The night had begun quietly.
Inside Mrs Donghyun's spacious house, ninety-seven girls were settling into their designated spaces, each separated by curtains that offered them privacy while allowing everyone to remain part of the same gathering.
Zoya sat on her prayer mat, her white dress falling neatly around her as she raised her hands for the opening takbeer of her night prayer.
Allahu Akbar.
The world outside seemed to fade away.
She had come here with the intention of dedicating these blessed last ten nights of Ramadan to Allah—to spend them in worship, reflection, repentance, and prayer, making the most of every precious moment.
Yet, as she moved through her prayer, a familiar thought kept returning to her mind.
The girls outside.
Minji, Sophia, Hana, and Ruhi.
They had taken responsibility for arranging everything for all ninety-seven girls inside. Preparing food was one thing; ensuring that ninety-seven individual meals reached ninety-seven girls on time was something else entirely.
After completing her prayer, Zoya lowered her gaze to the Qur'an resting before her.
Allah, please make things easy for them.
A faint smile touched her lips.
She had come here to dedicate these nights to worship, and already her heart was trying to follow her friends outside.
But she trusted them. She knew Minji was responsible, and the others would never leave her alone with so much work.
Zoya wanted to let go of the unnecessary worries and place her trust where it belonged.
She took a slow breath and returned to her recitation.
The hours passed almost without her noticing.
One prayer flowed into another. Some girls recited the Qur'an softly, others sat in quiet remembrance, and a few reviewed the schedule prepared for the gathering. Now and then, the gentle rustle of a page or the faint movement of someone adjusting her prayer mat broke the silence.
There was no rush inside the hall.
Each girl was simply trying, in her own way, to make these nights meaningful.
And before Zoya realised how quickly the time had passed, it was almost iftar.
Ten Minutes Before Iftar
Zoya was reading when a soft knock sounded at the main hall door.
The door had a curtain in front of it, preserving the privacy of the girls inside. The knock was their agreed signal: the team outside had arrived with the iftar boxes.
Minji and the others were here.
Zoya glanced towards the clock.
Ten minutes remained before iftar.
Relief washed over her, followed by the practical urgency of making sure every girl received her meal in time.
A hand appeared around the edge of the curtain, holding the first box. It was placed carefully inside before another was passed through, followed by another and another.
There were ninety-seven girls to serve.
Zoya rose at once. Ji-hye joined her without needing to be asked, and a few other girls came forward to help.
They began passing the boxes along the rows, carrying each one to its designated place.
"Careful, there's a water bottle beside that mat," Zoya whispered as she handed a box to one of the girls.
Ji-hye checked the arrangement and pointed towards the next space.
"This one goes there."
From behind the curtain, Minji continued handing over the boxes. Zoya couldn't see her face, but she could imagine it perfectly: focused eyes, hurried hands, and that determined expression she wore whenever she had decided to get something done.
At last, the final few boxes came through.
Minji's voice reached them from the other side.
"I'm sorry. We're a little late today. Everything became so hectic. We kept thinking we would finish sooner, but there was so much to arrange. Tomorrow, we'll make sure everything reaches you on time."
Zoya paused, holding the last box.
Her eyes grew moist.
It wasn't sadness.
It was love.
She loved those girls for trying so hard, for taking care of people who weren't even standing beside them, and for quietly accepting a responsibility that was far bigger than a single meal.
She felt grateful that Allah had placed such people in her life.
Zoya didn't call Minji back. There would be time to speak to her later.
For now, she carried the warmth of that moment in her heart.
One by one, the girls returned to their designated places. Then, as though following an unspoken understanding, they began moving their curtains aside.
The transformation was immediate.
What had been ninety-seven separate little spaces now appeared like one enormous gathering, with rows of prayer mats, carefully placed iftar boxes, water bottles, and girls dressed in white.
The soft indoor lighting caught the white fabric, giving the hall a gentle brightness.
For a moment, Zoya simply looked around.
Different nationalities. Different languages. Different journeys.
Yet, at that moment, all of them were waiting for the same thing.
The call to prayer.
A speaker near the front of the hall crackled softly.
"Dear sisters, iftar time is approaching. Please make sure your boxes are within reach. We will break our fast together when the call is heard."
The girls settled down.
Some checked their dates, while others opened their water bottles. A girl nearby adjusted the lid of her container, and another quietly reminded her neighbour to leave the food closed until the time arrived.
Zoya opened her own iftar box.
Inside were three dates, a small bottle of water, two tiny Korean vegetable pancakes, and a modest portion of fresh fruit. The meal had deliberately been kept light, giving their bodies a gentle beginning after a full day without food or water. There was no need to overwhelm their stomachs when Maghrib prayer and a proper dinner still lay ahead.
She glanced around one final time.
Everyone was ready.
For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to stop worrying about the people outside.
They have done their part. Now I should do mine.
Breaking the Fast
The adhan for Maghrib began to echo through the speaker.
The hall fell silent.
Hands reached for dates. Heads lowered. The girls began in the name of Allah.
