It was a stressful friday in school.. I came back very weak
and tired,with hunger pangs gnawing at the wall of my
stomach..
.
I lazily fell on my bed,trying to gather up some strength
before looking for what to eat.
.
Then nature took me by surprise..
.
Kpom! kpom.. I heard a slow and steady knock on my
door,which weakly woke me up from sleep..
.
I opened my eyes and was stormed.. The whole room was
dark. I searched for my phone,which I found wrapped up in
my bed sheet..
.
I checked the time,it was 8.49pm at that moment,the same
knock came again..
.
I sluggishly stood up from my big family sized winco
foam,perfectly placed on one corner of my room..
.
I headed for the door with the help of light flashing out from
the screen of my phone..
.
I cluelessly unbolted my door without demanding to know
who was knocking..
.
There stood Stephanie,hands in her jean bum-short
pocket,smiling at me..
.
Stephanie was an attractive female,who caught my fancy
right from the very first day I packed into the new lodge
(Hostel).. She was my opposite door neighbour. Unlike
most girls,she kept to herself. She also had a roommate who
helped in adding salt to her non socializing life..
.
I was able to see her on my first day in the lodge because of
water issue and everybody was forced to come down and
fetch water from the General lodge tap…
.
Since then, I never set my eyes on her till this. very night…
.
To be continued in Episode 2:- https://043nobs.com.ng/2019/07/07/power-of-love-episode-2/

woke up startled as the adhan went off on my phone. Looking at the clock on my night stand, I let out a yawn. 4:30am. Much to my dismay, I forced myself to get out of bed and head to the bathroom so that I could make wudu.
After I made wudu I woke up everyone else in my family. At least those who were old enough to pray. I went into my room, spread out my beautifully designed black prayer mat (which had been a gift from my best friend) and began fajr (morning) prayer.
Praying Fajr at four in the morning was kind of my way of proving to myself and Allah that I could resist the deviant plots of shaytan (devil). It was, in a way, a victory against shaytan. After my fajr prayer, just like I did after every salah, I made dua.
Dua is one of the most powerful tools a Muslim has in their possession. Many of us don’t realize it, but simply sitting there for a minute or two talking to Allah is one of best and easiest ways to get closer Him. Even if He didn’t answer my duas right in that moment I knew that He had heard me and that my bond with Him had been made stronger.
“May Allah forgive me for all my shortcomings and guide me to be a good Muslim. May Allah continue to watch over and protect us. Oh Allah bless me with a righteous and pious husband who is filled with laughter, love, taqwa ( piety, fear of God) and sincerity and who loves you more than life itself. My Allah help those who are suffering and in need of His assistance. May Allah help those who are lost and in need of His guidance. Ameen”.
The calm and peace that washed over me afterwards was instantaneous. Praying and making Dua always had that impact on me and with that I began to get ready for school. It was Monday so I had sociology (which I sort of kind of found interesting) and math (which I absolutely dreaded).
I was never one to care for fashion. I usually went with whatever looked cute and clean enough to be worn outside. However, that did not mean that I was a complete and total slob who just wore whatever. Black always seemed to be my default color, so I went with a long sleeve black dress, a gray hijab (headscarf) and a black jacket. Spring in Portland wasn’t exactly the kindest, so a girl had to be prepared.
Once I was all set, I went to get some breakfast and found my mom already in the kitchen making tea. As a Somali I was convinced I was genetically predisposed to loving tea and I didn’t mind that one bit.
“Subax wanaagsan,” I smiled wishing her a good morning. “Where’s aabe?” I asked taking a sip of my tea. She told me in Somali that he had gone to work after praying fajr.
After breakfast I grabbed my bag and said goodbye to my mother who came after me a minute later because I had forgotten my bus pass.
I thanked her began walking to the train station, but not before saying bismillah. I didn’t have my license so I used public transportation to get to and from school. It was very convenient and useful because I could sit on the train and study or read one of the many books I checked out but never seem to have time to read anymore. My train pulled into the station while I was lost in thought.
Once at school, I walked to the library to print out the power points for my first class of the day. By the time I got to class he was already at his seat looking down at his face. I couldn’t help but feel my cheeks flush at the mere thought of him. I took my regular seat right behind him and next to my friend. She gave me a knowing smile and he looked back and our eyes met.
“Assalamu’Alaikum,” he said softly
“Wa’alaikum salam,” I responded shyly.
“How are you?” he asked putting his phone down on his desk.
“I’m good. Alhamdullilah. How are you?” I asked in return.
“Alhamdullilah, I’m good as well,” he replied.
I could tell he wanted to say something else but the professor walked in before he had the chance to. It was hard to hide the disappointment in my face. As much as I liked knowledge I found it hard to focus on sociology for two reasons: 1) because I didn’t find it to be that interesting and 2) it was kind of hard to focus on anyone or anything else when he sat right in front of me with that darn cologne of his.
When it came to smelling good, subtly was the way to go, but the strong cologne his body omitted told me he had a different theory. Nonetheless I forced myself to stay focused and not allow my education to suffer because of a cute boy. After my sociology class I didn’t bother waiting for him, because I knew by the time class was out he would be surrounded by his friends and I knew myself well enough to know I didn’t have the guts to talk to him let alone even approach him.
Instead, I walked to my next class with my friend who’s class was also in the same building as mine. My math class was only ninety minutes long, but it felt like it was longer. Every time I walked out of that class more confused than ever. She was a nice a teacher, but her teaching style didn’t exactly mesh with my learning style.
After class was over, it was time to pray dhuhur. Instead of going home to pray late I decided it would be best to pray in school. I went to the library and found the small spot that I usually prayed in and set my jacket down as I didn’t have a prayer mat. I looked around to make sure there weren’t too many people around. Praying public always left me feeling awkward and even though I was somewhat used to it, the awkwardness that came with it never really disappeared.
After I finished my prayer I made my dua and began walking the five blocks to the train station. This was a usual routine for me. I was so busy with school that I barely had time to do anything else. On the rare occasion that I had the opportunity to do something different I would go out with my best friend to starbucks and catch up as we walked around downtown sipping our expensive and less than delicious coffee.
As I walked in through the door, my little brother ran up to me, as he usually did, and gave me a big hug. My sister was at school and so was my other brother. My mom was upstairs cleaning something as she always did to keep herself busy. Since she only worked on the weekends she had the rest of the week off to stay home and do whatever she liked and for her that was constantly rearranging the house and moving things all over the place.
“I like to keep busy,” she had said one day when I found her rearranging the living room.
If my hunch was correct she was probably up in her and my dad’s room moving around the furniture. I took off my shoes to go check and sure enough there she was in her baati (Somali dress) reorganizing things. I said hi to her as I went to my room to get changed and get started on my homework, but first I made sure to read the Qur’an. I tried to make reading at least five ayas a day a habit. Five ayas may not have seemed like much to some people, but I looked forward to reading them because, once again, having that strong connection with my creator was far more important to me than anything else.

CONTINUE READING CHAPTER 2:-
https://gawabuy.com/marriage-arrangement-chapter-2/