"You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body but you will NEVER imprison my mind." - Anonymous

Dedicated to @striving_muslimah because she truly is an inspiration with her amazing knowledge and writing skills. I pray that Allah SWT bestows on you the highest level of Jannah, ameen. ❤ 

Chapter 13 - Trapped

“Ow, ow, ow, ow…ow.”

“Yasmine! Your ankle is obviously sprained, stop moving it!” Salma scolded me. 

“But I need to make wudu’,” I stated, pouting. We were both standing in the bathroom, me attempting to lift my right foot up into the sink but failing miserably since it hurt too much. Zach forced Salma to come with me and she didn’t hesitate in following me around; they were both worried I’d pass out again.  

“You don’t have to lift it into the sink, just lift it a little, wet your hand and wipe over it,” she argued, matter-of-factly. 

“Right, that would probably be easier,” I said sheepishly. 

“Habla.” She shook her head at me and then proceeded to fix her hijab in the mirror. 

I finished making wudu’, using some paper towels Salma gave me to wipe off the remaining water. After wiping my face I looked at myself in the mirror, doing a double-take at my own reflection. I looked horrible - no worse than horrible. I had an adhesive bandaid across the side of my head where I had collided with the wall. Blood was apparent, soaking through the bandaid from the deep gush and I realised I never recalled putting one on. They must have covered it when I was asleep. 

My eyes were still droopy and I had slight bags beneath them. My clothes were disheveled with bits of rubble and paint splattered over my sweater. I assessed myself, looking from my brown eyes to the freckles across my nose and cheeks that seemed to be more prominent under the sunlight that was streaming in. 

How could it be all sunshine outside, when it felt like a tornado had just ripped us to shreds, I thought.

I sighed and straightened up from my bent position over the sink and instantly a piercing pain shot through my lower back. I hissed in pain and gritted my teeth, positioning my left hand on my back to massage it.  

“What’s wrong?” Salma immediately asked, catching my pained look.  

“Nothing,” I breathed out, “just an ache in my back that’s all.”  

“You hurt your back too?! Let me see!” 

“Salma, it’s nothing, it should go in a few days,” I said, taking deep breaths, willing the pain to disappear.

“Your facial expression and words contradict each other, it’s certainly not ‘nothing’,” she said, mimicking me.  

“Now. Show me,” she said, in a deadly tone. She could be quite scary when she wanted to, especially when she went into mother-mode.  

I obliged, having no energy to convince her otherwise and proceeded to lift up my sweater and singlet so she could look at my back. 

“Whereabouts is the pain?” she asked. 

“Lower back. Just above my tailbone,” I replied. She lifted the top of my pants down a little and I immediately swatted her hand away.

“Hey!”  

“Oh relax, would you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I need to see if there’s any real damage.” Co-incidentally, Salma was studying nursing and has always been amazing at tending and caring for people. Maybe it was due to the fact that she had six younger siblings that she constantly looked after but I truly believed it was an innate characteristic of hers. She’s always been the person to lend a helping hand where needed even if she already had so much on her plate. 

“Perv,” I mumbled. She just laughed and then assessed my back carefully, prodding it every now and then. 

“Well there’s no bruise and it doesn’t seem like you’ve broken anything. It may just be a pinched nerve or you’ve pulled a muscle. Your body did take a bad blow,” she said. I just nodded my head and uttered an internal alhamdulillah. It could have been much worse.

I released my birds-nest of a hair from it’s now deflated bun and retied it. Pulling my black cap over my hair and ears I proceeded to wrap my hijab back over my head, securing the pins in place.

“Let’s go before I miss duhur,” I said. Salma bent slightly so I could lift my arm over her shoulder, whilst she put her arm around my waist for support. She helped me walk out, me limping in the process, attempting not to put pressure on my right foot.  

We walked into the female quarter so I could use one of the beds whilst praying. Due to my sprained ankle I wouldn’t be able to prostrate and position my feet accurately so I would have to utilise the bed and ensure I didn’t cause myself more pain. Salma fetched me a skirt to slip over my genie pants - even though they were loose - and I slipped it over and positioned my self towards the qibla. 

