Jeon J lowered his head and slipped quietly through the mosque gate, his shoulders slightly hunched, as though making himself smaller might keep him from being noticed.
He didn't want anyone to recognize him.
Only a few people were outside, but inside the prayer hall, the gathering was larger—mostly young men. Each of them held a similar book in his hands.
Jeon J didn't know what it was.
He didn't know what they were reading.
To him, they were simply pages filled with lines he couldn't understand.
The young men sat in two perfectly straight rows, leaving a narrow space between them like an invisible pathway.
At the very front sat a man facing them.
He wasn't Mr Donghyun.
Nothing was intimidating about him. No stern expression. No commanding presence.
Only a quiet steadiness.
One by one, a person would rise from his place, walk toward the man, open his book, and read a few lines.
The man listened patiently, a gentle smile resting on his face.
When the reading was finished, he would raise his right hand and place his palm lightly against the right side of the reader's head.
Then the person would return to his place.
Again.
And again.
The gesture was simple, almost ordinary, yet there was something strangely comforting about its repetition.
Jeon J remained near the entrance, watching.
No one seemed restless.
No one checked a phone.
No one whispered to the person beside him or looked toward the door to see who had arrived.
They simply read.
Some faces carried faint smiles that appeared for only a moment before disappearing again. Some eyes remained lowered, not with sadness, but with concentration. Others looked serious, yet there was no tension in their expressions.
Jeon J couldn't understand it.
The silence wasn't heavy.
It wasn't empty either.
It felt full.
Full of something he couldn't name.
He had spent most of his life surrounded by noise—voices, cameras, music, hurried footsteps, schedules, people constantly moving from one place to another.
Yet here, time seemed to move differently.
Slower.
Steadier.
As if no one inside had anywhere else they needed to be.
Without realizing it, Jeon J's head lowered a little further.
He wasn't searching for faith.
He wasn't thinking about prayer.
He wasn't even trying to understand what the people were reading.
He was simply looking at their faces.
There was something anchored in them.
Something invisible, yet certain.
And for the first time, Jeon J felt as though he was standing in a room where everyone else knew something he didn't.
He didn't know what that something was.
But he could see what it did to them.
His eyes moved slowly across the rows, searching for one familiar face.
Mr Donghyun.
He wasn't there.
Jeon J looked toward the far side of the mosque—the corner where he had noticed the women the previous day.
A few young girls were gathered there today, along with several small children.
Each girl had her head covered with a scarf, and each held a book similar to the ones in the men's section.
They were reading quietly.
Jeon J's gaze lingered there for a moment.
Then a calm voice came from behind him.
"Today, we will host you."
Jeon J turned.
Mr Donghyun stood behind him.
A peaceful smile rested on his face.
"You have made time for us."
Something about the man's presence immediately made Jeon J straighten.
A small shiver passed through him.
He hadn't heard Mr Donghyun approach.
"I think you've come to pick Zoya," Mr Donghyun said, as though he already knew why Jeon J was there.
Jeon J hesitated.
Mr Donghyun smiled.
"Don't worry. You will be given another chance to be properly welcomed."
He motioned toward the hallway.
"Come with me, young man."
Jeon J followed him.
They entered a small room tucked away beside the main hall.
It was quiet and simple.
A table stood against one wall, with a single chair positioned at its far end. Three additional chairs rested along the walls, leaving most of the room open.
A window overlooked the back of the mosque.
The last light of evening touched the prayer area outside, though the deepening sky and scattered city lights made it feel almost like night.
Mr Donghyun gestured toward a chair.
"Please."
Jeon J sat.
Mr Donghyun took the chair opposite him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Mr Donghyun smiled.
"Your voice is beautiful, young man."
Jeon J gave a small smile.
"Thank you."
Mr Donghyun studied him for a moment before asking,
Knock. Knock.
The door opened slightly.
A boy, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, stood outside.
Jeon J barely looked at him.
The boy said something quietly to Mr Donghyun.
Mr Donghyun rose.
"Why don't you come with me? I'll guide you."
He stepped toward the door, then paused.
Looking back at Jeon J, he smiled.
"Please stay here. I'll be right back."
The door closed behind them.
Silence returned.
Jeon J remained seated for several seconds.
Then he stood.
He walked slowly around the room, his eyes moving over the simple furniture.
There was another window.
This one was covered by curtains.
As he passed it, he heard something.
Voices.
Soft.
Young.
Occasionally nervous.
Someone was asking a question.
Someone else was answering.
Jeon J stopped.
He stared at the curtains.
Something inside him told him not to look.
He knew he shouldn't.
But curiosity won.
Slowly, he reached out and pulled the curtain aside.
His eyes widened.
Beyond the window was the women's section.
