Episode 5 – The Question

Layla was restless.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, phone in hand, scrolling endlessly through social media, but none of it stuck. Pictures of parties, influencers flaunting their outfits, endless videos of people laughing and posing—it all felt like a performance. Normally, she’d scroll with envy or hunger, desperate to dive back into that same glamorous cycle. Tonight, it felt like noise.

She tossed her phone aside and buried her face in her hands.

Why am I thinking about him again?

Omar’s words replayed in her mind like a stubborn echo.

“Peace isn’t boring.”

“No one is too far gone for Allah’s mercy.”

Every time she tried to drown them out with music, the silence that followed felt heavier. Every time she considered calling her friends for another night out, she hesitated. She wasn’t ready to face more flashing lights and shallow laughter—not tonight.

Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye. Makeup still smudged from earlier, hair tangled, last night’s dress tossed carelessly over the chair. She frowned at herself.

For the first time in years, she didn’t like what she saw.

She needed answers.

---

It was almost noon the next day when she found herself walking the same park path where she’d seen him last. Her heart thudded as her eyes darted between benches. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t be there. The other part—the louder one—was desperate that he would.

And then, as though the universe—or something greater—was listening, she spotted him.

Omar sat under the same tree, book in hand, posture straight. His calm presence was so steady it made her restless by contrast. She exhaled sharply and marched toward him before she could change her mind.

“You again,” she said, folding her arms as she stopped in front of him.

Omar looked up briefly. “Peace be upon you.”

“There it is,” she muttered, dropping onto the bench beside him. “Your magic phrase.”

He closed his book with care, slipping the ribbon into place. “It’s a prayer of peace. Not magic.”

Layla rolled her eyes, though the corners of her lips twitched. “Do you ever say anything normal? Like hey, or what’s up?”

“I prefer what carries meaning,” he replied simply.

She sighed, leaning back. “You really don’t break character, do you?”

“This isn’t a character,” Omar said gently. “It’s who I am.”

That silence again. Heavy, but not uncomfortable. Layla chewed her lip, staring at the kids playing with a ball nearby.

Finally, she blurted out, “Why?”

Omar tilted his head. “Why what?”

“Why are you like this?” she asked, turning to him. “Why do you… not drink, not party, not… live like everyone else? You’re not boring, I’ll give you that, but you’re so… different. Why?”

Omar’s gaze softened. He rested his hands on his knees, thoughtful before he answered. “Because I live for Allah. Because everything in this world—pleasure, money, people—it all fades. What doesn’t fade is Him.”

Layla frowned. “That sounds… exhausting.”

“It’s the opposite,” he said quietly. “It’s freeing.”

“Freeing?” She let out a sharp laugh. “Come on. You follow rules, right? You can’t drink, can’t eat certain things, can’t even… touch girls. That doesn’t sound freeing. That sounds like prison.”

Omar smiled faintly. “Prison is being chained to your desires and never satisfied. Freedom is discipline that brings peace.”

The words lodged in her chest. She scoffed to cover it. “You and your peace again.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Because peace is worth everything.”

Layla shifted uncomfortably, picking at her nails. “And what, you think I don’t have peace?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His silence wasn’t judgmental; it was patient, as though giving her space to fill it herself.

She let out a shaky laugh. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know that your eyes look tired,” he said gently. “And I know you keep asking questions, which means your heart is searching.”

Her throat tightened. She looked away quickly. “You really should stop saying stuff like that. Makes me feel… exposed.”

“I’m not exposing you,” Omar replied softly. “Maybe your heart is just uncovering itself.”

Layla clenched her fists, torn between snapping at him and… crying. She chose sarcasm instead. “You should be a motivational speaker.”

“I don’t want to motivate,” he said. “I want to remind.”

“Remind of what?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“That you were created for more than the world tells you.”

The words stilled her completely. Her chest ached, her mind buzzing with thoughts she didn’t want to face. She swallowed hard, forcing a smirk back onto her lips. “You really don’t stop, do you?”

“No,” Omar said. “Because life doesn’t stop.”

She laughed weakly, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But sometimes, impossible is just the first step to change.”

Layla stared at him, silent, her walls crumbling just a little. For the first time in years, she didn’t feel like performing, didn’t feel like putting on an act. She just… sat there. Vulnerable.

And Omar, true to his nature, didn’t take advantage. He just sat beside her, steady as always, letting her fight her own storm.

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That night, Layla didn’t go to the club.

Her phone buzzed with invites—Marissa begging her to come out, another friend sending selfies from the bar, promises of shots waiting for her. Layla stared at the screen, thumb hovering.

Then she turned it off and set it face down.

She sat in silence instead, staring at the night sky outside her window. For the first time in years, she wondered if she’d been searching in all the wrong places.

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