"Bismillah."
Zoya picked up a date and took a small bite.
Together, they recited the dua for breaking their fast, thanking Allah for giving them the strength to complete another day of fasting.
After a day without eating or drinking, even something so simple felt precious.
There was no loud conversation or hurried movement. Some girls closed their eyes as they made dua; others sat quietly with their hands raised, their faces softened by gratitude.
Zoya lowered her hands.
Alhamdulillah.
The word came from somewhere deeper than her voice.
She was grateful for the food before her, for the people who had prepared it, and for the quiet privilege of being here during these blessed nights.
After a few minutes, the girls finished their light refreshments and began preparing for Maghrib (evening prayer) prayer.
The small sounds of iftar gradually faded, and the hall returned to silence as they stood together for prayer.
After Maghrib, the evening unfolded gently.
Some girls remained seated, reciting the Qur'an. Others occupied themselves with dhikr, repeating familiar words of remembrance at their own pace. A few quietly reviewed the duas they wished to make during the last ten nights.
Zoya returned to her space and opened her Qur'an.
This time, she tried not to look at the clock.
She read a few verses, paused to reflect on their meaning, and continued. Whenever her attention wandered, she gently brought it back.
The evening no longer felt divided into separate tasks. There was only the quiet rhythm of prayer, recitation, remembrance, and reflection.
Before long, the time for Isha approached.
The adhan sounded, marking the beginning of the time for the night prayer. Unlike the earlier prayers, Isha did not have to be offered the very moment its adhan was heard; there was time to perform it before Fajr. The girls had been given a little time after the adhan to have dinner, settle themselves, and prepare for prayer without rushing through their meal.
Zoya glanced at the clock.
She had barely noticed the time passing.
Perhaps these nights really would pass before she knew it.
She wanted to remember them—not by counting every hour, but by being present for each one.
A little later, another knock sounded at the main hall door.
The familiar curtain remained in place. A hand appeared around its edge, carrying the first dinner box.
Then came the next.
And the next.
Minji's team had returned.
This time, the boxes contained a complete but balanced Korean-style halal dinner: steamed rice, mild soy-garlic chicken prepared with halal ingredients, vegetable japchae, and a light seaweed soup packed separately in a sealed cup.
The food was filling without being unnecessarily heavy, carefully prepared for girls who still had a long night of prayer ahead of them.
Zoya rose again.
Ji-hye was already beside her.
Neither needed to say much. They simply began passing the boxes along the rows, checking that everyone received one.
The task felt easier this time. The girls knew where each box belonged, and the process moved along with a quiet rhythm.
When the last box had been distributed, Ji-hye returned to her place, and Zoya followed.
The curtain settled behind them.
The girls began opening their dinner boxes, and the soft fragrance of warm rice and sesame drifted through the hall.
Zoya took a small sip of water before speaking.
"If any of you isn't hungry enough for dinner right now, please don't feel obligated to eat. You can save your meal for later. There's a refrigerator and a microwave in the kitchen, so you can store your food safely and warm it whenever you're ready."
A few girls looked up, listening attentively.
"We've scheduled dinner at this time because the people outside have been working hard to arrange everything for us. We don't want to make things difficult for them by asking for meals at different times. But that doesn't mean you have to force yourself to eat when you're not hungry."
She paused before adding, "There's also a wash area in the kitchen where you can wash and dry your belongings. Just try to keep the noise down so the girls around you aren't disturbed. We're all sharing this space, so let's take care of one another, all right?"
Several girls smiled and nodded.
Some had understood her English perfectly, while others exchanged uncertain glances. Ji-hye noticed and gently repeated the arrangements in Korean.
This time, everyone nodded in agreement.
Satisfied, Zoya lowered her gaze and picked up a small piece of food from her box.
She had barely taken her first bite when she heard her name.
"Zoya…"
The voice was so hesitant that she almost missed it.
She lifted her head.
A Korean girl was sitting a short distance away, holding her dinner box in her lap. The number 93 was printed on her identification card.
There was something uncertain in her expression, as though she had been gathering the courage to speak for some time but still wasn't sure how to begin.
Zoya set her food down.
"Yes?" she asked softly. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"
The girl looked at Zoya's face. The warmth in her smile seemed to reassure her.
She drew a small breath.
"I'm not Muslim," Seoyeon admitted quietly. "But I wanted to come here."
Zoya looked at her in surprise.
She asked gently. "Why did you want to come here, Seoyeon?"
The unexpected question made Seoyeon hesitate. She glanced at the girls sitting around her, then looked back at Zoya.
"Are you upset with me?" she asked nervously. "Because I came here and sat among all of you?"
Zoya's expression softened immediately.
"Not at all! Why would we be upset with you? You've come here as a guest of Allah. If Allah has allowed us to welcome you, then we're the lucky ones."
Seoyeon stared at her for a moment, surprised by the sincerity in her words.
A few girls looked curious, but no one showed displeasure. Gradually, the tension in Seoyeon's shoulders eased.
