It was early morning—6 a.m. The soft golden rays of the sun bathed everything in a gentle glow. The world was waking up, but one man was already fully immersed in his routine.
John was swimming vigorously in the pool, his powerful strokes cutting through the water with precision.
Nearby, a man dressed in black pants, a t-shirt, and a black waistcoat stood waiting patiently. A towel was draped over one arm, and in the other, he held a tray with a glass of freshly prepared juice.
After what felt like an eternity, the waiting ended. John emerged from the pool, taking the towel to dry himself before reaching for the juice. He sat on a wooden chair by the pool, sipping slowly, his sharp blue eyes lost in deep thought.
His gaze remained fixed on the reflection of the sun shimmering on the water's surface.
Once he finished the juice, he gestured for the servant to leave but stayed seated, lost in contemplation.
Moments later, the same man returned, carrying his ringing mobile phone.
John took the phone without looking, and the servant quietly exited.
His expression darkened when he saw the caller ID flashing—Rosie Calling.
Rolling his eyes in frustration, he answered the call.
"Hi, where are you?" Rosie's voice was sweet, as always.
She was the daughter of a wealthy businessman and had been involved with John for some time. But John, being who he was, had grown bored of her—just like he did with everything else. They had met at the same bar where he had spent the previous night.
"Get to the point. Why did you call?" His voice was cold, devoid of any warmth.
Rosie, slightly taken aback by his tone, ignored her irritation and spoke in an even sweeter voice.
"I'm waiting for you for breakfast..."
A smirk played on John's lips as he listened to her clingy response. "Who told you to wait?"
There was silence on the other end. Then, gathering herself, Rosie spoke again, trying to sound casual.
"Last night... I thought everything was fine between us."
John let out a mocking chuckle. "If you thought so, what can I do about it?"
"So you used me?" Her voice rose in anger.
John frowned. He despised dramatic outbursts.
"I didn't force you, Rosie. You came on your own will. Whatever happened was mutual," he stated flatly, then hung up without another word.
Without hesitation, he added her number to the blacklist.
Tossing the phone aside, he shook his head in disgust, annoyed at himself for losing control last night.
Just as he exhaled in frustration, he sensed someone creeping up behind him.
Before the person could push him into the pool, John swiftly stepped aside.
A loud splash! followed.
John turned, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips, as he watched a soaked and fuming Derek emerge from the water.
"Never mind, I'll get you next time," Derek huffed, climbing out of the pool, his designer clothes drenched.
"We'll see about that," John replied coolly.
Derek scowled at his ruined outfit. "My whole look is destroyed! And my precious shirt—completely ruined."
His perfectly styled hair was now a chaotic mess. Dressed in a red t-shirt and white pants, he still managed to look good—but not without his usual finesse.
John shook his head. "You're whining about clothes like a girl." He rolled his eyes and turned to walk inside.
Derek crossed his arms and pouted. "Easy for you to say! No matter what state you're in, girls fall at your feet. Some of us actually have to make an effort!"
John smirked as he led them through the large lounge toward his room. "I don't need to try. It's just my personality. But you? You force people to like you."
Derek's green eyes twinkled mischievously. "And who knows me better than you?" he teased, playfully pushing John aside and heading straight for his wardrobe.
John shot him a glare, but Derek, as usual, remained unfazed.
"James! James!" Derek suddenly called out, searching through the closet.
John arched an eyebrow. "Why are you calling him? He's getting breakfast ready."
"So what? I need help!" Derek grumbled, throwing clothes around the room in search of the perfect outfit.
John, already knowing where this was headed, grabbed his own clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.
By the time he returned, the room was a disaster zone. Clothes were scattered everywhere, and Derek stood triumphantly in front of the mirror, admiring his chosen shirt.
James, who had just arrived to announce that breakfast was ready, stopped dead at the sight of the mess.
John, however, didn't react. He had expected nothing less from Derek.
Walking to the door, he suddenly paused.
"I have a surprise for you." His voice was casual, but his eyes held amusement.
Derek, who had been preparing to dodge any scolding, perked up instantly. "A surprise? What is it?"
