Hey Aban, how are you doing? I am Palwasha. Are you Osman's friend?
Hey, yes, I am Aban. How are you, sister? Osman told me about you.
I need to talk to you. Did you attend Osman's funeral? Palwasha asked
Did I attend Osman's funeral? (Aban was surprised)
You mean you don't know? (Palwasha was taken aback)
I have no idea. Who told you? (Aban was confused)
I was told by one of Osman's family friends. Iqra messaged me, saying Osman had cancer, right? Palwasha said
No, that's not true. He was ill, yes, but just a few days ago, I asked him about it. If something like that had happened, I would have known. But let me confirm and get back to you.
Alright, thank you, Aban.
In the wake of her conversation with Aban, Palwasha's heart was in turmoil. The mere possibility that Osman might still be alive filled her with a profound sense of hope. She couldn't ignore the flicker of optimism that fluttered within her, like a fragile butterfly seeking refuge amidst a storm.
As the hours passed, Palwasha found herself drawn to a quiet corner of her room. She sank down to her knees, the soft carpet beneath her providing a cushion for her thoughts. With clasped hands, she began to pray, her words whispered but infused with fervor.
"Dear God," she began, her voice trembling with emotion, "I know I'm not the most devout, but today, I come to you with all the hope in my heart. Please, let the news I heard be a misunderstanding, a cruel rumor that has no basis in reality. Osman is a kind and gentle soul, and the world would be a darker place without his smile."
Tears welled up in Palwasha's eyes as she continued to pour out her heart in prayer. She recalled the countless moments she had shared with Osman, the laughter, the tears, and the deep conversations that had bound them as friends. She couldn't bear the thought of his absence.
"Please, Allah ," she whispered, "if it's within your will, grant Osman the strength to overcome his illness. Heal him, protect him, and let him come back to us. I know miracles don't happen every day, but I believe in the power of hope and faith. Please, guide us through this uncertainty."
In the solitude of her room, Palwasha's prayer became a lifeline of hope. She clung to it, her heart willing a different outcome than the one she had feared. In those moments of quiet desperation, she felt a connection to something greater, an intangible force that whispered to her that, just maybe, the news of Osman's passing was not the final chapter in their story.
Suddenly, an unknown number flashed on Palwasha's phone screen. Uncertainty loomed as she contemplated whether or not to answer. She wrestled with the idea, cautiously deciding to pick up, in case it was an urgent matter. She hesitated, her heart pounding within her chest. When she finally answered, a voice from the other end softly uttered, "Hello, Palwasha."
"Hello, Palwasha," those two simple words sent a shockwave through her, rendering her momentarily breathless. For what felt like an eternity, she was lost in a sea of astonishment and disbelief, the voice on the other end compelling her into a paralyzing silence. Eventually, she mustered the strength to disconnect the call, unable to process the surreal encounter.
However, the phone rang again, the same unknown number appearing on the screen. This time, she answered, her voice trembling, "Why are you calling me? Why won't you talk to me directly?" Her emotions erupted, cascading into a torrent of tears, shouts, and questions. "You were supposed to be dead! How can you be alive?"
Osman, perplexed and struggling to calm her down, attempted to explain, "I did die, Palwasha, but I... somehow came back. Why are you waiting for my death? Why?"
"No, your family told me…" Palwasha began, her words choked by tears.
Osman intervened, "I'm trying to tell you, Palwasha, that I'm fine now, thanks to God. Look, I'm here, talking to you. Who told you all this?"
"Iqra told me, and she said it was a family friend," Palwasha replied.
"Iqra? But how does she even know you? And how did she get in touch with you?" Osman inquired.
"Osman, you should be asking me those questions. Why are you interrogating me?" Palwasha retorted.
"Alright, forget it. I'm fine, and I'll be in the hospital for a couple more days. After that, I'll be back home, God willing. We can talk properly then. In the meantime, don't believe anyone's words except for Aban's. And block Iqra for now. We'll have a proper conversation later. Alright?" Osman assured her.
"Okay, take care. Allah Hafiz," Palwasha replied, her voice reflecting a blend of relief and disbelief.
In the wake of that surreal phone call with Osman, Palwasha's heart became a sacred vessel, overflowing with gratitude and wonder. It was as if the divine had reached out to her, whispered secrets of faith and the boundless power of prayer, and in that moment, the mystic threads of her soul seemed to weave together in an intricate tapestry of belief.
She often found herself pondering the mystical realm of Sufism, where the boundaries of the physical world and the spiritual realm blur into a harmonious whole. The idea of prayers transcending mortal understanding and invoking miracles seemed less like fantasy and more like a tangible reality. Palwasha had always admired the Sufi poets and their verses, which echoed the sentiment that the divine was an eternal source of hope and transformation.
With each prayer she offered, Palwasha felt herself drawn deeper into the mystical embrace of faith. It was as if the universe itself conspired to affirm her belief in the extraordinary power of prayer and the inner will of the human spirit. She realized that her unwavering faith in God had played a pivotal role in the unfolding of events.
Palwasha contemplated the concept of divine intervention. How mysterious and wondrous the ways of the divine could be! It was a reminder that even when all seemed lost, when despair threatened to engulf one's spirit, a glimmer of faith could illuminate the darkest of paths. The phone call from Osman, a seemingly miraculous return from the brink of death, was a testament to the enigmatic ways of the universe, a reminder that hope and belief had the power to defy the odds.
In the days that followed, Palwasha's belief in the transformative power of prayer deepened. She found solace in her faith, not just as a set of rituals, but as a profound connection to the divine. It was a journey into the mystic, where the boundaries of the ordinary blurred into the extraordinary, and where the power of prayer was a beacon of light, guiding her through the labyrinthine passages of life's mysteries.
As Palwasha continued to pray, she understood that her faith was not bound by the limitations of the material world. It was a spiritual journey, an exploration of the depths of her own soul, and a testament to the enduring belief in the miraculous, a belief that could indeed resurrect the dead, mend the broken, and illuminate even the darkest of paths. In the mystic realm of her heart, Palwasha discovered that faith was the key to unlocking the unfathomable mysteries of the divine, and that prayers held the power to transcend the boundaries of the known world, revealing the extraordinary possibilities that lay hidden within the human spirit.