Salar regained consciousness after eight hours. Slowly opening his eyes, he found Zaheer sitting in front of him, clearly worried. A faint smile appeared on Salar's lips when he saw him, but the signs of pain were evident on his face.
"So you're finally awake... You really scared me, man," Zaheer said, his voice carrying both concern and irritation.
Salar tried to sit up, but Zaheer immediately stopped him.
"Rest, Salar. You're still not well. I'll ask Mehmet to prepare something light and healthy for you."
But despite being told to rest, Salar could not stay in bed for long.
Slowly, he got up and walked toward the washroom.
Standing in front of the mirror, he stared at his reflection and froze for a moment. It looked as though he had aged years overnight. The authority, the pride, the arrogance he had always carried on his face seemed as if it had never existed.
Yet the restlessness inside him was not fading—it was growing stronger. He was confused... unable to understand what was happening to him.
The moment he closed his eyes, a peaceful face appeared in his mind.
A face so serene, as if no worry in the world could ever touch it.
Without realizing it, a name escaped his lips.
"Aizal..."
Could a person really be that peaceful?
After freshening up, Salar went downstairs where Mehmet and Miss Maria were in the dining area. Seeing him, both immediately asked about his health.
"How are you feeling now, Mr. Salar?" Miss Maria asked gently.
"I'm fine," Salar replied briefly.
The moment Zaheer saw him downstairs, his expression darkened.
Salar pulled out a chair with a faint smile and sat down.
Seeing this, Zaheer looked visibly displeased. The man sitting before him was weak and feverish, yet acting as though nothing had happened.
"You really can't help yourself, can you?" Zaheer said in a tone mixed with frustration and helplessness.
Salar simply shrugged as if the matter was of no importance.
He never liked showing weakness to anyone.
But today, Zaheer sensed something different in him. There was an unusual anxiety and restlessness on his face that both worried and surprised him. For now, however, he chose not to ask any questions.
Mehmet brought a bowl of hot vegetable broth soup for Salar. Normally, Salar disliked soup.
Placing it before him, Zaheer said,
"I know you hate soup... but you'll have to make do with it for now. You need a healthy diet."
Everyone was surprised when Salar picked up the spoon without a single complaint and silently began drinking the soup.
Mehmet, Miss Maria, and Zaheer exchanged glances.
This was the same Salar who could not tolerate anything he disliked being around him...
And today, he was quietly drinking soup without any objection.
As the night grew deeper, the sound of the Isha Adhan echoed through the air.
For a few moments, Salar became still.
Since yesterday, because of the fever and weakness, he had become detached from everything around him. His head felt heavy and his body exhausted, yet the sound of the Adhan touched a silent corner of his heart.
How helpless man truly is...
A minor illness is enough to remind him of his reality. The pride he takes so much comfort in can shatter within moments.
As this thought crossed his mind, an unfamiliar fear settled into his heart.
For the first time, he seemed to realize his weakness... and his true reality.
"And mankind was created weak."
(Qur'an 4:28)
The echo of the Adhan still lingered in the atmosphere, and Salar sat silently listening to it.
At that moment, Mehmet respectfully said,
"Sir, it's time for prayer. If you permit, may I go to the mosque and offer my Salah?"
Salar snapped out of his thoughts.
He looked at Mehmet for a few moments, then slowly nodded his permission.
After Mehmet left, Zaheer also got up.
"I'm going to the mosque too. You should rest."
He had barely taken a few steps when Salar's voice stopped him.
"Zaheer... wait."
Zaheer turned around in surprise.
Salar remained silent for a moment as though searching for the right words.
Then he spoke quietly.
"Does prayer really bring peace?"
For several moments, Zaheer was completely speechless.
He simply stared at Salar, unable to believe that this question had come from the proud Salar Shah.
Immediately, Salar frowned.
"I didn't ask anything that strange... Why are you staring at me like that?"
Then he added seriously,
"Then let's go together..."
After a brief pause, he continued,
"But I don't know how to perform Wudu."
At this, Zaheer's mouth literally fell open.
For a few moments, he could only stare at him.
Zaheer and Azam had always been regular in their prayers. Despite their busy lives and businesses, they never missed Salah. Salar had seen them pray peacefully countless times, but he had never paid much attention.
The truth was that prayer was not completely unfamiliar to Salar.
Somewhere in a corner of his mind, a faint memory still remained.
