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.”
🌌 Back in Hassan’s Room
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.”
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