After dropping Musfira home, when Aizal reached her own house, evening was beginning to fall. The house was unusually silent. Suddenly, she remembered—her mother and father had gone out to a friend's dinner.
She quickly performed ablution and offered her prayer. In prostration, her heart found a strange peace… yet, for some reason, a faint unease stirred within her soul.
After the prayer, she lay down on the bed, exhausted, and soon drifted into sleep.
And then…
Suddenly, a golden light began to spread around her.
She found herself standing in a vast, serene courtyard. Before her, a radiant golden dome shone in all its glory.
Masjid Al-Aqsa…
The call to prayer echoed in the air—so soulful that it sent a tremor through her very soul.
**Allahu Akbar… Allahu Akbar…"
As if the universe itself was declaring that only Allah is the Greatest, and everything else is temporary.
**"Ashhadu an la ilaha illallah…"
A testimony that in this vast universe, there is only One who knows the secrets of hearts.
**"Ashhadu anna Muhammadan Rasoolullah…"**
The name of guidance and mercy that brought humanity from darkness into light.
Aizal's steps trembled.
Hayya 'alas-salah… Hayya 'alal-falah…"
Come to prayer… come to success.
These words felt as if they were calling her soul, reminding her that true success was not the world… but closeness to Allah.
At that moment, a verse of the Qur'an echoed in her heart:
"Glory be to Him who took His servant by night from Masjid al-Haram to Masjid al-Aqsa, whose surroundings We have blessed…"
(Surah Al-Isra: 1)
The history of that sacred land began to settle within her heart. This was the land where prophets had prostrated, from where the journey of Mi'raj began, and which was once the first Qibla of Muslims. Stories of trials and patience were woven into its soil… yet it remained a symbol of guidance and hope.
She remembered a story she had heard in childhood—
When Hazrat Umar (RA) entered Bayt al-Maqdis, he prostrated on the ground in humility and said:
"This is the land where prophets walked. Here, not pride—but humility is what befits a person."
Aizal's heart bowed at that thought.
Perhaps guidance always comes through humility.
The final words of the adhan echoed—
"Allahu Akbar… La ilaha illallah…"
And her heart responded with a deep beat.
As the call intensified, a tremor ran through her being. Her heart whispered—
Guidance is given only to chosen hearts… and so are trial.
Then the scene changed.
She saw a mother standing in the courtyard of Masjid Al-Aqsa, holding her child's hand. Tears filled her eyes, yet faith rested on her lips. She raised her hands in prayer, as if refusing to let hope fade even in the darkest trials.
The child held her hand tightly.
In that moment, Aizal felt—
Faith does not live only in peace… it lives in patience too.
The golden dome's light suddenly intensified—
And at that very moment, Aizal's eyes opened.
She sat up, breathless.
The room was dark, but the light of the dream still lingered in her eyes.
Was it just a dream?
Or a silent message from Allah…
A trial calling her toward a new journey of faith?
Because trials are not given to everyone…
Only those hearts are chosen
whom Allah wishes to bring closer.
Aizal did not know…
that this dream was a sign—
And very soon, a secret would enter her life
that would test her faith, her love, and her destiny.
---
Suddenly, a wave of panic overtook her. Her heart began racing without reason, and in that unease, she woke up fully.
The room was now dark.
The clock on the wall showed it was time for Isha.
She was shocked—she had slept for so long without realizing.
Thinking her parents might have returned, she hurried out of her room. But the entire house remained unusually silent. The drawing room, the lounge, even the kitchen—there was no sign of life.
A faint fear stirred within her heart.
"Maybe they haven't returned yet…" she reassured herself.
She went to perform ablution again. The cold water on her face brought slight calm. She spread the prayer mat and offered Isha. As she went into prostration, her unease melted into silent tears.
After finishing, she felt weak… and hungry.
She went into the kitchen and began preparing something for herself. But as the food cooked, that strange restlessness returned. Her mind kept going back to the dream—Masjid Al-Aqsa, the golden dome, that mysterious feeling.
"No… it was just a dream…" she shook her head.
She ate quickly, washed the dishes, and sat in the lounge with a book. But the words refused to stay in her mind.
Every few moments, the unease returned.
Suddenly, her phone rang loudly.
She flinched.
Before answering, an unknown fear rose in her heart. Her hand trembled slightly as she picked up the call.
"Hello…?"
"Am I speaking to Miss Aizal Ameer Khan?"
"Y-yes… this is Aizal speaking…"
"Miss Aizal, I'm calling from Shifa International Hospital, Islamabad. Your parents have been in an accident. Please come to the hospital immediately."
The moment she heard those words—
her feet froze.
She couldn't speak.
The phone was still against her ear, but everything felt distant.
"I… I'm coming…" she managed to say before ending the call.
Her heart pounded wildly.
Her hands turned cold.
Only one thought echoed in her mind—
Mama… Baba…
She grabbed her dupatta, locked the door, and rushed out.
The silence of the house no longer felt familiar.
With every step, fear grew within her—
yet somewhere, hope still whispered…
that everything would be okay.
Her hands trembled the entire journey. She tried several times to call Musfira but couldn't gather the courage.
Finally, she dialed.
"Musfira…" her voice shook, "Mama and Baba… they had an accident… I'm going to the hospital…"
Silence.
Then Musfira's panicked voice:
"Ya Allah… Aizal, don't worry. We're coming. Just stay strong—we're on our way.
This was only the beginning of the trial…
The real story is yet to unfold.
What is the secret that will change Aizal's life?
Don't miss the next part."