When he was only eight years old, his mother had once held his hand and prayed with him.
That moment remained buried deep inside him... covered by the dust of time.
As the years passed, Salar gradually drifted away from religion.
Wealth, pride, and the glitter of a carefree life had erased those memories from his heart.
In the beginning, Zaheer and Azam had gently invited him to the mosque once or twice.
But knowing Salar's temperament and pride, they never insisted.
They knew Salar Shah was not a man who tolerated force or preaching.
So they chose silence.
Seeing Zaheer's stunned expression, Salar frowned slightly.
As he walked past him, he lightly pushed his jaw closed and said,
"Come on... no need to be this shocked."
Then he headed toward the door, and Zaheer—still trying to process what had happened—instinctively followed him.
A little while later, they stepped outside the building.
The night air carried a slight chill, and in the distance, the lights of the Islamic Cultural Center of New York Mosque could be seen shining.
Throughout the journey, Salar remained unusually quiet.
There was a strange feeling in his heart...
As though he were walking toward a path that was unfamiliar yet somehow known.
Within moments, they reached the mosque.
Inside was a peaceful scene.
Rows stood neatly arranged, and worshippers were quietly engaged in prayer.
The atmosphere was filled with tranquility and spirituality.
Seeing this, a slight tremor ran through Salar's heart.
Zaheer led him toward the ablution area.
"Come... let's perform Wudu first," he said gently.
Salar silently stood beside him.
Zaheer demonstrated each step, and Salar followed.
When the cool water touched his face and hands, it felt as though not only his body...
But also his exhaustion and inner restlessness were being washed away.
With every moment, his heart entered a strange state.
Like a child returning to his mother after years apart...
Unsure whether to cry with happiness or simply stand there in silence.
By the time they entered the prayer hall, most of the worshippers had already left.
Only a few remained, quietly immersed in worship.
The mosque carried a profound sense of peace and stillness.
Zaheer gently brought Salar into the prayer row.
Everything felt new to him.
For a few moments, he stood silently.
Then Zaheer softly guided him through the prayer.
When Salar raised his hands and began the prayer, his heartbeat became unusually fast.
As though years of buried restlessness were knocking at a long-closed door.
With every bow and every movement of Salah, something inside him began to change.
And then...
When he went into prostration for the very first time...
Something within him broke.
Alif...
A simple letter.
Yet perhaps it contains a profound secret.
Allah begins with Alif...
And so does Insaan (human).
Perhaps that is why the bond between the servant and his Lord is so simple, yet so precious.
When a person bows before his Lord, the knots within his heart begin to unravel.
The anxiety that had gripped Salar's heart for so long...
The peace he had been deprived of for years...
It felt as though one single prostration had finally shown him the way.
Before Allah, no pride remains.
No status remains.
A person is only a servant...
A needy servant before his Lord.
And perhaps this was the very moment when Salar's heart realized for the first time...
That a single prostration truly has the power to gather together a shattered world.
The answers he had been searching for over the past days...
The confusion clouding his thoughts...
One prostration seemed to guide him toward them.
A strange peace began settling into his heart.
Indeed, Islam is a complete way of life...
The religion gifted to humanity through the Messenger of Allah ﷺ.
A religion that not only guides life but also grants peace to hearts.
Because true peace of the heart, the cure for every restlessness, and the answer to every confusion...
Is ultimately found at this very door.
After concluding the prayer, he raised his hands for dua and closed his eyes.
A profound peace descended upon his heart.
Yet amidst that peace, Aizal's face suddenly appeared before his closed eyes.
The girl he barely knew...
Yet somehow, her pain had found a place in a hidden corner of his heart.
He remembered the promise he had made to her.
And how later, she had been forced to bear the weight of his harsh words.
Salar did not know that careless words often demand their price.
He was unaware that the sentences he had spoken thoughtlessly would one day cost him dearly...
In the form of separation and longing.
Because perhaps...
His trial had already begun.
Today, for the first time, there was a silent longing in the hands he raised for dua.
Salar Shah...
The man who had never cared about anyone but himself...
Was now sitting before his Lord with the desire to see that girl once again.
No matter how much he tried, he could not hide those feelings from Allah.
And perhaps how could he?
For he had finally realized...
That Allah knows what lies within hearts.
"And Allah knows well what is in your hearts."
Note:
Dear readers! Apologies for the delay. Due to some commitments, I could not upload the episode earlier. Thank you for your love and patience.
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