**Endurance is born when determination walks hand in hand with surrender; the long-distance runner bends to the wind, yet never loses sight of the horizon.**
_____.
Jamal moved through the dim street, sandals whispering on wet interlocks. The air hung heavy: mango bark, rusted iron, the faint scent of a childhood drawer.
Fawas' space. The old mango tree still leaned towards the flickering streetlamp, casting its bent shadow. But the house? Repainted off-white with black trim. New, sleeker gate. No guards. No dogs. No rumbling engines. Just stillness. Too much stillness. Unguarded. Unthinkable for a place that once swallowed visitors whole. Fawas' father protected *everything*.
Yet tonight, the gates stood ajar. Forgotten? Forgiven?
Compound lights still worked, some habits are just die hard. No pressure now. No fear. Jamal stepped in like he belonged, not by entitlement, but by friendship.
The front door loomed. Above, a fluorescent bulb buzzed, pulsing light onto the wet stones. A black-and-grey cat, one white paw, curled on the steps. Its eyes glowed momentarily in the flicker. It raised its head as Jamal approached.
"Still here?" Jamal murmured, crouching to rub its head. A low purr, then indifference resumed. He straightened, knuckles lifted to knock.
The door slid open before contact. Quiet. Deliberate.
A woman stepped out. Thick-hipped. Confident. A sea-blue hijab slipping, silk cascading over her shoulder. Her walk was measured, like crossing a memorized minefield. She didn't look at him. Didn't greet. Didn't flinch. Head high, faint perfume, steps precise through ruins of prayer.
Jamal watched her dissolve into the dusk. "Still no change with Fawas, huh." He murmured to the air. "Even the wind returns with more humility."
A familiar voice floated from inside, low as twilight: "Make sure you call me once you get home."
Jamal lingered. The cat rubbed his ankle, tail forming a question mark. A faint smile touched his lips. He didn't raise his voice:
"Should I take the cat... trade it for silver at Pa Jalāl's?"
A beat. Silence.
Then a voice from within, confused, then amused:
"What... Wait... *Pa Jalāl?*"
Recognition struck like a dropped prayer bead.
A stool scraped. Bare feet slapped across tile. The door swung open.
And there stood Fawas.
Shirt half-tucked, eyes squinting through the porch light like a man confronting a ghost he'd buried but never mourned. His jaw slackened.
"No. *Way...*" he muttered, breathe cease.
"Yes way," Jamal murmured shaking his head in a playful manner, voice parched, eyes glinting with old, knowing mischief.
Fawas blinked hard, rubbing both eyes as if the motion might shatter the vision.
"*Wallahi*... Jamal," he breathed, stepping forward slowly, as if the space between them had grown fragile. "It's really you. How long? Five years? Four?"
Jamal stood motionless. Rain-kissed. Soul-burdened. Unreadable.
"Seven," he said finally. "Eight, if you count the years that didn't just pass... but, pressed"
Fawas exhaled, a sharp, ragged sound.
"I thought you vanished... Disappeared that night like a prayer too heavy to land."
Jamal's gaze held steady. "Some prayers don't land," he said softly. "They drift sideways. Crooked. And Allah sends wind, not wings. I just... followed the wind back."
Fawas laughed, a startled, boyish burst, like an ache long caged in his ribs finally breaking free.
"Still cryptic as ever, *wallahi*. Like some wandering Sufi trailing riddles and dust."
"Old times never die," Jamal said, closing the distance. "They sleep under the bed. Waiting for night to grow quiet enough to return." He opened his arms reaching for an embrace "How've you been brother?"
Their embrace was rough, wordless, the kind men share when silence holds more than memory ever could. Strength lived in it. Grief. A relief too deep for language.
Fawas pulled back, studying his friend as if time had distilled him into something purer, heavier.
"i've been great actually. Doing great. You look... weighted. Not in flesh. In soul," he murmured.
