Zoya stepped out of the mosque and slowly lowered herself onto the wide stone stairs outside.
People were everywhere.
On one side, a family had spread a carpet across the pavement, laughing softly as they shared food, their gathering carrying the warmth of a small picnic.
On the other side, a few people sat quietly on the steps, just like Zoya—alone, lost somewhere deep inside their own thoughts.
The air carried an almost Eid festival-like feeling. Warm. Alive. Peaceful.
There was laughter in the distance, the soft murmur of conversations, the footsteps of people coming and going. Yet somehow, beneath all of it, there was a strange stillness.
Zoya lifted her head and looked toward the mosque gate.
Above it, Arabic letters were written in bold:
Allahu Akbar.
Allah is the Greatest.
At night, those words glowed beneath artificial lights. But now, under the soft golden light of sunrise, they looked different.
Softer.
Almost alive.
It felt as though the light wasn't merely touching the mosque.
It was spreading over Seoul itself.
Zoya lowered her gaze and reached into her bag. Her fingers found the lunch box Mrs. Han had given her.
She pulled it out and was just about to take out her phone to call Minji when her fingers suddenly froze.
Her phone wasn't there.
She searched inside the bag again.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time, more urgently.
Nothing.
The calm she had been holding onto slowly slipped away.
For the first time that morning, genuine worry appeared on her face.
It was in my hand when I left home...
She frowned, trying to remember.
I remember putting it in my bag... So where did it go?
Her thoughts began running in circles.
She forgot about the food.
Closing the lunch box, she pushed it back into her bag and drew her knees toward her chest. Resting her head against them, she sat completely still.
For several minutes, she didn't move.
Then she slowly lifted her head and took a deep breath.
She reached into her bag again.
This time, she pulled the lunch box out.
She opened it and began eating the fried chicken.
Slowly.
Mechanically.
As though she were eating only because her body had reminded her that it needed food.
When she finished, she wiped her hands with a tissue, packed everything away, and placed the box back inside her bag.
She sat there quietly for a while longer, watching the world move around her.
Children ran past, laughing.
Elders sat together, talking.
Families rested on the pavement.
People entered and left the mosque.
Life continued.
And slowly, Zoya's breathing became steady again.
If I could come back safely from a place like DMC last night...
Her eyes moved across the peaceful scene before her.
And now I'm sitting here, in a mosque...
A faint smile touched her lips.
Then how can I panic? How can I keep thinking that I'm lost?
She looked up toward the mosque once more.
Maybe she wasn't lost.
Maybe she simply didn't know where she was going yet.
When it was time for next Salah—the third prayer of the day—Zoya quietly went back inside.
Some families were still there, as though they had spent the entire Friday within those peaceful walls.
After the prayer, Zoya picked up a Qur'an and sat down.
She began reciting.
Her voice was soft, almost inaudible, but with every verse, something inside her seemed to settle.
For a while, there was no Seoul.
No DMC.
No missing phone.
No fear.
Only the words before her.
Only Allah.
After some time, Zoya finally closed the Qur'an and prepared to leave.
That was when she saw them.
A boy and a girl entered through the mosque entrance.
The boy wore jeans and a casual shirt.
The girl wore blue jeans, a white top, and a small scarf loosely covering her head.
Zoya stopped.
Something about the way they entered made her pause.
They walked straight toward the imam and sat down before him.
The imam's calm expression made it seem as though he had been expecting them.
Zoya remained seated at a distance—close enough to see them, but too far away to hear their conversation.
The imam smiled.
Then he turned toward the girl and began reciting something.
The girl's back was toward Zoya, but there was no mistaking what she was doing.
She was repeating the words after him.
Zoya's eyes widened.
A sudden chill passed through her entire body.
She understood.
The girl was reciting the Kalma Shahada—the declaration of faith that marked the beginning of a new life in Islam.
Zoya slowly stepped backward.
It was as though her body had begun retreating before her heart could even understand what it was feeling.
Her back touched the wall.
Her knees weakened.
She slid down until she was sitting on the floor, drawing her knees close to herself.
Her shoulders began to tremble.
And then she broke.
She cried the way people cry when they no longer know how to stop.
When every breath turns into a broken hiccup.
When tears blur everything in front of them.
When the body finally gives up trying to hold together what the heart has been carrying for too long.
Her sobs shook her chest.
She tried to breathe, but every breath broke halfway through.
Still, she couldn't stop.
She didn't know what was happening around her.
She didn't know who was passing by.
She didn't know who might be watching.
She only knew that she was crying.
Crying out everything she had kept buried inside for so long.
All the prayers.
All the fear.
All the waiting.
All the hope.
All the questions she had never been brave enough to ask.
Time passed like that.
Then, suddenly, a voice reached her ears.
Zoya froze.
Her crying stopped mid-breath.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
The imam was standing there.
Beside him stood the same boy and girl.
No one else was around them now.
The mosque had become unusually quiet, almost as if the entire world had stepped back to give this moment some space.