Zoya tilted her head slightly.
"Now tell me. Why did you want to come here?"
Seoyeon lowered her gaze, a small smile appearing as she recalled something that had happened months ago.
"For the past six months, I've been living next door to a Muslim family. There's a girl my age in that family. Her name is Ayat."
She paused briefly before continuing.
"One day, I went to their house. Ayat was sitting quietly, reading something. I didn't understand a single word, but I stopped talking when I heard her reciting it."
Seoyeon looked up, searching for the right words.
"I don't know how to explain it. I couldn't understand what she was saying, but I wanted to keep listening."
A few girls leaned forward slightly.
"The next day, I went to see her again. I asked her what she had been reading. She told me it was the Holy Book."
Seoyeon's fingers moved nervously against the edge of her dinner box.
"After that, whenever I visited and she was reading, I'd sit nearby and listen. Sometimes, I asked her what certain words meant. I couldn't understand the language, so Ayat would explain the meaning to me in Korean."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Six months passed like that. I still have so much I don't understand. But the more I learned, the more I wanted to know."
Her eyes returned to Zoya.
"Then I heard about this place. Ayat was supposed to come here, but I asked her if I could take her place instead."
Zoya listened without interrupting.
"At first, Ayat refused, but…" Seoyeon gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "I couldn't give her a proper answer. I only told her that I wanted to see this place for myself, meet the people who came here, and understand what made these nights so special to them."
Her voice grew quieter.
Seoyeon looked around at the girls in their white dresses, the dinner boxes resting before them, and the peaceful hall that had become their shared space.
"But now that I'm here…"
She stopped, unable to finish the thought.
For a moment, she looked at Zoya, uncertain of what to say next.
Zoya noticed the way Seoyeon was looking at her, as though she were waiting for a response. She lowered her gaze briefly, almost embarrassed by the attention, then looked up again with a faint, emotional smile.
"Please… don't look at me like that."
She paused, searching their faces.
"I'm not someone who has already found every answer. I'm searching, too."
Her smile grew a little warmer.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Seoyeon looked up.
"Zoya…"
Zoya was just about to rise, intending to take her untouched dinner box to the kitchen, when Seoyeon's voice stopped her again.
She turned back.
There was something different in Seoyeon's eyes now. The uncertainty was still there, but beneath it lay a quiet determination that made Zoya's expression change instantly.
"Will you take me with you on this journey… to find the True Light?" Seoyeon asked hesitantly.
Then, clasping her fingers together, she added, "I promise I won't be a nuisance."
Zoya stared at her for a moment.
A faint shiver ran through her body.
For the second time.
The first had been at the Central Mosque, in front of Mr. Donghyun, when she had witnessed a couple setting out on their own journey towards the True Light.
And now…
The same feeling had returned.
This time, there was a soul standing before her—one that had travelled through questions, curiosity, and countless quiet moments of searching until it had finally arrived at this point.
Zoya's eyes filled with tears.
"Seoyeon…" Her voice trembled slightly. "Your journey didn't begin today."
Seoyeon looked at her.
"The day you asked Ayat to let you come here… the day you chose to search for the answers to your questions instead of ignoring them—that was the day you became a traveller upon the Sirat." A tearful smile touched Zoya's lips. "Today, you're simply giving a voice to the search that has already begun in your heart."
Then Zoya stepped forward and drew Seoyeon into her arms.
The hall fell completely silent.
Seoyeon closed her eyes. Zoya held her close, her own tears slipping down her cheeks.
When they drew apart, Zoya gently guided Seoyeon through the words she needed to say.
No one interrupted them.
The moment was too delicate for unnecessary words.
Zoya spoke softly, giving Seoyeon time to listen, understand, and find the courage to speak for herself.
It was more than a sequence of words being spoken. It was an acknowledgement rising from somewhere deep within—a heart recognising the direction in which it wished to turn.
Seoyeon listened.
Her lips trembled, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Yet she didn't lower her gaze. This time, she wasn't listening merely to understand someone else.
She was listening for herself.
And then, within that peaceful silence, Seoyeon's voice joined Zoya's.
Soft. Tremulous. But unmistakably her own.
She repeated the words.
No one applauded. No one tried to fill the moment with their own voice. Among the girls gathered in the hall, silence settled like a quiet witness. Some lowered their eyes, while others watched through tears, each heart receiving the moment in its own way.
Zoya gently took Seoyeon's hand between both of hers.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Seoyeon had come here because she wanted to understand what had drawn her towards this place. She had arrived carrying questions she could barely explain, uncertain whether she belonged among people whose journey seemed to have begun long before hers.
Now, standing before Zoya, she no longer needed to pretend that she had all the answers.
She had simply taken her next step.
And there, in that little hall, surrounded by dinner boxes and the quiet presence of so many girls, a soul that had once arrived with nothing more than a question had finally given voice to her search.
She had asked her friend for a place at this gathering. Perhaps, without even realising it, her heart had been searching for a path that reached far beyond that place.
To be continued...
Regards,
ZK💌