Jamal's lips curved faintly. "The world isn't weightless, brother. It tilts crooked with deeds and memories."
Fawas tilted his head, a teasing grin blooming. "Prophet Idris teach you that on pilgrimage?"
"*Tch.* Why assume I met a prophet?" Jamal's tone softened. "I just learned to listen. Listening is the root of knowing."
"Right, right." Fawas winked. "But tell me, you started collecting your thrifts yet?"
Jamal raised a brow. "Thrift? You mean?"
"Don't play righteous." Fawas's grin widened. "*Thrifts*. Foreplay. Dunya's blessed little gift." He raised two fingers in mock solemnity.
Jamal huffed a dry laugh.
"Ah. That harvest?" He shook his head. "Some master cultivation. Others? Still learning to water the soil." A pause. "I'm still learning."
Fawas clicked his tongue. "*Still* intact?" He clapped Jamal's shoulder. "Brother, sand's slipping through the hourglass. We ain't seedlings anymore."
Jamal shrugged. "Mmm. True. But maybe *you* should tend your own field and stop chasing every breeze in skirt or jilbab." His eyes held Fawas's. "Besides... something deeper than desire brought me back. Not your biased sexual sermon."
Fawas chuckled, eyes glinting. "Mystic mode activated. Don't worry, I still get you."
"Do you?" Jamal's voice roughened. "The world shouts. I had to relearn silence."
A moment hung, dense, quiet, the air thick with years unspoken.
Then Fawas stepped aside, swinging the door wide.
"Come on in, aboki, Before the cat reconsiders your offer."
Jamal smiled. Crossed the threshold.
Into warmth. Into memory. Into whatever current that had drawn him home.
As the door began to close, Jamal asked softly, eyes down:
"Your father... he still lives here?"
Fawas's hand froze on the handle.
"Not really." His voice flattened. "If he did... would you be at my door?" A beat. "We'll talk after you rest. Just come in." He nudged Jamal forward. "Good to have you home."
____.
Inside, the room embraced Jamal, soft warmth, incense clinging to corners like ancient prayers. Cold tiles had replaced the rug, but the same framed *ayat* still watched from the wall. Beside it, a faded portrait of Fawas' parents and their younger selves defied time. More lamps now. Fewer shadows. **Less fear.**
Jamal scanned the retouched familiarity. His bag thudded as he sank into the blue armchair.
He glanced at the door, then fixed Fawas with a sideways look.
"Home's Peaceful now. More Welcoming."
"Yeah, Right" Fawas' smile was a blade wrapped in silk. "None of this warmth would breathe if my father still haunted these walls."
"That woman earlier..." Jamal tilted his head toward the exit. "Wife? Or neighbor with... convenient timing?"
Fawas scratched his beard, eyes dancing.
"Aisha. Came for evening tilāwah." A beat. "The rain detained her."
Jamal's gaze sharpened. "*Tilāwah?*"
"Mm. Nothing serious." Fawas shrugged. "Yet."
"Seven years," Jamal sighed. "I hoped they'd season you. Instead, you're still running Qur'an classes for doe-eyed women 'caught in storms'."
Fawas laughed, adjusting his kaftan. "You make it sound haram! Want me to swear?" He raised his index finger.
"What'd she recite?" Jamal deadpanned. "*Surah al-Desire? Ayah 6:9?*"
Laughter erupted; rich, raw, exorcising old ghosts.
As it faded, Jamal's face hardened.
"Jokes aside Fawas. Stop chaining your spirit to every woman you share space with."
Fawas' brow lifted.
"It's not just flesh," Jamal pressed, voice low as embers. "Souls *exchange* energy. Every touch leaves residue. Lingers. *Layers.* Either Dark or white."
Fawas stroked his beard, silent.
"Too many ties?" Jamal leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Muddy the heart. Drown the whisper of Allah."
Silence thickened.