Zoya suddenly became aware of herself.
Her tear-stained face.
Her trembling shoulders.
The way she was sitting on the floor.
Embarrassment washed over her.
She immediately lowered her gaze.
Her lashes were heavy with tears, and her fingers tightened together in her lap.
"What happened?" the imam asked gently.
"Why are you crying like this, my daughter?"
There was no judgment in his voice.
Only concern.
Zoya raised her eyes for a brief second, just long enough to meet his calm gaze.
But the weight inside her chest was too heavy.
She couldn't speak.
She lowered her gaze again.
Silence settled between them.
Not the uncomfortable kind.
It was the kind of silence that waited patiently.
The kind that understood some hearts needed time before their lips could finally speak.
The imam turned toward the newly converted couple.
"May Allah grant you both a beautiful life filled with peace and happiness."
His prayer continued softly.
During it, Zoya slowly stood up.
She slipped her bag over her shoulder and looked toward them.
A soft smile appeared on her tearful face.
But once again, her eyes filled with tears.
She stepped forward.
Then she held out her hand toward Choi Ara.
"Congratulations to both of you," Zoya said.
Her voice trembled.
"You are so lucky."
She swallowed.
"Not everyone is granted this guidance. Allah gives it only to whom He wills."
Her eyes moved between them.
"Today, Allah's special mercy has touched you."
Her voice became softer.
"You have found Him... and the one who finds Allah becomes deserving of happiness in this world and the next."
She smiled through her tears.
"Deserving of Jannah."
The words came out without planning.
As if her heart had taken control of her tongue.
"You are like newborns now," she continued softly.
"Whatever you were before... whatever you did..."
Her voice cracked.
"It's all washed away. All erased."
She took a shaky breath.
"Your record is empty."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Please... make dua for me."
She looked at both of them.
"Both of you."
Her voice became almost a whisper.
"You are like newborn babies. Pure. Free from sin."
She smiled faintly through her tears.
"Allah accepts the prayers of children quickly."
Before Zoya could say anything else, Choi Ara stepped forward.
She wrapped her arms tightly around Zoya.
Zoya froze for a moment.
Then her eyes closed.
"Your heart feels exactly like mine did just a few minutes ago," Ara whispered.
Zoya's lips trembled.
"I don't know how to make dua yet," Ara continued. "I don't know the words."
She pulled back slightly, looking into Zoya's tearful eyes.
"But I will say this to God."
Her voice shook.
"May He grant your heart the same peace He gave mine today."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
They simply looked at each other through their tears.
Then they smiled.
Ara stepped back.
She looked at Zoya one last time, her eyes shining with gratitude, before she and Kim Jisung quietly walked away together.
The mosque doors slowly swallowed them from view.
Zoya watched until they disappeared.
"Come, my child," the imam said gently.
He pointed toward the place where he had been sitting.
"Sit here."
Then, with a small smile, he added,
"And you can call me."
Zoya sat down in front of him.
Her head remained lowered.
Her hands rested quietly in her lap.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Lee Donghyun didn't rush her.
Perhaps he understood that sometimes a person's heart needed to speak before their lips could.
Finally, after several moments, Zoya broke the silence.
"I have never had a single impure thought about him."
Her voice was calm now.
Steady.
"The first time I saw him, I made a dua."
She paused.
"And I've been making that same dua ever since."
Her breath caught slightly.
"Every day, I see things in imagination."
She looked toward the mosque doors through which Ara and Jisung had disappeared.
"And today, I saw it with my own eyes."
Her voice softened.
"Hearts changing."
She swallowed.
"Souls turning toward truth."
Her eyes filled again.
"No matter what the reason is... people are searching for light."
A small pause.
"And they're finding the light that brightens the heart."
She stopped.
Then corrected herself softly, almost as if speaking to her own heart.
"I pray for his heart, too."
Her voice became barely audible.
"For his guidance."
Lee Donghyun listened without interrupting.
Something about his presence felt strangely familiar to Zoya.
Safe.
There was no pressure in his silence.
No judgment.
No demand for explanations.
Just understanding.
That quiet sense of belonging loosened something inside her.
Still, she remained silent for a moment, tears clinging to her lashes.
Then finally, she whispered,
"I want to travel to Jannah with him."
Lee Donghyun looked at her.
Zoya's eyes remained lowered.
"To a place where Allah has promised there will be no separation."
The words were simple.
But the longing behind them was not.
Lee Donghyun studied her carefully.
There was no shock in his expression.
No judgment.
Only understanding.
Then he asked, very softly,
"Tell me, Zoya..."
She slowly raised her eyes.
"Is your fear that Allah will not unite you?"
He paused.
"Or that you might lose faith before that promise is fulfilled?"
The question remained suspended between them.
Heavy.
Gentle.
And painfully precise.
Zoya didn't move.
For the first time, someone had asked the exact question her heart had been silently crying about.
To be Continued....
Regards,
ZK💌