It started with....

... a push, a little slap here and there when things weren't finished properly and on time. He would come home around 4pm demanding this and demanding that after a long day away from home. This I didnt mind, he was bettering himself out in the real world, a world I would no longer be a part of and I would at least give him that. Maybe that would be the reason that on judgement day Allah (subhana wa ta'ala) would say to me "pass next to me through these gates to enjoy eternity with me and your prophets" Insha'Allah
... a bang of the front door at 4am and another demand. What could I do? deny what I have been asked by my creator to give? The smell of alcohol on his breath made me feel sick, but who I am to comment on his nightly visits away from the home? That is his life, a side I am not a part of.
... a piece of paper, a signature demanding something in a language I knew nothing of. A language that was not translated to me by one who boasted it as his first language. Something I would never know if he had anything to do with it, especially with my age, my health, my abilities.

I look at this man sitting across from me at the dinner table as he drinks his tea, the doorbell rings. I think hard about the previous years, I had lost my husband at a young age leaving me with children to fend for in a foreign country. I never though I would be happy again, but my children kept me smiling.. in a world that I couldn't navigate they directed me, but they too navigated away as all children do. I was alone until Tahir came to me, he looked after me.. moved into the family house and everything was happy again.
Then I realised how used to American life he had become. While I, the muslim, tried to hold onto my deen he partied away until the small hours of the morning with women wearing short skirts and even less morals. There would be alcohol and God only knows what else at the places he went to, I just knew to keep my mouth shut and not seem to cast judgement.
As my age ran away with me the violence started and got worse as his frustration with what I could or couldn't do, ran through his veins to his fists first, and then my face, or my stomach, sometimes my back as I tried to walk away.
When his father died, we attended the funeral early in the morning at the local mosque and quickly moved through the traditions of the bengali community. As I stepped into the house, welcoming the peace I was instantly floored by a force to the back of the head, then I was spat on as I felt, what I could only assume to be Tahir, step over me leaving the front door wide open. As I lay there, I prayed for someone to find me only to tell myself to think back to the poor 20 year old across the street. She had just asked to visit her parents when she was stabbed in the chest for not doing as she was told.. we all heard the screams, yet we did nothing. Or the 80 year old grandmother who was beaten by her 16 year old grandson for not giving him enough money for Eid al-fitr, again we did nothing. So why was I surprised?
I sat in my usual chair the next day, waiting for time to pass when I heard the fateful knock at the door, upon pulling back the curtains and seeing the two uniformed officers at the door I moved to see what they were looking for. Remembering my language skills I was pleased to see my next door neighbours daughter with them, they came in and I prepared tea slowly but effectively that Reema helped me move to the sitting room.
Translated the conversation went something like this.... 'We know hes been beating you Mrs Kupar, you dont have to put up with this, there are places we can look after you and take you in. He doesnt have the right, we know your marital history but you dont have to pay for any previous mistakes. Tahir isnt the boy you brought up Mrs Kupar and a son should never treat his mother like this. Paradise is under your feet Mrs Kupar, you dont have to earn anything from him'
It ended soon after with tears and the removal of myself from the house I had lived in for 72 years, where I had borne my 6 children, including Tahir.

Only Allah can judge

'Ok,' I answered quietly into my mobile phone, '6pm, see you there' I ended the call just as my father walked into my bedroom. Flustering over hiding the phone I complained and reminded him that I had a door to knock on. He didnt answer, as usual, wasnt that always the way?

'So im going out later, to meet Farah for a study session insha'allah. Ill be back around 12ish, that ok? I can get her brother to drop me off outside.' He nodded preoccupied with the reason he had come into my room unexpectedly, I pulled him away and asked strongly, 'what are you looking for?' He pushed my hand away, grunted and walked out the room. I have never understood my father, his values, his opinions, his words.. he was never around as a child and even less as I had sprouted into the adult that I now am. I picked up my book bag and headed downstairs.

After kissing my mother goodbye and telling her the same line I had given to my father I stepped out the door. Its amazing when the more you say something that isnt true the more easier it gets to say it. Its also amazing that the more you tell yourself a lie the more you start to believe it yourself.

I eventually arrived outside the coffee shop and waited for the time, I glanced briefly at my watch which flashed 6pm... he were late... he wasnt usually. For that brief second I wandered if we had been found out, my heart raced, my pupils dilated as my mind span. Then I heard someone calling my name from across the street. I looked up to see him waiting for a break in the traffic on the busy London street, he smiled and waved, waiting. Waiting. Then he ran, ran across to me and picked me up in his arms and rested his face against mine. The strands of the edge of my scarf tickled his face, I knew this, he had told me before... but it didnt stop us holding each other afraid it would all finish as quickly as it had started. I pulled away and searched his face for something, anything.. I noticed the familiar nose, the strength of his jaw line, those cheekbones and of course those sea green eyes.

