Lahore, Pakistan
Noor pressed her palm against the earth, feeling its warmth seep into her skin. The garden, her sanctuary, bloomed in quiet praise beneath the late morning sun. Bees hummed around the roses, the fig tree swayed in the breeze, and the scent of jasmine was thick in the air.
She had always found peace here.
Even in moments of sadness, the garden reminded her of sabr—of patience. Of Allah's mercy that bloomed even after storms.
She dipped her fingers into the pot of green paint and added a leafy swirl to the bottom of her journal page. It wasn't just a notebook. It was her canvas of du'as, verses, private sketches, and memories—everything her heart felt but lips rarely spoke.
Across the wall behind her, unknown to her eyes, a shadow moved.
She paused. Something shifted in the wind. Not dangerous. Not wrong. But unfamiliar.
She looked back, half-expecting to find a stray cat rustling the hibiscus leaves.
Nothing.
She returned to her page, her thoughts drifting.
Later That Evening
"Noor beta, have you finished your lesson plan?" her father asked from the study. His gentle voice traveled through the open door.
"Yes, Abba," she called. "We're starting Surah Rahman with the girls tomorrow. I've added stories to make it easier for the younger ones."
Her father stepped into the doorway, a smile forming beneath his grey beard. "Masha'Allah. Your mother would be so proud of you."
Noor smiled back, but her heart ached softly at the mention.
They didn't talk about her mother much. It wasn't out of pain anymore—but reverence. Noor had been nine when the car accident happened. Her mother's Qur'an, with pages still marked by her notes, sat beside Noor's bed even now.
Some nights, she pressed her face against its cover like a child seeking comfort from a long-lost lullaby.
Nightfall
Noor sat by her window, the curtain pulled back just enough to see the moonlight gilding the garden. Her pen danced over the pages as verses formed in her mind—lines of longing, devotion, and quiet sorrow.
"Hearts beat loudest in silence.Eyes cry where no one sees.If I am a secret,Let me be one whispered to the skies."
She didn't know why she had written that.
She wasn't sad. Not truly.
But for the past few nights, she'd felt… watched.
Not in a way that frightened her. It was more like being remembered by someone she'd never met.
She glanced at the fig tree. Its shadow stretched long in the moonlight.
A part of her, perhaps the poet hidden beneath the daughter-of-an-imam mask, wondered:
Was someone standing there? Listening?
Flashback – Four Years Earlier
She had been twenty when the marriage proposals started pouring in.
Her father had refused most without hesitation—men who were impressed by her modesty, not her mind. Men who wanted a quiet wife, not one who wrote anonymous articles for local journals under the name "Zahra Al-Nur."
Only one proposal had been considered seriously. A doctor from Faisalabad. His family had met hers, tea had been served, words exchanged.
But Noor had felt… hollow.
The man had praised her Qur'anic recitation, her "obedient" demeanor. But he hadn't asked her what moved her. He hadn't noticed her art. Or the worn book of poetry by Rumi beside her teacup.
She told her father later, in the softest voice, that she didn't feel at peace about it.
And he—bless him—had not pressed her.
"My daughter will marry when her heart is content," he had said. "Not just when tradition demands it."
She never forgot that.
She also never knew that a man, half a world away, with blood on his hands, would one day look at her and feel something he'd never dared to name: reverence.
Present Day — The Stranger's Echo
For the next several days, Noor felt… strange.
Her garden, once her sanctuary, now held a presence she couldn't explain. She wasn't afraid. She was… aware.
Twice, she thought she saw movement from the corner of her eye—just beyond the wall that bordered the old guesthouse no one had used in years.
Her brother, Imran, had laughed when she mentioned it.
"You read too many mystery novels," he teased.
But she couldn't shake the sensation.
And what made it worse?
Her dreams.
She began to see glimpses—a man standing in shadows, never stepping into the light. She couldn't see his face. Only his outline. Broad. Tall. Cloaked in sorrow.
But in the dream, she wasn't afraid.
In the dream, she recited Ayat-ul-Kursi—and the man stepped back… only to kneel.
As if her prayer didn't harm him. It calmed him.
She woke up confused. Shaken.
She prayed tahajjud that night, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"Ya Allah, if there is something approaching, guide me.If it is a test, strengthen me.And if it is love…Let it be written by Your hand, not my nafs."
