SWNOVELXO Chapter 6: Chapter - 6
Got it! Here's the plan: I'll now begin w
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Found in the Quiet
"And He found you lost and guided you."
— Surah Ad-Duha (93:7)
The rain had been falling since dawn.
Not in angry torrents, but in soft, rhythmic drops — like the sky was humming a lullaby. The city outside their apartment windows was half-asleep. Streetlights still blinked against puddled roads, and trees swayed gently, their wet leaves whispering to one another. Fatima watched from behind the curtain, wrapped in her soft brown shawl, hijab already pinned in place although she wasn't planning to leave just yet.
Her room smelled like cardamom and coffee — the kind Baba brewed every morning before work.
The living room echoed with the sounds of breakfast being set. Her mother's quiet humming. The soft clinks of cups. A foreign land, yes — but a familiar morning.
Fatima bent slightly and picked up her Qur'an from the side table. It had been her habit lately: one ayah, every morning. She didn't rush. She didn't chase completion. She let every word sink — like water to dry earth.
"And He found you lost, and guided you."
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Was she lost?
No. Not in a way people could see. But perhaps in quiet ways, she hadn't yet learned to name.
That week, college had been a blur. She had stayed busy — with assignments, a minor economics presentation, and hours spent in the campus library. No unexpected run-ins. No side glances. No flutters in her chest.
And yet, that one conversation with Ehsan — brief and respectfully distant — kept rewinding in her memory like a bookmarked page. The way he'd spoken about sincerity. The way he hadn't lingered, hadn't crossed a line. There was nothing dramatic, nothing cinematic. Just the kind of moment that made you pause days later and wonder, why did that stay with me?
Baba called from the kitchen.
"Fatima beta, coffee is getting cold."
"I'm coming," she said, grabbing her notebook and sliding her Qur'an back into its place.
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Later that Day
The family had planned a small outing to a nearby museum. Fatima's younger brother, Zayan who is 13 years old, had a school project on historical trade, and her mother had found a local gallery exhibit that focused on Islamic contributions to early global commerce.
The gallery was part of a cultural center, nestled between a public park and an independent bookstore. The building was modern, all glass and quiet lighting, with delicate calligraphy etched into its walls.
Fatima wore her usual: a full-length navy blue abaya, light grey hijab pinned securely under her chin. She moved modestly, never loud, never rushing. It wasn't just her clothing that covered her — it was the way she carried herself. She avoided drawing attention. She didn't pose for selfies with Zayan. When a group of loud teenagers brushed past, she instinctively stepped closer to her mother.
As they entered the gallery, she was drawn to a painting — not the art itself, but the quote beneath it.
"Character is the true currency of legacy."
She scribbled it into her notebook.
"You always write the weirdest quotes," Zayan whispered.
She smiled. "One day, when you're older, they'll make sense."
They walked further in. At one point, her father paused to greet someone — a familiar face from the Friday prayer circle at the community mosque.
And that's when it happened.
From the other side of the exhibit hall, Fatima saw a man step into view, nodding politely to the same uncle her father had just spoken to.
She knew him instantly.
Ehsan.
Dressed in a charcoal sweater and tailored black coat, holding a leather folder under one arm.
She turned her face slightly, not wanting to be rude — not wanting to seem obvious. But it was too late.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
But it was a second wrapped in respect. He didn't smile, didn't wave. Instead, he offered a barely-there nod, acknowledging her presence like a professional would a peer.
And then he walked toward the gallery staff — clearly there for a different reason.
Fatima's heart thudded louder than necessary.
Why here? Why now? This wasn't college. This wasn't "planned." Just art, history, and coincidence.
Her father leaned over. "Do you know him?"
She nodded hesitantly. "He is the University's owner's son."
Her father's brows rose slightly. "Well, he seems like he comes from good values. Very polite."
She didn't say anything more.
Because she didn't know what more there was to say.
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Later That Night
She stood at her window, a journal open on the ledge.
"Ya Allah… you bring people together in ways I never understand. Let me never mistake coincidence for intention. Let me always guard my heart before I give it room to wander."
Downstairs, Baba turned off the lights in the kitchen.
Her mother was folding laundry in the other room.
The world outside had quieted again.
And just like the ayah that morning had said… maybe being lost wasn't always a loud thing. Sometimes it was simply wondering what the next right step should be — and trusting Allah enough to wait until He revealed it.
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