CHAPTER 3
Chicago, United States
The boardroom was silent, save for the soft hum of the projector. At the head of the long glass table stood Kail Rizwan, sleeves rolled up, dark eyes focused on the final slide behind him—an empire in motion.
"By the end of this quarter," he said, voice calm and deliberate, "Rizwan Holdings will secure three new partnerships in Southeast Asia. Davao will be our main base. All logistics will be channeled through Manila. Our legal team is finalizing the land contracts."
He clicked the remote once. The screen darkened.
"Any objections?"
The investors exchanged glances. None spoke.
Kail closed the laptop, nodded once, and exited the room without a word. He never stayed to entertain applause. The company was expanding fast. What once belonged to his father was now being reshaped by his hands—leaner, bolder, smarter.
He made his way to the executive floor, loosening his tie. Behind his sharp business instincts, there was a different kind of urgency moving through him. A shift in priorities.
It was time to return to the Philippines.
Not just as a businessman, but as someone with roots to re-establish, promises to fulfill, and new ventures to explore—particularly the education sector.
Madrasah Al-Nahda.
An Islamic school tucked deep in Davao City. Quiet. Untouched by modern chaos. His father had mentioned it once, and the name had returned recently in an investment pitch. But this time, Kail wasn't just thinking in terms of charity or tax breaks. There was potential there—legacy, impact.
He needed someone he trusted by his side.
And there was only one person who fit that role perfectly.
"Zahra," he said, knocking gently at the door of his sister's home office.
She looked up from her tablet, hijab neatly wrapped, a cup of chai beside her. "You're calling me 'Zahra.' Not 'CEO Zahra' or 'financial tyrant.' I should be nervous."
Kail smirked. "I want you to come with me."
"To?"
"Philippines. Davao specifically. There's a school—Madrasah Al-Nahda. We're exploring a long-term educational collaboration. I need you there. The project's sensitive. And... I don't trust anyone else."
Zahra sat back, eyeing him. "Are you sure this isn't some spiritual impulse masked as a business trip?"
"I'm not chasing feelings, Zahra. I'm building something."
"Then let's build it right," she replied, smiling. "I'm in."
Kail nodded. "We leave in two weeks. Prep the files. I'll contact the school myself."
As he walked away, his mind already moved three steps ahead—investments, legalities, permits, schedules. He didn't waste time wondering why this specific school mattered so much. Not yet.
But deep in the quiet part of his heart, a storm was gathering. And it was slowly steering him toward something—someone—waiting at the other end of the world.
Madrasah Al-Nahda, Davao City
early sun filtered gently through the carved wooden windows of the faculty office, painting golden streaks across the floor. The scent of fresh ink and the faint hum of fans filled the quiet space. Behruz sat at his desk, half-immersed in his notes, arranging his slides for today's lecture on the compilation of Hadith—a topic he had always found deeply personal and spiritually grounding.
He adjusted the alignment of a Qur'anic verse on the screen and glanced at the clock. His lecture was in less than two hours, but he was already mentally walking his students through the evolution of Sahih al-Bukhari and how Imam al-Bukhari selected only around 7,000 narrations out of over 600,000—an example of scholarship, care, and sincerity that never failed to move him.
Just as he was about to highlight an excerpt from حديث رقم 1 —
إِنَّمَا الأَعْمَالُ بِالنِّيَّاتِ
"Actions are judged by intentions…"
—his laptop chimed softly.
An email.
Subject: Partnership Inquiry – Rizwan Holdings
He froze for a moment, brows furrowing. That name—Rizwan—had been floating in the administrative office for weeks now. A few correspondences, a proposal. But nothing definitive. Now, it looked like that long-awaited message had arrived.
He clicked it open.
Dear Mr. Al-Mirzani,
Rizwan Holdings is officially expressing interest in the educational partnership discussed earlier this year.
Our CEO, Mr. Kail Rizwan, and our financial director, Ms. Zahra Rizwan, will be visiting Madrasah Al-Nahda in the coming week to assess the school's programs, facilities, and strategic plans for collaboration.
