beginning—or so she thought.
They decided to start something together. A blog. He said it was time to focus on something real. A shared passion, a digital venture. Maybe this would bring them closer. She agreed. They started writing, designing, dreaming. But somewhere during that, he pulled back. He didn’t want to marry. He said it clearly this time.
She was furious. cried. She ended everything—the blog, the bond, the buried dreams.
For the next five or six months, silence returned. Not a message. Not even a whisper. But her heart… it prayed for him still. She begged Allah for ease. And then, she went for Umrah.
In the holy land, surrounded by peace and prayer, she thought she had healed. She didn’t want to think of him anymore. But during one prayer, standing before the Kaaba, tears burst forth. Her heart cracked open. She wept—not just for him, but for every unfulfilled hope. She asked Allah for him. Her voice silent, but her soul screaming.
When she returned, she sent him a message. He didn’t reply.
Then, months later, the story began again.
He texted.
He said he missed her. Then, he said he still loved her. Sweet, poetic words returned. She smiled again. Hope rose, gently.
She asked again—“Will you marry me?”
This time, he didn’t hesitate.
“I’m already engaged,” he said. “I’m getting married soon.”
The world blurred. The pain didn’t come as tears—it came as numbness. Her heart, once vibrant with hope, just… stopped. So, she broke down.
She recited the Quran loudly for days, trying to drown out the ache in her chest. She offered salah like never before—crying in sajdah, her legs trembling. Then she couldn’t eat properly, couldn’t sleep. Illness crept in. She cried while traveling, in classrooms, in silence.
She had once found strength in thinking he would come back. Now, that strength betrayed her.
Still… she texted him. One last time.
“Why did you lie?”
He said, “I’ve been married for years.”
And just like that, the illusion shattered.
They didn’t talk again. Months passed.
Then, out of nowhere, a message came—neutral, respectful.
“We’re doing a business now,” she told herself. “Just a business.”
And so, they work together now—writing, designing, blogging. No promises. No poetry. Just mutual respect, professionalism, and the echoes of a love story that never found its fairytale ending.
But in her heart, she knows—some prayers are not answered the way we expect. Some love stories aren’t meant to end in weddings, but in wisdom. She’s stronger now. More faithful. More resilient. credit goes to life…
She’s still the girl in the abaya.
But she’s not the same. Love? What exactly is it? she questions daily. She loves Allah most because, when she was in deep love, where there were chances to break boundaries, she never broke them. So, she fought with the one she loved. When he left, Allah returned her loyalty. He held her hand like a best friend, or the only friend. 🙂 He took care of a broken, broken-hearted person like a small, delicate petal of a flower. ALLAH loves her, He loves her more than her own love for Allah. How can she put her in those painful things again? 🙂
