He drove calmly, Qur’anic recitation playing softly in the car. As he approached the street where he believed Jidda lived—the same place where he had seen her before—his heart began pounding violently. He didn’t understand why, but he knew it was love.

Around 5:00 p.m., he arrived and parked nearby, not directly in front of the house. Even by 5:30, no one had entered or exited the compound. By 5:40, only passersby and children moving about could be seen. He didn’t know how he would even approach her if she appeared.

Soon, he saw a young woman walking toward the house. His heart urged him to step out and ask her, but her appearance and manner discouraged him—she didn’t look approachable. He leaned back and waited, turning off even the Qur’anic recitation.

Moments later, two girls came out of the house. His mood darkened instantly when he recognized Aliya, walking with Amatullahi. He disliked Aliya’s association with Jidda deeply, believing she wasn’t a suitable influence. He felt an urge to come out and forbid them from visiting Jidda.

As they disappeared from sight, his frustration grew. Then he noticed two girls approaching, both wearing long hijabs. His eyes locked instantly on Jidda. He would never forget her appearance or her calm, graceful walk. He dared not blink—afraid he might lose sight of her forever.

His heart raced. He wanted to seize the moment, step out of the car, and confess what burned within him. But the intense pounding in his chest made him fear his voice would fail him.

Jidda walked alongside her friend Salama. They stopped near his parked car. Because the windows were dark, they couldn’t see him. They leaned against the car casually, still chatting.

Inside, Ibrahim panicked. For a moment, he forgot the windows were tinted and thought they could see him. He almost bolted out in fear, but when they remained calm, his heart settled slightly. Jidda leaned sideways against the car, her back turned slightly, while Salama faced away—giving Ibrahim a perfect view of Jidda.

Salama spoke softly:

> “Jidda, I’ve told you—stop worrying so much. Just keep praying. Allah will surely grant you a solution.”

“Jidda?” Ibrahim repeated silently.

So her name is Jidda… not Hauwa, he realized.

Questions flooded his mind.

What is troubling her? Why is she being comforted?

He gently placed his hand on the glass exactly where she stood.

Jidda, her eyes filled with tears, opened her mouth to speak—

The moment her words reached Ibrahim’s ears, darkness swallowed his vision. His chest tightened violently. Panic surged through him. He staggered back into his seat, clutching his head as sharp pain sliced through it.

He couldn’t bear what he had just heard.

> “My hand!”