'Wanna grab a coffee?' he asked, which seemed the obvious next step as we were outside the coffee shop. I nodded, as we walked in arm in arm he asked me... 'so how long do I have you?' I smiled 'well I told dad I would be back by 12.. that my friends brother would drop me off, not that he was listening but thats my time and mum was ok with it too.' He nodded his head several times taking in the information, 'so we can just chill out here then, maybe grab a bite to eat down the road. Then we can get the tube back to my place, pick up the car and I can drop you off.' I smiled, always the planner, 'sure, but you will have to drop me a little back from the house.. someone might recognise you' He nodded, looking down at his fingers, I could see the disappointment in his eyes, I reached over and held his hand in mine.. 'it wont be for much longer I promise.' He gave me a little squeeze on my shoulder and softly kissed my temple.

It had been 3 months now since I met Jose, the social network of the century they call it, Facebook. He had added me after apparently noticing my name and seeing the picture on a friends list. We had grew up in the same area of London, although I had moved away just a few years ago before starting my GCSEs. He was 3 years older than me and everything I had always wanted, not just physically but in the way he treated me and protected me. He was adopted by an english family but had researched Islam from an early age after learning about his biological family, this fact rocked my world when he told me. To look into the religion I loved purely because of a mother who had given you away at birth, it proved his maturity to me masha'allah. He was proud to meet me that first time, as nervous as I was, seeing me in hijab and so confident in my deen. We talked about religion and I was with him when he said his shahada officially, I had introduced him to a few brothers from my mosque and he had continued to grow. However, there was always the issue of my family behind the lines, how would they feel about bringing him into our lives? would they welcome him with open arms? or kick him & me out the house. But tonight I was ready, I had arranged to meet him for longer than usual and I was going to meet my mum outside the house when he arrived to drop me off. She was the person who I needed to meet him the most before my father, that would be her decision. She didnt know who he was, had never heard me speak of him nor my relationship with him, it was a tense situation but one that we all had to face.

So we talked, discussed the future and ate, I watched as he picked up his fork and moved it to his mouth. Noted the things I had come to rely on seeing, the things I would worry if I didnt see from time to time when we were together. When we finished eating we moved to a different coffee shop, all the time looking over our shoulder to check we were not being watched. This was the hard part, although I sometimes forgot that I shouldnt be with him and lived life in his shadow, I enjoyed those times the most. We sat on a couch sipping our tea and he quizzed me about my up coming exams and what I intended for the future. All through this time he held my hand and watched it, occassionally looking up at me and reminding me how grateful he was that he had found me.

All too soon it was time to go home, we had been clock watching for the past 30minutes and eventually decided to get moving back to his place to pick up the car. He paid for my tube ride, as usual and the short 10minute ride seemed to take the shortest time when it was usually the longest because we were in a rush to get home, this time we weren't in a rush. I wanted this night to carry on forever, to not go home to face my mum, and to stay with Jose forever.. just us enjoying each others company and making up for lost time. We didnt stay at his place like we normally do, we jumped straight into the car and made our way back to my house, 'are you sure you want to do this tonight? we dont have to rush things.' 'No, I have to do it now... if I dont, I dont know when I will' He understood, and opened his window to let the cool night breeze drift through the car to calm us down.

It was 1130pm when we pulled up outside the house, we had come back early to make sure my mum would be awake and I had phoned her 5minutes before to let her know that I was on my way. As usual she insisted on thanking Farah's brother for dropping me off, and as we pulled up just a little away from our front door I noticed the curtains twitching. I grabbed my bag, hugged him tight and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, just incase this was our last meeting for awhile. We both said a little duaa silently and asked that this meeting worked out ok, I opened my door and walked around to his side. As my mum walked up the road I saw her fixing her hijab and waving at me, I returned the wave and breathed out a long breathe. This was it... she was holding a mug of tea and as soon as I saw her in the soft street light I started what I had planned, 'mum, this is..... ' she dropped her mug and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. 'Adil?' she asked through tearful eyes, 'is that really you?' I didnt have to introduce them. 'Mum,' he said.. the tears starting to flow down his cheeks now... 'my baby boy,' she cried as she pulled him close to her and hung on for what seemed like eternity until I felt her lean out and squeezed my hand with all the affection she can share at that moment in time.

She pulled away... and told him 'when they made me give you up, I never thought I would see you again. Subhanallah' then she hugged him again, 'alhamdulillah,' I heard him whisper as he fiercely held onto the woman who had given him up all those years ago in the midst of an unplanned pregnancy that my mother had told me about when I was 15 and she saw the wild child in me. 'Alhamdulillah,' I said hugging them both, thanking Allah for giving me my brother back.