Several girls were seated together.
And among them—
Zoya.
Jeon J froze.
An older woman sat with the girls, listening to them with the quiet authority of a teacher.
He immediately felt as though he had crossed a line.
He should step away.
He knew that.
But then a young girl's voice reached him.
"Seonsaengnim..." Ma'am
The girl sitting two places to Zoya's right raised her hand timidly.
"What should we do when we see someone standing on a path that only the true light illuminates?"
The older woman looked at her gently.
"My daughter..."
The girl's voice trembled slightly.
"My name is Seo-yeon. But you may call me Mrs Donghyun."
A small, nervous smile appeared on her face.
Mrs Donghyun returned it.
"Now, about your question..."
Her voice remained soft.
"You may invite someone toward the light. You may explain its importance. You may show them what you believe is true."
She paused.
"But remember something important."
The girls listened.
"If that person listens and still chooses another path peacefully, you must respect that choice."
Her eyes moved slowly across the room.
"Faith cannot be forced. Guidance belongs only to Allah."
The young girl's expression changed.
Mrs Donghyun noticed.
"My daughter..."
She leaned forward slightly.
"Sometimes we hope that someone we love will share the same faith and values we hold."
Her eyes lowered.
"You are thinking about marriage, aren't you?"
The girl nodded.
"Then remember this. You can pray for him. You can make dua for him. You can wish for guidance for him."
Mrs Donghyun's voice became even softer.
"But his heart belongs to Allah. You cannot force faith upon another person."
Her eyes filled with tears.
Her voice barely carried across the room.
"I want to marry him."
She swallowed.
"But only if he walks this path sincerely."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I fear that if I leave this world before he finds it... we may be separated in the Hereafter."
The room fell completely silent.
Mrs Donghyun opened her hand, gently inviting the girl closer.
"My daughter, a sincere intention is never wasted."
She moved closer.
"Continue to pray for him. Remain patient. Remain kind."
She gently touched the girl's hand.
"Trust that Allah hears every dua, even the ones you cannot put into perfect words."
Her eyes softened.
"You cannot decide when someone's heart will change."
A faint smile touched her face.
"But you can trust the One who holds every heart."
The girl's tears continued to fall.
"The happiness you hope for—whether in this world or the next—will come according to His wisdom."
The words settled over the room.
No one spoke.
There was a strange peace in the silence.
Jeon J remained behind the curtain, completely still.
He had come here knowing almost nothing.
Yet somehow, he didn't want to leave.
Then another voice rose from among the girls.
A voice he knew immediately.
He didn't need to turn.
She is...
"My heart always wanted to speak in Arabic..."
Her voice was quiet.
"Of course, Allah hears every language. He knows every heart and every word."
She paused.
"But my soul wished for Arabic."
Jeon J's eyes remained fixed on her.
"Perhaps because the last holy book was revealed in Arabic. So I started learning it little by little."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"From social media. From practice. From listening again and again."
She lowered her gaze.
"So when I raise my hands for dua..."
Her voice became softer.
"I ask Allah..."
She whispered:
"اللَّهُمَّ اهْدِهِ وَاغْفِرْ لَهُ"
O Allah, guide him and forgive him...
Jeon J's expression changed.
Something about those words made him listen more carefully.
But before Zoya could continue—
Ring.
The sudden sound of a phone echoed through the quiet room.
Everyone went still.
Zoya's voice stopped.
Jeon J's eyes widened.
His hand immediately went to his pocket.
His phone.
He had forgotten to silence it.
He quickly rejected the call.
One glance at the screen was enough.
Someone from the studio.
He exhaled quietly, embarrassed.
Behind the curtain, Zoya remained silent.
She didn't need to see him.
She already knew.
She had heard that ringtone before.
She knew he was nearby.
But she said nothing.
She respected the gathering.
And perhaps, somewhere deep inside, she was afraid that one word from her would reveal what neither of them was ready to acknowledge.
A calm voice suddenly came from the entrance.
"Always remain under the shade of mercy, my daughters."
Mr Donghyun.
The girls turned slightly toward the entrance.
A few smiles appeared on their faces.
His words carried the warmth of a blessing.
Then his gaze moved toward Zoya.
"My daughter, Zoya."
She looked up.
"If you are free, come now."
A pause.
"Someone has been waiting for quite some time."
Zoya's heart skipped.
Mr Donghyun smiled faintly.
"I think he has come to pick you."
Zoya froze.
She had told Minji that she would come on her own.
Then her eyes drifted toward the direction of the window.
The ringtone echoed once more in her memory.
Her voice came out almost as a whisper.
"Who is it?"
She swallowed.
"Why did he come...?"
To be continued...
Regards
ZK💌