"You think this is foolish?" Jamal challenged after not getting a response. "Just dusty words from a ghost who lost touch? Hmmm?"
Fawas, halfway to the bar, paused. His smirk hung like a shield. He chuckled, rubbing his neck.
"*SubhanAllah*, Jamal... What do you want me do or say? Start gathering every thrift I've scattered?"
He lifted empty hands: What's broken stays broken. "But your sermon?" He reached for wine. "It's for the young male and female out there still growing. If you had told me this Ten years ago, Maybe, it would've helped. Now?" The cork hissed free. "I'm just swimming in the flood I made."
He filled two glasses, shot Jamal a teasing glare.
"And you? Never once drawn your sword, People would always think you like those fable-stallions, majestic. Yet untouched."
Jamal didn't smile.
"Word to the wise, Fawas. Tethering your soul to countless others? It fractures destiny. Weakens body and spirit." He shook his head, almost amused. "Horses sense shifting winds. You should notice what's hunting you."
Fawas raised his glass. "Then toast the hunt!"
"Your choice," Jamal conceded. "But don't spill generations into gutters. Who'll call me 'Uncle' then?"
Fawas barked a laugh, full-bodied, reckless. Happy for the mood shift. "Mister Biologist! When mine dries up, I'm tapping your reserves." He thrust a chipped glass toward Jamal. "Cold, but it'll do before tea water boils up." Raising his own glass, his eyes glinted. "A toast..." the smile sharpened, "to your homecoming." Their glasses clinked:
soft, hollow. A sound that knew what it interrupted.
Fawas folded into the opposite couch, leg crossed.
Jamal leaned back, swirling his drink without sipping, gaze skating over the rim as if searching for something behind it. "Truth is…" His voice dropped low. "Nostalgia didn't bring me home." A hesitation. "I came for the Shaykh. And maybe… to find something I lost. Or forgot."
Fawas studied him, nodding once. Slower. Less friend, more witness.
Jamal looked up. "And your dad?"
Fawas's breath drew in, deliberate. "A lot's happened, *akhi*."
"You know Waziri, right?"
"The sharp-tongued one?" Jamal's eyebrow lifted. "Dark-skinned. Walks like he owns the sky?"
Fawas burst out laughing. "That's him. Self-declared philosopher-king. Second-in-command and chief saboteur."
"So the Sufi circles didn't fry my memory then," Jamal said, a lopsided grin forming. Their laughter erupted, loud, uncontrolled, like boys again, just for a breath.
Then Jamal's voice dropped like a stone. "What about him, though? What's Waziri got to do with your dad's absence?"
Fawas leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees. "Patience brother. It's layered. A betrayal. A cover-up. A vanishing act. And eventually… prison."
"SubhanAllah," Jamal whispered, stunned. "All this in just seven years?"
"Seven years," Fawas echoed. "Felt longer to me."
A sharp whistle pierced the room, the kettle in the kitchen, shrill as a breaking thought.
Fawas stood, brushing invisible dust from his jeans. "We just keep praying," he said, voice roughened. "That Allah holds us upright. That He forgives the ones we couldn't save." He turned toward the kitchen.
Jamal heard metal scrape tile, cupboard doors groan. Ceramic clinked. The whistle faded, replaced by the low hush of poured water.
______.
Moments later, Fawas returned from the kitchen, tray in hand. Steam curled from the teapot, rising in delicate swirls as he crossed into the parlor. He set the tray down near the archway, and the scent of cardamom and mint began to fill the room, familiar, almost prophetic.
Then, just as he turned, his voice reached back like a net cast casually into still waters.
"Still shocks me though… you missed Almeida's initiation, and yet you're untouched?"
Jamal looked up sharply, caught off guard.
The name hit like sharded glass in wine-dark memory. Almeida.
He stiffened.
He wasn't ready.