Before I started praying I uttered ‘a’oothu billahi minn a’shaytaan a’rajeem’, so the shaytaan wouldn’t distract me and to maintain khushu’. In times like these it was very easy to let your worries take over.

As I began praying the four sunnah prayers, an emotional wave came over me like never before. Maybe it was because of the events of today and the fact that I had nearly died, which subsequently triggered memories of Ehab - or maybe it was because I had been undergoing an accumulation of stress and worries over the last week, what with exams, Zach, Jacob and now the orphanage.  

Right now however, I didn’t try to stop the flow of tears that begged to be released whilst I made dua in sujood. Even though my head wasn’t on the floor, instead bent over just above my knees, I still felt like I was in the most submissive and humble position before Allah. 

I took my time, revelling in the peace and tranquility that could only be felt when in prayer. I greedily made as much dua as I could, for every heart ache, for every cry, for every person that was suffering; but I also thanked Allah for everything He had already bestowed on us. It was important to make dua, as it was key in bringing you closer to Allah and increasing your faith, but gratitude was equally as important. Only those who realise the positives in life and are content with what they already have can move forward successfully. 

I continued to pray the obligatory prayer and finished up with two more rak’aat of sunnah prayers. I sat on the bed for a while, not ready to move just yet. I did some zhikr and let my thoughts run wild for the time being.  

It was only when I heard the drone in the distance that I snapped back to reality. I sighed and got up slipping my skirt off and folding it neatly before placing it back into it’s tub.

How much longer would we have to endure it’s presence.

****

Zach’s POV

“Dammit!” 

I punched the wall next to me, creating a large hole and causing some of the plaster to fall off. I ignored the pain that travelled up my arm. I didn’t care. 

I had just woken up, and like I did continuously for the last six days, I walked up to the window and strained my ears. After a minute of hearing nothing, hope ignited within my chest, but only a minute later it was distinguished upon hearing the sound of the helicopter again. 

“Woah, calm down Zach, what’s gotten into you?” I took a deep breath and turned around. Looking at Yasmine, my mood only worsened. Every time I looked at her I was reminded of how much I had failed her. I would do anything to turn back time and be the one to have taken the hit. 

At the beginning I was angry at Noah for leaving her alone to run around and finish the job. However, I kept reminding myself that this was all Allah’s plan and just like us, Noah was human; he couldn’t do ten things at once. 

When I didn’t answer she walked closer to me to assess my face, a habit she constantly did but never realised. With every limp she took towards me, it felt like a knife was being stabbed into my gut.  

When she couldn’t discern anything from my emotionless face, she waved her hands across my face, “hello?” 

“No one wakes up and immediately punches a wall out of rage,” she stated, urging me to say something.

“It’s the seventh day Yasmine. Seventh. And we’re still here, fearing for our lives like animals in a cage. This is ridiculous and I don’t know how much longer I can take it.” I looked out the window again and balled my fists.  

I heard her sigh and after a minute she said, “this is Allah’s way of testing us Zach. Of course we have it harder than most people, but the way I see it,” she said, looking down, “we’re going to have a great reward inshaAllah.”

She looked up at me then, clearly having more to say. “It’s up to you whether you want to be patient or loose control. I can’t promise you things will get better now or even soon…but they will get better eventually. Patience, Zach. It’s a powerful tool.”  

“You know who you just reminded me of?” I asked, smiling at her confused expression. 

“Who?”

“My father, Allah yerhamo.” She raised her eyebrows in surprise but kept quiet and waited for me to continue. “Every time he went through a trying situation…even in his last moments before he died…he would emerge a stronger person. You’re exactly the same,” I said, watching a small smile form on her face. 

“I don’t think that’s particularly true,” she said humbly, “but you should know that it’s natural for people to undergo low and high points. You’re just experiencing a low at the moment and in the current circumstances no one can blame you. But instead of punching a wall, why don’t you go pray?” 

