Muslim Love
chapter 1- Aaliyah at Home — Family Madness
Aaliyah, 23 — quiet, bookish, and tired of love stories
granny(fl)
Aaliyah! Have you finished your homework or are you still daydreaming?
ahliya(fl)
Daydreaming counts as studying now? Asking for a friend. 🙃
granny(fl)
Your “friend” better help you wash the dishes tonight!
ahliya(fl)
Deal — if you help me find my missing hijab. I swear, it vanished into thin air again
granny(fl)
You left it on your brother’s head as a prank. Don’t lie!
younger bro of fl
Hey! That was fashion, okay? I rocked that look better than any model. 😎
ahliya(fl)
Sure, sure. Now get ready — Mom says dinner’s in 10 minutes and NO phones at the table
granny(fl)
Aaliyah, put your phone down right now!
ahliya(fl)
Fine, fine… but only after one last selfie with my “fashion icon” brother. 😆
Hassan, 26 — grieving, guarded
ml
Later, Hassan’s Living Room
vito/hassan(ml)
Hassan (to his younger sister):
Remember when you said you wanted to be a doctor? You’re still too scared to give shots though
sister of ml
That’s because you gave me a fake needle prank last time! I’m not falling for it twice
vito/hassan(ml)
Hassan (smiling softly):
Guilty as charged. But hey, you’re braver than me. I’m still working on praying on time every day.
sister of ml
You’re doing fine, Bhai. And Dad would be proud.
Their Mom enters with a tray of tea
mom of ml
Hassan, don’t forget your medicine. And don’t stay up too late studying tonight.
vito/hassan(ml)
Yes, Amma. I’ll take care of it.
Hassan alone, looking at a faded photo of his father]
vito/hassan(ml)
InshaAllah, I’ll make you proud one day. Just… need a little more time
Aaliyah’s lively, chaotic family filled with teasing and warmth, and Hassan’s quieter, more reflective household marked by love and healing
Chapter 2: A Stranger Reads Her Words
🌙 Chapter 2: A Stranger Reads Her Words
It had been three days since Aaliyah left the book.
Three quiet, ordinary, messy days — filled with chores, spilled milk tea, unfinished assignments, and her grandma’s endless rishta jokes.
She had nearly forgotten about the handwritten note she left inside the Qur’an.
It was something she did often — small acts of da’wah, little invisible prayers tucked between pages, never expecting anyone to notice.
But someone had.
Earlier that Day — Hassan’s Side
The sun had just dipped below the horizon. The echo of Maghrib adhan still lingered in the air. Hassan sat cross-legged at the back of the prayer hall, Qur’an in hand, unsure why he even picked it up. He hadn’t read properly in weeks. Not since—
His thumb brushed against something.
vito/hassan(ml)
Paper?
No. A note.
Her note.
To the one who’s tired of dunya — may this book bring you home.
He stared at the words.
His throat tightened.
He hadn’t cried in years, but something about that sentence… broke him gently.
He didn’t know who wrote it.
But he needed to.
🌙 That Same Evening — Aaliyah’s Side
mom of fl
Aaliyah! Come help with the samosas!”
ahliya(fl)
I’m not frying anything until someone finds my phone
Later that night, she stood on the rooftop under a sky full of restless stars.
The wind tangled her hijab like it always did.
She whispered without thinking:
ahliya(fl)
Whoever you are…
If you needed that note…
Just know I meant it.”
He held the note like it was something sacred.
He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know her voice. Didn’t know if he was ever supposed to.
But in a world full of noise, her quiet message was the first thing that made him feel seen.
He folded the paper, carefully slid it back inside the cover, and murmured under his breath:
vito/hassan(ml)
Jazakillahu Khair, stranger.”
“May Allah bring you home too… whoever you are.”
Chapter 3: The Second Note Wasn’t Meant to Be Found… But It Was
🌙 Chapter 3: The Second Note Wasn’t Meant to Be Found… But It Was
Aaliyah wasn’t trying to be poetic.
She had a habit — not a plan.
Whenever life got too loud, she did three things:
Walk to the masjid when no one was looking.
Drop off a Qur’an she could barely afford.
Leave a note inside it like a whisper in someone else’s storm.
No names. No expectations. Just faith that maybe Allah would guide it to the right hands.
She wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
But someone… was quietly paying attention.
🕌 That Friday — After Jumu'ah
Hassan didn’t usually go to this masjid.
Too crowded. Too noisy. Too many familiar faces asking, “Are you doing better now, bhai?”
He hated that question.
But that day, he went anyway.
Somewhere in the chaos of shoes, shoulders, and scattered prayer mats, he noticed a girl near the women’s section. Black tote bag. Cream-colored hijab. A book in her hand.
He didn’t see her face.
But the bag caught his eye.
It had writing on it.
"Tired hearts still make beautiful duas."
His chest tightened.
He waited until the crowd thinned, then walked quietly to where she’d been standing.
Nothing.
Except a new Qur’an.
And inside it…
Another note.
“If you’re reading this, just know: Allah saw your tears before they ever fell.”
– from someone who still cries too, sometimes.
He swallowed.
The paper trembled in his hand. Not from fear. From recognition.
It was her again.
The same writing. The same softness. The same message dressed like mercy.
.
🧕 Back at Aaliyah’s Home
granny(fl)
Why do you always come home from Jumu’ah looking like you’ve fought a spiritual battle?
ahliya(fl)
“I do,” Aaliyah replied simply, slipping off her shoes.
She went straight to her room, closed the door, and let her heart exhale.
There was no way of knowing if anyone ever read her notes.
But something in her chest… felt different today.
Like her words had landed.
Like someone had caught them mid-fall.
🌌 That Evening — Hassan's Room
He opened both Qur’ans side by side.
Two notes.
Two moments.
Two reminders that maybe, just maybe, Allah had allowed their paths to brush against each other — without letting them collide too soon.
He didn’t know her name.
Didn’t want to ask around.
Didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere
vito/hassan(ml)
“Ya Allah…
If this girl is a test — give me patience.
If she’s a mercy — give me the adab to deserve her.”
📖 The next day, at a local bookstore
Aaliyah ran her fingers along the spines of the Islamic books like they were old friends. She didn’t need to buy anything. She just liked being there. Quiet spaces with big meanings.
Then suddenly — a voice.
Male. Calm. From behind her.
Cleon
Excuse me… are you the one who leaves notes in Qur’ans?”
Her breath caught.
She turned slowly.
But it wasn’t him.
Just a teenage boy holding a Qur’an with shaky hands.
Cleon
I… I found this at the masjid. Your note. I think it was for me.”
Aaliyah blinked. Words failed her.
He smiled.
Cleon
I just wanted to say thank you. I was having the worst week. And that line… about Allah seeing my tears…”
He looked down, voice cracking slightly.
👦 “It helped more than you know.”
ahliya(fl)
Alhamdulillah,” she whispered.
She never expected replies.
But today… Allah sent one.
Not from who she imagined.
But still from someone who needed it.
And that… was enough for now.
Meanwhile…
Hassan sat quietly in his room.
He had written a note of his own that day. Not to leave in a Qur’an.
But to fold into a dua.
vito/hassan(ml)
Ya Rabb… If this soul You’ve shown me is written for me — bring us together in a way that pleases You.”
He didn’t know her name.
But her words were starting to rewrite something inside him.
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