Truth was, since leaving Nur Afiya, he'd tried. A few women with kind eyes and gentler lies. A boss's daughter who promised "forever," then swapped him for a yacht and a banker. Or maybe... maybe something in him always knew. His soul wouldn't land there. Wouldn't let itself.
He thought he'd shut the door to the heart.
Until the dream during Tahajjud. Four years ago.
A silhouette in stillness.
A scent like oud and rain.
A whisper that wasn't a voice:
"Find me where the river bends."
Not an invitation. A command.
The kind only the soul obeys.
All that other stuff? That was the past now.
"He doesn't know what really happened that night…" Jamal murmured, more to the steam than to anyone.
Fawas stood in the archway, shadow-framed. "What happened that night?" he asked softly.
Jamal didn't respond. Eyes fixed. Breath shallow. Memory thorns tightening.
"Jamal."
He startled. Wine sloshed. "What?"
"You said that night," Fawas pressed, stepping into the parlor. "Which night?"
A pause. Then Jamal's voice dropped.
"Almeida's."
Fawas didn't blink. "What about it?"
The silence thickened, dense enough to carve.
Jamal's gaze rose slowly. A dark warning glinting beneath the weariness.
"I think we should let the sleeping dog lie," he said. Then softer, "I'll tell you. When the river's ready."
Fawas raised his hand in mock surrender. "Whenever you're ready." He turned toward the kitchen.
Just then, Jamal's phone buzzed. He reached for it lazily, glanced at the screen.
11:04 PM.
The digits glared back like a verdict.
He let out a breath and sank deeper into the cushion. "SubhanAllah. Thirteen hours on a bus." He stretched his neck and pressed his lower back "Let's leave the father talk till morning, yeah? I suspect my back is planning to file a lawsuit ."
Fawas reappeared, holding a linen-covered breadbasket. "That's your tax for showing up unannounced," he grinned.
Jamal chuckled. "How do I even contact you? I lost all my numbers."
"You just did," Fawas replied, setting the basket down beside the tray. "Funny thing though… got this bread just after Asr. Spirit nudged me, like it knew you were coming."
Jamal smiled, soft and knowing.
"The soul is wiser than man," he murmured, reaching for a piece.
"I've walked roads where the welcome arrived before the invitation."
"The house usually knows when you're coming," Fawas added, that familiar grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Jamal gave a dry laugh, rubbing his face. "I don't even know anymore if I'm the one chasing… or if I'm being chased." He sank back with a sigh. "But look close enough... the gains are usually hiding between the pains."
Fawas poured the tea slowly.
Steam rose like incense.
Cardamom and memory hung between them.
"You know, the universe doesn't give us what we want, it gives us what we need, and sometimes, what we need is the hardest to handle. Let's soften the night," he concluded, unveiling the bread.
"you're absolutely right Akhi" Jamal concluded picking up a loaf.
_______.
They ate like men who knew stillness. Bread torn quietly, butter spread slow, honey drizzled like gold. No small talk. Just warmth.
After the plates were emptied and cups half-drunk, Jamal leaned back and wiped his hands on a napkin. His eyes scanned the room again. Boyhood lingered in corners. The past was alive here, but quieter now.
"I'll take the visitor's room," he said. "No more sneaking upstairs, hiding from giants." He looked to the ceiling, then at Fawas. "We're grown now. And your father's presence... isn't what it was."
Fawas nodded. "Yeah. Things change." Then added, "Cleaner came this morning. All the rooms are fresh."
Jamal picked up his bag with a quiet grunt. "Good to see you brother. Plenty to discuss tomorrow. But the need for rest?"
He yawned mid-step.
"Stays undefeated. Have a good night" with that he walked away.
Fawas gathered the dishes with a grin. "Sleep easy, aboki. But know that whatever has brought you back... you're not alone."
"I'll keep that in mind" Jamal whispered, continuing in his track towards the room.
The house exhaled around them.
The night folded with a respectful pause.
Sleep came eventually.
But not silence.
Because even in rest,
the soul listens.