I nodded. “You’re right. As usual,” I said. Now that I had calmed down a little, I felt slightly ashamed. 

“This sounds oddly familiar doesn’t it,” Yasmine said, chuckling, before sitting on the ground and spreading her right leg out. Contemplating her words, I realised she was referring to the time when she had said the same thing to me after I consoled her following Ehab’s death. 

I guess that’s what made us such good friends. Whenever one of us was about to fall, the other would be there in an instant to prevent the crash. We could read each other like the back of our palms but we always knew when to draw the line.  

We were both well aware that our friendship wasn’t within the folds of Islam, since men and women weren’t supposed to interact at such a level. But as soon as we met six years ago, it was like we were both magnets; a force field so strong fused between us that it would take strenuous effort to pull us apart.  

She understood me like no-one else had and my quiet nature was attracted to her rebelliousness as a kid. I don’t what she saw in me…but it had gotten to the point where we both depended on each other for too much. 

“I swear half the time you don’t listen to me.” 

“Huh,” I said, breaking away from my thoughts. Yasmine had her arms crossed over her chest with a dry look on her face. “What were you saying?” I asked.

“Forget it,” she said, sighing. “I worry sometimes that your brain is going to pop from all the thinking and zoning out you do.” 

I shrugged. “Or maybe it’s going to pop from your voice constantly in my ear,” I joked. 

I saw a flash of hurt cross her brown eyes before she frowned and said, “hey that was mean.” 

“I’m kidding woman! Don’t tell me you’re actually upset?” I questioned. 

“Nope. I’m fine,” she said, crossing her arms again and lifting her head stubbornly.  

“Oh, come on.” Sometimes I forgot that I shouldn’t speak to her mindlessly, like she was one of the guys - I mean I did just practically call her a whinger. ‘Aren’t all girls whingers’ I was going to comment, before deciding against it. I imagined her face going red and swollen from anger until it morphed into a wild baboon that eventually attacked and killed me. 

I think I need to cut down on the National Geographic videos. 

“Idiot,” she mumbled. “Why am I even friends with you,” she continued, glaring at everything and anything. 

I laughed at her grumbling - I wasn’t going to deny she looked cute. 

I decided now would be the perfect time to leave and pray, my thoughts drifting into a territory that I had successfully managed to keep locked away for a while. 

Before I could move, Omar, one of the oldest kids in the orphanage strolled towards us.  

“I’m hungry,” he stated, his face twisted with exaggerated hunger.  

“You’re always hungry,” Yasmine pointed out, one eyebrow raised.  

“I’m a growing man, what can I do,” he replied smartly. 

I snickered before patting him on the head. “A growing boy, you mean.” At 15, he was growing quite fast, his height almost doubled since I first started volunteering here last year. His voice had that wobbly, too-deep ring to it and he was constantly nagging at Yasmine to make or bring him food.  

“In that case, you’re still a boy too. I’m almost as tall as you,” he said, reinforcing his point by flicking his finger between our shoulders. 

“It’s not appearance that makes a man. It’s the mind,” I said, grabbing him in a headlock and ruffling his brown head of hair mercilessly.  

“Hey! Stop, Zach!” he cried out, trying to escape from my hold. I ruffled harder, giving him a bit of pain, before letting him go. After finally releasing him, he looked at me angrily, face red and his hair dishevelled.  

“Remember it’s the mind Omar…unfortunately you’ve just lost a large number of brain cells,” I taunted, grinning at his frustration. 

He charged then, jumping on me, causing us both to fall to the ground. He attempted to get vengeance by ruffling my hair back in the same violent manner, whilst I laughed at his failed attempts.  

“Wow, very mature. The best pair of men I’ve ever seen,” Yasmine said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. 

Omar pushed me off him and stood up angrily, dusting himself off. 

“Lighten up dude,” I said, remembering his annoyed face before laughing again. He really hated admitting defeat. I prodded and poked him, whilst Yasmine made her signature hideous face until he finally broke into a smile, rolling his own eyes. 

