The door of the office crashed shut as Mustafa stepped out of the room with tears in his eyes. He couldn't see or notice anything around him as he strode through the domed prayer area but instead his head was filled with the faces of his father and grandfather looking down on him with disappointment. He tried to fight it but in vain. His pace gradually decreased and he started to stroll with his head slumped. He had transitioned from the state of denial to acceptance. He slowly walked through the domed expanse and entered the open prayer area, holding back his tears. The area was still deserted with only a few children playing around and fewer cats lying around cherishing the combination of soft carpet and unencumbered sunlight. Mustafa awkwardly ambled to the chairs placed to assist the elderly in prayers, and collapsed into the nearest one. He shoved his face deep in his palms and wept. Time passed in a hurry as he was drowned in the images of his father and grandfather ashamed that he had failed them. He was devastated that he had proven himself unfit to be a travelling preacher. In what seemed like a minute, time for Zuhr prayer had arrived which was at least two hours away when he had entered the open prayer area. He snapped out of it as the sound of Azaan tapped his ears. He quickly went to the Wudhu corner, which was getting more crowded by the minute, to wash himself up. His students came down in packs as the prayer times were the designated breaks or recesses for them. They were making use of every single minute they got to share gossips and tall tales from their homes. There was an indistinct chatter echoing around the prayer area that nobody minded. Afterall, these overenergetic and bubbly children were the torchbearers and the future of the organization. The children didn't seem to mind that their teacher left them midclass never to return. Just as they were approaching the Wudhu corner, they caught a glimpse of their teacher who was failing miserably in attempting to conceal disturbance apparent on his face. They stopped in their tracks and were shocked as he was one of the most rock-solid personalities they had ever seen. The bubbliness in the body language suddenly vanished and the gossips abruptly stopped. The children decided to keep their distance and, slowly and quietly, went on to wash themselves and get ready for the prayer.
Mustafa ambled robotically to one of the prayer carpets and started offering Sunnah prayers without a hint of an emotion on his face. In a few minutes, the Azaan was said and everyone wandering around the mosque funneled into the mosque through the arched gate while the others doing Wudhu increased their pace. Soon, the market started to die down. The shopkeepers hung ragged card-boards, that were disfigured by frequent use, on their shutters saying "Namaz molasi" meaning "Prayer Break". Cars started to gravitate towards the empty areas, suitable for parking near the mosque. The Wudhu corner was packed. Aqamat was said, everyone inside the mosque stood up and rallied into formation. Prayer commenced. Mustafa prayed on autopilot. He felt as if his entire life force had been sucked out of him. He prayed while nothing really registered in his memory. The entire prayer went by in a blur and soon Mustafa sat motionless staring blankly at nothing.
The mosque was gradually losing the crowd. Only the elderly were left, praying so slow that one would get the idea that it was all they did in the day. Mustafa wanted to stand up and leave for the class but the never-ending bombardment of thoughts kept him grounded. A pair of huge hands pressing heavily on his shoulders from above him forced him to snap out of his daydream. The hands squeezed his shoulders to the point that they hurt. He winced in pain and looked up to see who it was. He saw a familiar creepy ear-to-ear grin above him. It was his oldest pal, Omar. In his mid-twenties, he stood six feet tall and was quite chubby. He wore all sorts of flamboyant outfits even into the mosques. He owned a garment store just around the corner and liked to see himself as his own brand ambassador. The jolly colorful character was loved by all in the town. They both had spent their childhood together. They did everything together except schooling as Omar had dropped out after realizing that he did not have the aptitude to become an Islamic scholar. But that didn't stop them from continuing to be the best of friends. Even after they went their separate ways in terms of schooling, Omar and Mustafa made the most of every opportunity they got, and ate together, had sleepovers and played football. They didn't meet up as frequently these days now that they were older. But still every time they met; a long enjoyable catching-up conversation was inevitable. Omar dropped like a bomb beside Mustafa and yelled, "How goes!?", without giving much thought about people noticing. Mustafa had forgot about his grief as soon as he had seen that grin and he yelled back, "How goes!?", and pinched him hard on his arm. They chattered on and on. Omar's visit was right on queue as Mustafa badly needed it. He felt all his stress vent out of him as they talked. They were interrupted by a young well-disciplined student peeking at him from behind a pillar which reminded Mustafa that he had a class to conduct. He bade farewell to Omar as he hastily stood up to leave for his class. Omar returned the favor but also asked him to meet him at his shop in the night.