We request a formal meeting with your administration, as well as a guided tour of the school, curriculum presentation, and a cultural introduction to your Islamic educational system.
Warm regards,
Mira Santos
Executive Assistant, Rizwan Holdings
Behruz leaned back, a rare look of contemplation softening his usually composed expression.
Kail Rizwan. The name rings a bell, he thought. Big name in the business world. And his company wants to invest here? In Madrasah Al-Nahda?
He pulled up the old email threads between the school and Rizwan Holdings. There it was—a thread started by his late student, Sister Mariam, months before she passed. She had quietly recommended the madrasah as a place worthy of support and legacy. Maybe this was her work echoing through time. Maybe this was fate arriving late, but exactly on time.
He closed the email slowly.
There was a ripple in his chest—not anxiety, but anticipation. Change was coming. And somehow, it all felt connected.
His mind flashed briefly to Jamila—her quiet strength, her curious eyes in class, the way she answered his question yesterday with such firm clarity. Her presence was still new, but already, she had awakened something long dormant in him. Not love—not yet. But something… warm.
He returned to his presentation, but now, his fingers moved with more intention.
Today's lesson would still be about niyyah—the purity of intention. But he would add something more at the end. A reminder.
"If Allah intends good for someone, He grants him understanding of the religion."
(Sahih al-Bukhari & Sahih Muslim)
Because sometimes, even business deals were guided by divine timing.
And sometimes… people who were never meant to meet, arrived on the same path—by decree, not design.
The wind had a gentle bite to it that morning, brushing past the date trees along the edge of the courtyard as Behruz stepped out of the office. The email from Rizwan Holdings still echoed in his mind. He needed to find his father—Ustadh Yusuf would want to know right away. But as he walked toward the path that led to the central prayer hall, something—someone—caught his attention.
At first, it was just a figure in black.
But when she turned, even slightly, lowering her gaze as she adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag, he recognized her instantly.
Jamila.
The name moved through him like a prayer said silently in sujood. She was standing on the paved path that split the west wing of the school—where the girls' dormitory connected to the library building. The rising sun caught the smooth fall of her black abaya, her hijab framing her face like the night sky cupping a full moon. She wasn't trying to be seen. And yet, he couldn't take his eyes off her.
He blinked, looked away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Lower your gaze, Behruz." But the pull was stronger today. Maybe it was the sincerity in her silence. The grace in the way she stood—as if carrying the weight of two worlds and yet still composed.
He stepped to the side of the walkway, just as she did. For a heartbeat, they stood across from one another, the quiet buzz of morning around them—the far-off chatter of students, the call of a bird, the faint rustle of leaves.
Then, her voice.
Soft. Calm. Measured.
"Brother Behruz… may I speak with you for a moment?"
He nodded slowly, words caught in his throat. "Of course," he said, barely above a whisper.
She took a few steps forward, her gaze respectful but steady. "I've been meaning to talk to you… about something important. Something personal."
The seriousness in her tone made him pause fully.
"I know this might sound sudden," she continued, her voice laced with something between strength and fear, "but my mother left something behind—a condition in her will. A promise… tied to this place, to this madrasah… and to you."
Behruz's chest tightened. He didn't move. Couldn't.
"She met your family before," Jamila said, her voice trembling slightly now. "And she entrusted you… and this school… with her only daughter. Me."
He lowered his gaze, heart thudding in his chest.
"She wanted me to study here for four years. To grow in my deen. To find myself again," Jamila added, her voice growing firmer, "And... she wanted me to marry the son of this school."
The words lingered in the air.
Behruz was speechless.
He looked at her again, slowly, searching her face for signs of uncertainty. But there was none. She stood like a woman who carried her pain with grace and her destiny with dignity. She wasn't begging for love. She was fulfilling an amanah—a trust.
"Your mother..." he finally said, voice hoarse, "she spoke of this to my father long ago. I didn't realize... it would come so soon."
