Chapter 1 - Petrichor And Prayer
Bismillah❤️
Entry for Pulsely Stories Contest
The tall windows stood wide open. Voile curtains fluttered with the soft night breeze. Above, the moon hung full and luminous, spilling silver across the room. Stars scattered around it like quiet witnesses, watching the anxious soul pacing the floor below.
The soothing recitation of Mishary RashedAlafasy filled the air. Yusuf murmured along, his voice low as he followed Surah Al-Waqi‘ah. The Qur’an was the only thing keeping his nerves from unraveling.
It was already 10:30 pm. His parents had left three hours ago to visit his future in-laws and finalize the date for his nikaah.
Did it really take that long to set a date?
Yusuf stared at his phone until his eyes burned. Tonight was meant to be the announcement. His mother was supposed to call hours ago. Neither of them answered. Neither replied. Yet the blue ticks mocked him — both messages were read.
At 10:45, just as he snatched his car keys and was about to drive to Ruqayyah’s house himself, a message lit up his screen:
"On our way, son. Please put the kettle on. Terrible headache… I desperately need tea!"
His heartbeat stumbled.
No. No, no. Tea and headache in the same sentence?
That could only mean one thing. Something had gone wrong. Either they hadn’t agreed on a date, or Ruqayyah had asked for more time... again.
Twenty minutes waiting for his parents had never felt so agonizingly long.
When they finally walked in, the air in the house felt heavy. The quiet before the storm. Tension drifted through the room like petrichor — that earthy scent that comes just before the downpour.
His mother took his hand. Her palm was warm, her grip gentle. But her eyes told a different story — shadowed with sadness, edged with disappointment.
The stove-top kettle whistled, but none of them moved to pour the tea.
His father sank into the armchair and pressed his fingers to his temples. His mother still held onto his hand.
"Beta, they called off the wedding!"
His mother cut straight to the chase, not wanting to withhold the agonizing information anymore.
Yusuf's throat went dry. He sat beside his mother, his right knee bouncing with anxiety.
"What happened, Amma?"
She exchanged a look with his father. A look filled with an array of emotions. Anger was the most vivid.
"Her parents said they cannot trust you to take care of their daughter, as you're still an amateur in your father's business."
The words landed like stones in still water. Yusuf felt his stomach drop.
He balled his hands into fists.
"I don't understand... They knew this from the very beginning! That I had just taken over Abba's business. Why the change of heart now?"
His mother bit the inside of her cheek. Her eyes were heavy with emotion. Her gaze flicked to his father, who sat with his head bent down, shoulders tense, brows creased.
She squeezed his hand, as if that gentle squeeze would give him the courage to hear the words she was about to utter.
"Yusuf, the truth is that Ruqayyah kept asking for more time because she received a proposal from a wealthy man, and she is more inclined toward that proposal."
Yusuf forced a nod. He didn't trust his voice to utter a word. The moonlight that had filled him with warmth earlier suddenly felt cold.
His father finally lifted his head and spoke, his voice rough.
"We tried, Yusuf. We really did. But we don't want you to start this relationship with bitterness. We also feel like her parents must have been pressuring her to marry you initially."
Yusuf plucked up the courage to speak. His voice was thick with emotion. "I want to meet her one last time, to clarify things myself."
His mother embraced him. "We will ask them to grant you this last wish, beta. I know this hurts, beta. I saw your face light up with joy every time we mentioned her name. But I'm sure Allaah has written someone better in your Taqdeer. My du'aa is that Allaah will bestow you with someone who deserves and appreciates you, and I know my Rabb will make this dua a reality."
Yusuf managed a strained smile for his mother. One that took all his strength and didn't reach his eyes.
He said nothing, yet tears threatened to break through the cage of his lashes. He blinked them away, furiously.
He chastised himself.
Men don't cry!
He nodded at his father and kissed the crown of his mother's head. Then he retreated to his room.
As he shut the door, he felt his heart beating erratically. Earlier it was in anticipation. This time it was from the pain that seared his heart.
Outside, the breeze picked up. The voile curtains billowed in, carrying that scent of petrichor with them.
The storm had arrived. The rain poured down heavily, washing the earth of all its impurities.
Two droplets cascaded down his taut face. He embraced this new emotion along with the rain.
Perhaps men do cry... when they can no longer hold it together anymore!
This heartbreak would teach him that at times our Qadr is written between the silence of fervent du'as. Sometimes the loudest answer from Allaah is silence.