“Weirdo’s,” he said, shaking his head.  

Although I loved every child at the orphanage, Omar was my favourite. I saw him as a younger brother and I know, in his eyes, I was definitely the older brother he never had. I loved spending time with him and making him laugh, even if that meant annoying him endlessly. Since he obviously had no family to relate or look up to - other than the kids at the orphanage - he awaited my visits with eagerness. He constantly seeked advice on questions, he would normally never feel comfortable asking anyone else about. Although I spent majority of my time empowering him, I thought it was crucial that he - and the other children - had their moments where they truly felt like kids.  

In our current circumstances, the children seemed to grow too fast, forgetting to participate in a vital aspect of their childhood - unstructured play. It was all seriousness, worry, anxiety, detachment and depression, all things we workers and volunteers aimed to battle.  

“Yasmineee,” he whined. “Can you make me something to eat?”  

“Tell the man here to do it for you,” she said, glaring at me. 

“I wouldn’t have let you do it anyway,” I told her. “And you,” I said, swatting his head. “Can’t you see she’s still injured?” 

“Sorry, I forgot,” he said guiltily, eyeing her ankle. 

“Anyway, you’ve spoiled him too much Yasmine. You claim to be a man - why can’t you make yourself something to eat?” I asked, putting him on the spot.  

His cheeks tinged with a little bit of red, before he scratched his head and sighed in defeat. 

“Whatever,” he mumbled. Yasmine looked at me disapprovingly, probably feeling sorry for him, but hey - the kid had to grow up.  

“There’s no electricity to cook anything and we’re running low on food. Why don’t you go make yourself a sandwich?” Yasmine added.

Omar nodded, before making his way to the kitchen.  

It had been difficult the last six days, what with electricity only coming on for a few hours and then cutting off again. Since we couldn’t leave, we also had to make do with whatever resources we had here in the orphanage.

If this F16 doesn’t leave soon, we’re going to be in a dire situation. 

Balling my fists, I moved off to make wudu’ and walked back into the dining hall, moving to the corner and pulling out a prayer mat. Offering some sunnah salah, my anger slowly began to deflate and I was much calmer than earlier on. 

But after all that there was still one thing prodding at the back of my mind.  

Or more like one person. And I really didn’t know what to do about her.  

Yasmine’s POV

“What do you think mum and dad are doing?” I asked Noah, who was sitting cross-legged in front of me, his eyes far-away.

“I don’t know,” he said, moving to recline against the wall and stretch his legs out. “Worrying for us no doubt.” 

I nodded my head. “God, imagine Adam now. With you being gone this long, he’s probably driven the parents mad,” I added, imagining Adam throwing a tantrum. 

“Oh yeah,” he said. At his short reply, I looked at him, suspicious as to whether he was really listening to me. I realised his eyes weren’t far-away but just focused on something. 

Following his gaze, my eyes landed on Salma who was speaking with one of the workers. 

“Hey!” I said, hitting him in the chest. 

“What,” he said, looking at me questioningly. I narrowed my eyes at him. 

“You’re going to burn a hole right through her,” I said. I couldn’t help but smile when his eyes widened as if he hadn’t realised what he had been doing. His cheeks tinged at being caught out and he began to fret, playing with his hands nervously.  

“Don’t say anything or I’ll murder you,” he said, seriously. 

“Awwww,” I cooed, grabbing his cheeks and squishing them. 

“Yasmine,” he said seriously, eyeing me with a warning. I chuckled and leaned back, smiling at the fact that my brother had a crush. He had always been good - only interacting with girls when necessary - so my inner-mind was feeding off this new revelation and getting excited over it.  

I left him alone and for the next half an hour we remained in silence, as we both just observed our surroundings. It was almost 11pm and most kids had fallen asleep, only a few awake due to their anxiety. I watched and listened as Salma, who was now sitting with Khalid did her usual ritual with him. Whenever he couldn’t sleep due to his flashbacks she’d pull out a Qur’an and begin to read to him. 