Jamila nodded, her hands gently folded in front of her. "I understand if this is overwhelming. I only wanted you to know... that I accept what she wrote. Not because I was forced—but because I believe Allah is guiding me here."
Behruz could feel his heart racing, but not from panic. From awe.
He had taught about sincerity. He had lectured on niyyah, on trust in Allah's plan. But here stood a living example of those very things. A girl whose heart had been shattered, yet chose submission over escape.
He took a deep breath, nodded gently.
"I will speak to my father," he said. "And I will honor her trust… as it was given."
Their eyes met briefly—long enough to hold a silent understanding.
And then, with grace, she turned and walked away down the path, her steps sure, her presence like the quiet rhythm of a heartfelt dua.
Behruz remained still for a moment longer, watching until she disappeared into the corridor.
Only then did he whisper under his breath,
"Ya Allah… whatever this is, whatever You have written… let it be good."
JAMILAH POINT OF VIEW
My heart hadn't stopped racing since dawn.
Every step I took echoed with the weight of my mother's voice — not spoken, but felt. In my bones. In my blood. It was as if she was still here, watching me from a distance, whispering,
"Ya binti... it's time."
The pages of her letter were folded tightly in my journal, resting against my chest like a second heartbeat. I must have read them a hundred times in the last two nights, memorizing every word like scripture — and yet they still burned like fire in my mind.
Study here. Learn. Rise in your deen. And marry the one I entrusted… the son of Madrasah Al-Nahda.
I didn't know what scared me more — the clarity of her wish or the fact that I wasn't running from it.
I walked briskly through the campus, the wind catching the hem of my black abaya, pushing it gently behind me like wings I didn't ask for. The sun was harsh but the sky felt hollow, like something was about to crack open.
Then I saw him.
Behruz.
Tall, composed, walking out of the administrative office, clutching his tablet and some papers. His face held that usual calm, the kind that made students respect him in silence. But today, his brows were furrowed. Focused. Tense. Like someone who had just read something… unexpected.
He didn't see me at first. But I saw him.
And in that second, the words began pressing at the back of my throat like a dam about to break.
Say it. Now. Before you lose your courage.
My steps slowed as I reached the narrow paved path leading toward the masjid. He was headed in the same direction. And then, as if fate had a strange sense of theater, we both stopped.
Directly across from one another.
A single gust of wind swept between us, stirring the dust.
He looked up.
And everything stopped.
His eyes caught mine for a heartbeat. And in that moment, the world shifted beneath my feet. His gaze dropped in respect, but not before I saw something flash behind them — something unreadable. Surprise? Worry? Expectation?
I don't know where I found my voice. But I did.
"Brother Behruz…"
His head tilted slightly. "Yes?"
"I need to speak with you. Just for a moment."
His expression didn't change, but his body tensed — as if he'd sensed what was coming. He nodded once.
I stepped closer, blood roaring in my ears. My voice trembled at first, but I forced it steady.
"My mother… left something. A will. A condition, actually. Before she passed."
He didn't speak.
I continued, the words falling now like rain I couldn't stop.
"She loved this madrasah. She trusted your family. And before she died, she made a request. That I study here. That I commit to four years of learning. And…"
I paused.
The air around us went still. Even the birds above fell silent.
"That I marry you."
He blinked.
Not a gasp. Not a reaction. Just pure silence — like the moment before lightning splits the sky.
I looked down, my voice lower now. Firmer. "It wasn't just a wish. It was her trust. Her amanah. And I… I want to fulfill it."
I heard him exhale, barely audible. His grip on the papers tightened slightly.
"You don't need to answer. I just needed to say it. Before I lost the strength to."
His silence wasn't rejection — it was weight. Like he was holding something inside that he didn't dare release. Not yet.
Finally, after what felt like eternity, his voice cut through the air. Low. Intense.
"I will speak to my father. And… we will honor her trust."
I nodded, turned quickly before my knees gave out, and walked away — fast, heart pounding so violently I could barely breathe.
I didn't look back.
But I felt it.
His eyes… still on me.