Meanwhile – Across the Wall
Leonardo hadn't slept in three days.
Noor's voice haunted him, even though he'd never heard her speak above a whisper.
He had moved to a higher room in the guesthouse, one that allowed him to see into the garden clearly. It made him feel guilty.
But he couldn't stop.
Not when she smiled at the flowers. Not when she recited verses aloud while teaching children under the tree.
Her voice was like cool water in his ears—he didn't understand the words, but the rhythm alone moved something broken inside him.
She was goodness.
And he was drowning in her from afar.
Three Days Later
Noor sat with her students beneath the fig tree, her chalkboard balanced on her lap, the children's eyes wide with curiosity. Today, she was telling them the story of Prophet Yusuf – of patience, of betrayal, of beauty veiled and virtue tested.
"And when the prison doors closed behind him," she said, her voice soft, "he did not despair. He found strength in his Lord."
A little girl raised her hand. "Miss Noor, is it hard to be alone?"
Noor paused. Then she smiled. "Sometimes. But when your heart is filled with Allah, you're never truly alone."
She saw it again—a flicker of movement past the wall. Her voice did not falter, but her heart skipped.
This time, she didn't look away immediately. She stared, as if daring whatever was there to step into light.
Nothing.
Only jasmine vines curling over the boundary.
She forced herself to finish the lesson.
But as the children left, she remained seated, clutching her notebook, eyes narrowed on the stones lining the back gate.
Leonardo's Mistake
Leonardo had meant to stay hidden.
But that day, her voice had... stopped him. When she spoke of Yusuf, of betrayal and faith, it felt like his life twisted inside out. He had betrayed, and been betrayed. And yet he had never once thought of God.
Until her.
He leaned too far.
A brick came loose under his boot.
Noor looked up.
He froze.
She saw the movement. A shadow withdrawing.
Noor stood. Her pulse drummed loud in her ears.
She stepped toward the gate.
Leonardo ducked behind a pillar, breath held.
She called out, "Is someone there?"
Silence.
Only the wind answered.
She clutched the edge of her hijab. Her heart said fear, but her soul... felt something else. Familiarity. Not danger.
Still, she turned away, retreating to the safety of her room.
She didn't tell her father. Not yet.
But that night, her du'a was more urgent.
"Protect me from what I cannot see. From hearts that seek me with unclear intentions. But if what hides in shadows is written for me... Then grant it light."
Letters and Longing
Leonardo wrote his first letter that night.
He didn't know her language well. But he tried.
You are light. And I am ash.
But I want to burn until I glow the way you do.
He didn't send it.
Just folded it into his jacket. A prayer that didn't know how to be spoken.
He watched her the next morning, sitting beneath the fig tree again. She was painting a flower. Her smile was soft, private.
He didn't know what love was.
But he knew that he wanted to be whatever made her smile like that.
Noor's Growing Restlessness
By the end of the week, Noor had stopped sitting in the garden alone.
She began locking her windows.
She checked her phone more.
Once, she found a jasmine bloom tucked into her backpack.
She froze.
No one knew jasmine was her mother's favorite flower.
Not even Imran.
She told herself it was coincidence.
But that night, she dreamed again of the man in shadows.
Only this time, she heard him speak.
"Forgive me."
And she woke up crying.
Leonardo's Breaking Point
Leonardo couldn't take it anymore. He had learned enough Urdu phrases to write something meaningful. He slipped a note beneath her gate.
I do not wish to frighten you. But your presence has made me question who I am. If one day you wish to understand, follow the jasmine trail.
He left it unsigned.
He knew it was selfish. Dangerous.
But Noor had already changed something inside him.
And he wanted her to know.
Cliffhanger Ending
Noor found the letter the next morning.
She stared at the handwriting. Her hands trembled.
"Follow the jasmine trail."
Her eyes widened.
She stepped outside the gate.
And saw it.
A line of jasmine blooms.
Leading to the abandoned guesthouse.
Her breath caught.
Behind the curtains, Leonardo watched.
She stood there for a long moment.
Then turned back.
Noor didn't follow the trail.
Not yet.
But she had read the letter twice. And she folded it into her Qur'an.
Next to her mother's marked verse.
"And He found you lost and guided you." (93:7)