I watched as his eyes slowly shut before his breathing evened out, his stomach falling up and down constantly. Realising he had fallen asleep, Salma ended her recitation and shut the Qur’an, now watching him quietly as he slept. I could see the worry etched in her face and I could see she was trying not to let it overwhelm her.

I sighed and looked back over to Noah to find he himself, had fallen asleep. I positioned his head so it wasn’t on an angle and leaned my head against his arm, drawing from his warmth.  

A few minutes later Zach sat down next to me with Khadija in his arms, fast asleep. She was two years old and had severe attachment issues - so once she was with you, you couldn’t leave her alone.  

“Why don’t you go lay her down,” I whispered to him, so as not to wake her or Noah up.  

“I don’t want to wake her,” he said, looking down at her affectionately. She was holding onto him with a death-grip so releasing her wouldn’t be a good idea.

“How’s your ankle?” he asked, using one hand to push some of his hair off his forehead. He leaned his head back on the wall and turned to look at me.

“It’s better alhamdulillah, doesn’t hurt as much.” 

“And your back?” 

“Better too.” 

“What about your head?” he prodded.  

“Zach,” I sighed. “I’m honestly fine, stop worrying.” He nodded his head and didn’t look too satisfied with my answer. 

Since we both weren't sleepy, we stayed up whisper-chatting until we were tired.

“What would you do if you could leave to any country of your choice right now?” I asked. 

His answer was almost automatic.

"Take you with me.” He coughed and then sat up a bit straighter before adding, “you know, I’d take my family and you guys with me of course.” The way he talked - as if he was correcting something, had me suspicious.  

“Right…,” I said. “And where would you go?” 

“To do hajj first…then I’d consider somewhere like Morocco or Spain. The photos I’ve seen are amazing, subhanAllah.”  

“Ooh definitely, they’re beautiful countries,” I said. 

“I’ve always wanted to go sky-diving. Is that weird?” I asked, voicing my thoughts. 

“Yes,” he said, scoffing. Unlike me, Zach had quite the fear of heights, which is surprising considering all the parkour he did. I guess being so high up, that people looked like ants, is different.  

I laughed before asking, “what would you do then if I actually jumped out of a plane?”  

“Jump out with you,” he said, giving me a boyish grin. 

“As if!” 

“No I actually would,” he persisted.

“Why?” I asked, smiling in confusion.  

“I don’t know,” he said, looking confused himself. “I just know I would.”

A/N 

Yo, yo. Hope you are all in the best of health! EXTRA long chapter, yay! Wasn't very happy or confident with this chapter but I guess it'll have to do. 

What's happened here isn't fabricated. My cousin was telling me about how she and her family were trapped in their homes for 8 days a few years ago and couldn't leave in fear. This is real life for some. 

Might be the last chapter for a while since in a few days it's Ramadan (Islamic Holy Month). Since I don't have uni, I plan to really kill it this Ramadan and detach from everything. For those who participate in Ramadan, I'm sure you understand (= 

Please VOTE and COMMENT! It would really make my day.  

Stay awesome! booohh ❤

Definitons: 

Allah: God

Alhamdulillah: 'Praise be to god'  

Wudu’: Ablution. Cleansing of the body one must perform before prayer 

Duhur: The afternoon prayer. (Muslims have 5 prayers a day)

Habla: Translates roughly into an idiot

‘A’oothu billahi minn a’shaytaan a’rajeem’: 'I seek refuge in Allah from Satan, the accursed one.' Said before reciting the Qur'an and praying. 

Qibla: Direction Muslims face to pray (which is where Mecca currently stands)

Shaytaan: Satan/Devil

Khushu’: Calmness and attentiveness of the mind during prayer

Dua: Supplication  

Sujood: Prostration 

Rak’aat: Units of prayer

Sunnah: Actions that were done by the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) that are not obligatory but highly recommended and held in great value. In this case sunnah prayer means to offer extra prayer separate from the 5 obligatory ones 

Zhikr: Remembrance of god

Allah yerhamo: 'God bless him' or 'God have mercy on him'