The sun had barely started to set behind the treetops of Richmond, casting golden slants of light into the living room, when Maryam received a message from Kashaf: "I'm nearby. Will be at your place in a few minutes."
Maryam quickly glanced at herself in the hallway mirror, adjusted the dupatta on her shoulder, and moved toward the front door. Her heart always fluttered a little before meeting Kashaf—not from nervousness, but from the warmth of an old friendship reborn. Just as she reached the living room, the doorbell rang.
Imran, passing by, offered to open the door. As he swung it open, he saw a woman in a light green abaya and white scarf, her face glowing with calm serenity.
"You must be Kashaf," Imran greeted her with a polite smile.
"Yes, I am," she replied softly, stepping inside.
Behind Imran stood Ayesha and Maryam, both beaming. Ayesha came forward first, extending both hands, "Welcome to our home, Kashaf. We've heard a lot about you."
Maryam hugged her friend tightly, "I've missed you already, and you were just here five days ago."
They all shared a warm laugh as they led her into the living room.
The setting was comfortable and cozy. The aroma of freshly brewed tea drifted in from the kitchen. Hamza and Khadija peeked shyly from behind Ayesha's dress before running off giggling. The women settled onto the sofa while Imran excused himself, heading to his room with a knowing smile.
"I'm so glad you came," Maryam said, handing Kashaf a cup of tea.
"It's like a new world here, Maryam," Kashaf said, her eyes scanning the framed family photos on the wall, the soft cushions, the pastel curtains swaying gently with the breeze. "It feels… peaceful."
Ayesha brought a plate of almond biscuits and joined them. The conversation soon turned to old memories—the church, the convent rooms, their secret giggles during late-night study sessions, the time they had helped a homeless woman find shelter during a snowstorm, and how they had stayed up all night cramming for their theology exams.
"I still remember Sister Agnes scolding us for laughing in the prayer hall," Kashaf giggled, taking a bite of the biscuit.
"She always caught us—even if we just whispered," Maryam laughed.
Ayesha smiled as she watched the two women immersed in their memories, their bond evident and unshaken by time or transformation.
After about an hour, Kashaf looked at Maryam with a shy smile. "Can I see your room?"
"Of course!" Maryam replied, rising from her seat. "Come on."
They walked down the hallway and entered Maryam's bedroom. The soft ivory walls were adorned with Islamic calligraphy and a shelf filled with books, many of which had worn-out covers, indicating they had been read countless times.
Kashaf sat on the bed and ran her fingers gently over the diary lying on the side table. "Still writing?"
"Always," Maryam said, sitting beside her.
The two women fell silent for a few moments, comfortable in each other's presence. Then Maryam turned and gently touched Kashaf's arm. "You never told me about your family that day. You stopped before you could say anything."
Kashaf's smile slowly faded. She lowered her gaze, took a deep breath, and then began speaking, her voice a shade heavier. "You… remember the plane crash that happened about a month after our convocation?"
Maryam nodded slowly. "Yes… The one from Portland to New York?"
"My parents and my younger brother Alex were on that flight," Kashaf whispered.
Maryam gasped, her hand instinctively reaching for her friend's. "Oh, Kashaf… I'm so, so sorry. I had no idea."
Tears welled up in Kashaf's eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. "It's been over a year now. I've made peace with it… mostly. But there are days I still wait for Alex to message me about his college stress, or for Papa to call and check if I'm eating well."
Maryam held her hand tightly.
"Did they know… about your conversion?" she asked softly.
Kashaf nodded, a tear escaping down her cheek. "Yes. They did. I told them a few weeks after you revealed yourself at the convocation. I was scared… But their reaction surprised me. They didn't disown me. They didn't yell. My father was silent at first, but my mother… she hugged me and said, 'If this makes your heart pure and your soul at peace, we won't stand in your way.'"
Maryam felt her own throat tighten with emotion.
"And Alex?" she asked.
A smile returned to Kashaf's lips. "Alex teased me a bit, as always. He said, 'As long as you still make me pancakes on Sundays, I don't care what name you pray under.' He even started reading about Islam on his own. He was curious."
There was silence again, filled with unspoken feelings—of loss, of gratitude, of the journey they had both undertaken.
"They died knowing you found your truth," Maryam said. "That's something beautiful."
Kashaf nodded. "It is. Their acceptance is what gave me the strength to move forward."
They sat for a while longer, exchanging more stories. Maryam showed her some books Ayesha had given her, including In the Footsteps of the Prophet and Reclaim Your Heart. She pointed out verses she had highlighted, paragraphs that had shaped her thoughts and heart.
Kashaf flipped through the pages and smiled. "I can see you in every note and underline."
As the call for Maghrib prayer echoed faintly in the background from a nearby masjid, Maryam looked at her friend and said, "You're not alone. Not now. Not ever again."
Kashaf placed her hand over Maryam's. "And neither are you."
They walked out together from the bedroom and joined the rest of the family in the living room for tea and evening conversation. The night felt lighter, as if the shadows of their past had faded just a little more.
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