Written in Duas

They met in the most ordinary way—after Jumu’ah, near the shoe racks of the masjid

.Maryam had misplaced one sandal. Ahmed waited quietly while she searched, then gently held up a matching pair.

“I think this is yours,” he said, lowering his gaze.

That was all.

No numbers exchanged. No long conversation. Just a moment of kindness that stayed with both of them longer than expected.

Weeks passed. They saw each other again and again—always in public, always respectful. A simple Assalamu alaikum. A polite nod. Yet every time, Maryam felt her heart soften. She began making a dua she never spoke out loud:

“Ya Allah, if this feeling is good for me, protect it. If not, remove it gently.

”Ahmed made a similar dua, unknown to her.

He admired her modesty, her calm presence, the way she stayed behind to help clean the prayer area. He didn’t rush his feelings. Instead, he worked on himself—his prayers, his character, his intentions.

Months later, Ahmed spoke to the imam.

“I don’t want a relationship,” he said. “I want barakah.”

When the proposal came, it came with dignity. Families spoke. Questions were asked. Silence was respected. Istikhara was prayed.

On the day of their nikah, Maryam’s hands trembled—not from fear, but from gratitude. All those nights of patience. All those unanswered questions.

All those quiet duas.

They had waited.After the nikah, Ahmed whispered, “I loved you before I was allowed to. So I asked Allah to hold my heart until it was halal.

”Maryam’s eyes filled with tears.

Because the purest love isn’t rushed.

It’s trusted to Allah.

And what is written in duas is never lost.