CHOSEN BY AR-REHMAN

The sunlight that morning filtered through my curtains like golden threads. Fajr had wrapped my heart in calmness, and the world outside was gently stirring to life. Birds chirped near my window as I tied my hijab, whispering the duas Mumma taught me.

"Ya Allah, guard my eyes, my words, and my intentions. Let me walk today with You in every step."

At university, things had returned to their usual rhythm — at least from the outside.

Students rushing between classes. The café buzzing with laughter. Friends waving across the campus courtyard. Professors hurrying in with tablets and coffee cups.

But inside me… something was different.

Not chaotic. Not romantic.

Just… quieter than before.

Lily was unusually cheerful.

"You know today's youth seminar, right? He's coming again."

"Who?" I asked, genuinely unsure.

"Fatimaaa," she dragged my name dramatically. "You know who. Ehsan."

"Oh," I said, trying to sound unaffected. "Well, he's here to give his seminar. That's all."

She tilted her head. "You really think so?"

I nodded. "Yes. I think we're just overthinking. He's one of the company leads. He probably looks at everyone the same. He's not here for me."

Lily stayed quiet for a second.

Then smiled.

"Maybe you're right."

But part of me wasn't sure if I believed it anymore.

That afternoon, the event began. It was a seminar on innovation, entrepreneurship, and leading in the global market. I was one of the volunteers — my role was simple: registration and guiding guests.

I stood near the welcome desk, flipping through the attendance sheets.

And then I heard his voice.

Calm. Professional. Familiar.

"Excuse me… Fatima?"

I turned, slowly.

Ehsan stood there, holding a clipboard.

Not nervous. Not flirty. Just respectful and direct.

"Yes?" I replied, surprised he knew my name.

"There's been a last-minute change in the presentation. We need someone from the student panel to give a brief summary during the closing session. Your name was suggested."

I blinked. "Why mine?"

He paused. "Because they said your communication style is clear and grounded. That's rare."

I looked away, heart suddenly uneasy. Was this happening? Was I being pulled into something I didn't want to feel?

But I nodded. "Okay. I'll do it."

"Thank you," he said kindly, offering a respectful nod before turning to leave.

He didn't linger. He didn't stare.

He walked away like he came — respectfully.

And I stood there, confused not by him… but by myself.

Later that evening, I sat in the quiet study corner of our home. My Qur'an was open, but my eyes were closed.

"Ya Allah… if this is from You, let it come in clarity. If not, erase it before it roots. Don't let my heart chase what's not written. Don't let my mind decorate what is only meant to pass."

That same night, in his own apartment, Ehsan sat with his laptop shut and his hands over his face, lost in thought.

"Ya Allah… I don't know her beyond the basics. But I respect her presence. If my heart is noticing her, let it do so through You. Not before. Not without Your blessing."

The next day at the university, things felt back to normal again.

Classes resumed. Assignments piled. The cafeteria filled with international accents and casual stress. Lily ranted about a professor's long-winded lecture. I laughed along.

And for a moment, I almost forgot the feeling of being noticed.

"He probably speaks this way to all students. I'm just another face. It's foolish to let anything grow from a moment."

So I went back to reading, researching, writing.

And he… went back to conducting workshops, giving lectures, and doing what he always did — encouraging students to lead with vision, innovation, and clarity.

But beneath all the normalcy, there were two hearts making quiet dua.

Not for love. Not for a person.

But for peace.

And whatever story Allah might write — if any at all.

End of Chapter 4