Zoya stepped out of the mosque and sat down on the wide stone stairs outside. People were everywhere. On one side, a family had spread a carpet, laughing softly and sharing food as if it were a picnic. On the other side, a few people sat quietly on the steps, just like Zoya—alone, lost in their own thoughts. The air carried an Eid-like feeling, warm and alive, full of quiet joy.
She lifted her head and looked up at the mosque gate. Above it, in Arabic letters, were written the words Allahu Akbar — (Allah is the Greatest). At night, the words glowed with artificial lights, but now, in the soft glow of sunrise, they shone differently. It felt as if the light wasn't just touching the mosque, but spreading over the whole of Seoul.
Zoya reached into her bag and took out the lunch Mrs. Han had given her. As she was about to take out her phone to call Minji, her fingers froze.
The phone wasn't there.
She checked again. Once. Twice. Then again, more urgently. The calm she had been holding onto slipped away. This time, her face revealed genuine concern.
It was in my hand when I left home… I remember putting it in my bag… then where did it go?
Her thoughts ran in circles. She forgot about the food, closed the lunch box, and pushed it back into her bag. Drawing her knees close, she rested her head on them and sat still. After a few minutes, she lifted her head, took a deep breath, and silently pulled the box out again. She began eating the fried chicken, slowly, mechanically. When she finished, she wiped her hands with a tissue and put everything away.
Now calmer, she sat quietly, watching people pass by—children running, elders talking, families resting.
If I could come back safely from a place like DMC last night, she told herself, and now I'm sitting in a mosque… how can I panic? How can I think I'm lost?
When it was time for Asr(the third prayer of the day), Zoya went back inside and prayed. Some families were still there, as if they spent the entire Friday within these walls. After the prayer, she picked up a Qur'an and began reciting. Her voice was silent, but her heart felt full.
After some time, she turned to leave.
That was when she saw them.
A boy and a girl entered through the mosque entrance. The boy wore jeans and a casual shirt. The girl wore blue jeans, a white top, and a small scarf loosely covering her head. Zoya stopped where she was and watched them. They walked straight to the imam and sat down in front of him. The imam's calm expression made it seem as though he had been waiting for them.
Zoya was seated at a distance—close enough to see, but too far to hear.
The imam smiled. Then he turned toward the girl and began to recite something. The girl's back was toward Zoya, but it was clear—she was repeating the words after him.
A sudden chill ran through Zoya's body.
She understood.
The girl was reciting the KalmaShahada.
Zoya slowly stepped backward, as if her body was retreating before her heart could decide. Her back touched the wall. She slid down until she was sitting on the floor, knees drawn in, shoulders trembling.
And then she broke.
She cried the way people cry when they don't know how to stop—when breath turns into sharp hiccups, when tears blur everything, when the body gives up before the mind can understand what's happening. Her sobs shook her chest. She tried to breathe, but her breath kept breaking. Still, she didn't stop crying.
She didn't know what was happening around her. She didn't know who was passing by or who was watching. She was only crying—pouring out everything she had been holding inside for so long.
Time passed like that.
Then suddenly, a voice reached her ears.
She froze.
Zoya stopped crying mid-breath. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked ahead.
The imam was standing there.
Beside him stood the same boy and girl. No one else was around them now. The mosque felt unusually quiet, as if the world had stepped back to give this moment space.
Realizing how she must look, Zoya felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. She lowered her gaze immediately, her lashes heavy with tears, her hands tightening in her lap.
"What happened?" the imam asked gently."Why are you crying like this, my daughter?"
His voice carried no judgment—only concern.
Zoya raised her eyes for a brief second, just long enough to meet his calm presence. But the weight in her chest was too much. Without saying a word, she lowered her gaze again.
Silence filled the space between them.
Not the uncomfortable kind—but the kind that waits patiently, knowing that some hearts need time before they can speak.
"May Allah grant you both a beautiful life filled with peace and happiness," the imam said, addressing the two of them (Choi Ara and Kim Jiwon).
During his prayer, Zoya stood up. She slipped her bag onto her shoulder and looked at them with a soft smile. Tears welled up in her eyes again, spilling over despite her effort to stay composed.
She stepped forward and held out her hand toward Choi Ara.
"Congratulations to both of you," Zoya said, her voice trembling. "You are so lucky. Not everyone is granted this guidance. Allah gives it only to whom He wills. Today, Allah's special mercy has touched you. You have found Him—and the one who finds Allah becomes deserving of happiness in this world and the next… deserving of Jannah."
Her words poured out without planning, as if her heart had taken control.
"You are like newborns now," she continued softly. "Whatever you were before… whatever you did… It's all washed away. All erased. Your record is empty."
Her voice broke.
"Please… make dua for me. Both of you. You are like newborn babies—pure, free from sin. Allah accepts the prayers of children quickly."
Suddenly, the girl stepped forward and wrapped Zoya in a tight embrace.
"Your heart feels exactly like mine did just a few minutes ago," she whispered. "I don't know how to make dua yet. I don't know the words. But I will say this to God—may He grant your heart the same peace He gave mine today."
They pulled apart, smiling through tears. Choi Ara looked at Zoya once more, her eyes shining, and then the two of them walked away together, disappearing quietly through the mosque doors.
"Come, my child," the imam said gently, pointing toward his place."Sit here."
Then he added, with a soft smile,"And you can call me Lee Donghyun."
Zoya sat down in front of him, her head lowered, hands folded in her lap. She stayed silent.
Lee Donghyun stayed silent too—perhaps waiting for her heart to speak before her lips could.
"I have never had a single impure thought about him," Zoya said after a while, her voice calm and steady. "The first time I saw him, I made a dua. And I have been making that same dua ever since."
Zoya's breath caught.
"Every day, I see on social media. And today, I saw it with my own eyes—hearts changing, souls turning toward truth(zoya pointed towards Choi Ara and Kim Jiwon). No matter what the reason is, people are searching for light… and finding the light that brightens the heart."
Her paused.
"I pray for his heart, too. For his guidance."
Something about Mr. Donghyun's presence felt familiar to Zoya—safe. That sense of belonging loosened something inside her. Still, she remained quiet, tears clinging to her lashes.
"I want to travel to Jannah with him," Zoya whispered at last."To a place where Allah has promised there will be no separation."
Mr. Donghyun looked at her carefully—not with shock, not with judgment—but with understanding.
Then he asked, very softly:
"Tell me, Zoya…Is your fear that Allah will not unite you—Or that you might lose faith before that promise is fulfilled?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and gentle at the same time.
And for the first time, Zoya felt that someone had asked exactly what her heart had been silently crying about.
To beContinued....
Regards
ZK💌