12/08/2025
Title: Faith in a New World
Written by: Balqees - Noor & Rizq
Chapter two
The journey begins...
Author's POV
The call to Fajr drifted through the quiet dawn, its echoes soft yet steady, weaving through the stillness of the house. Khadeejah stirred under her blanket, her heart already awake long before her body moved. Today was the day. The morning air felt cooler than usual, brushing against her skin as she rose for ablution.
The house was hushed, the kind of silence that comes before goodbyes. Somewhere in the kitchen, she could faintly hear the low clink of pots — her mother was already up, preparing a meal she hoped Khadeejah would carry in her memory. The scent of boiling tea leaves curled through the air, warm and comforting.
As she spread her prayer mat and stood facing the qiblah, the weight of the day settled over her shoulders. Every word of her salah felt heavier, deeper — as if she were storing these moments of worship to carry with her on the journey ahead.
The sun was still shy on the horizon when Khadeejah finished her prayer. She folded her mat slowly, almost reluctantly, as though she could stretch the moment just a little longer. From the kitchen, her mother’s voice called softly, “Khadijah, come and eat.”
In the dining area, the table was already set — fresh bread, fried eggs, and the steaming tea she had smelled earlier. Her father sat quietly, sipping from his cup, his eyes watchful but gentle. Her younger siblings, still in their pajamas, sat close together, unusually quiet, as if sensing that today was different.
They ate without hurry, talking in low tones about the journey ahead. Her mother reminded her to keep her prayer times, to watch the kind of friends she made, and to call as often as she could. Her father only spoke once, his voice steady: “Remember who you are, and Who you serve.”
By mid-morning, the car was loaded — her boxes neatly stacked in the boot, and a few bags tucked on the seats. The drive to Ibadan was filled with the rhythmic hum of the engine and the passing blur of towns and villages. Sometimes they talked, other times the silence was enough.
When they pulled up to the apartment building, Khadeejah studied it from the car window. It was a modest two-storey house, painted cream with fading green trims. Her unit was on the first floor — a single room with a small adjoining bathroom and a narrow kitchenette tucked into the corner.
It wasn’t much, but it was hers.
Her siblings explored the space like little inspectors while her father tested the locks and checked the windows. Her mother arranged her cooking items neatly on the counter and made sure the small shelf above the sink was stocked with her toiletries.
From the open window, Khadeejah could see the road where the noisy minibuses and motorcycles passed — the same ones she would soon take to campus every day. She tried to picture herself walking down that road with her bag slung over her shoulder, part of a world she had only watched from a distance.
When everything was finally in place, the room no longer looked like an empty shell. It carried pieces of home now — the familiar scent of her mother’s cooking spice, the neatly folded bedsheet she had used since secondary school, the small Qur’an her father placed gently on the table.
And then, silence. That heavy pause when there’s nothing left to do except say goodbye.
Her mother’s arms wrapped around her first — warm, soft, and trembling just enough for Khadeejah to notice. “Remember your prayers, my daughter,” she whispered into her ear, her voice carrying both strength and a crack that betrayed her heart.
Her father’s hug was brief but firm, the kind that pressed reassurance straight into her bones. He didn’t say much — just a low, steady “We’re proud of you.”
The younger ones clung to her as if their grip could delay her independence. She laughed, but her throat tightened at the same time.
When they finally walked out of the room, she followed them to the gate, watching as her father opened the car door. Her mother glanced back one last time — a quick look, but one that held a hundred unspoken words.
The car pulled away slowly, disappearing into the hum of traffic. Khadeejah stood at the roadside until the red of the taillights faded into the distance, and only then did she turn back toward the building.
Her new life had begun, but part of her heart had just driven away.
©️ ✍🏽_ Balqees - Noor & Rizq