"You have three minutes to clean this room. And I mean properly—not like last time." John smirked before walking out.
Derek groaned but, knowing John meant business, got to work.
Exactly three minutes later, as confirmed by James, Derek was sitting at the breakfast table.
"Now tell me!" he demanded impatiently.
John leaned back, stirring his coffee lazily. "A new model is joining the company."
Derek's face lit up. "A new model?"
A new model meant a new target. Derek's mind raced with possibilities.
"Who is it?" he asked, his excitement evident.
John smirked. "Want to see it live?"
"No, I want to see it NOW!" Derek practically bounced in his seat.
"Patience."
"How long?"
"A few days."
Derek let out a dramatic sigh. His excitement deflated instantly.
John chuckled inwardly. He had seen the spark in Derek's eyes and enjoyed teasing him.
"Now eat," he ordered, gesturing to the table.
Derek, sulking, began eating. Too distracted to notice John's mischievous glint.
---
An Unexpected Conversation
The park was bustling with life.
Some people were exercising, others jogging, while families enjoyed time with their children.
Among them, a young woman in a black hijab and coat walked back and forth near the entrance, her eyes scanning the gate.
Hoor was waiting for Emma.
It was rare for her to arrive before Emma. She checked her phone—no messages.
She looked up again and, this time, saw Emma approaching with Isabella's support.
Hoor turned her face away in mock anger.
Emma, noticing the dramatic gesture, chuckled. She knew Hoor wasn't good at holding grudges.
"Hoor," she called as she reached her.
Hoor said nothing, keeping up her act.
"Not fair! I got injured yesterday, and I still showed up today!" Emma pouted.
Hoor's head snapped up in concern. "What happened? Where are you hurt?"
She grabbed Emma's arm, scanning her from head to toe—until her eyes landed on her bandaged foot.
"Sit down, now." Hoor helped Emma onto a bench.
Isabella smiled. "Take care of her. I'll be back," she said, walking off to greet an old friend.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Hoor scolded Emma.
"Didn't want to worry you," Emma admitted, playing with Hoor's fingers.
Hoor squeezed her hand. "I wouldn't have worried. I would've prayed for you. That Allah makes your pain easier."
Emma looked down at her hands, her mind wandering. "Does prayer really change everything?"
Hoor smiled, ready to answer, unaware that her words were about to shake Emma's soul.
"Look, Emma, whether it's you, me, or anyone from any faith—when someone asks with a sincere heart, He never turns them away," Hoor said gently, holding Emma's hands. She could sense that something had deeply shaken Emma the previous night, but she wanted Emma to share it on her own.
Emma frowned slightly. "But why? When we don't worship Him properly, don't follow His rules, why would He still listen to us?"
Hoor tilted her head slightly and looked toward Isabella, who was standing a little distance away, talking and laughing with another woman.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
Emma followed her gaze. "Ask."
Hoor turned back to her, her expression thoughtful. "Sometimes, you might get angry at your mom. You might be rude to her, ignore her, even refuse to speak to her. But when you're in pain, when you're scared, when something bad happens—who's the first person you think of? Whose name comes to your lips automatically?"
Emma blinked, caught off guard by the question. After a moment of thought, she answered softly, "Mom."
A knowing smile played on Hoor's lips, and for a brief second, Emma noticed a strange glow in her eyes.
"That's exactly how Allah loves us," Hoor said, her voice calm and reassuring. "More than seventy mothers combined. No matter how much we ignore Him, He never abandons us. Just like a mother can't bear to see her child in pain, He, too, watches over us, guiding us back to Him. But, Emma…"
She squeezed Emma's hand slightly. "Not every hardship comes from Allah. Sometimes, we create our own problems and then blame Him for them."
Emma lowered her gaze, lost in thought.
Could it really be that simple?
Before she could say anything, a sudden beeping sound cut through the moment.
Hoor quickly glanced at her phone. Seeing her mother's name flashing on the screen, she immediately answered.
"Yes, Mama… Okay."
Emma looked at her curiously.
"Alright, Allah Hafiz," Hoor said, hanging up. She turned to Emma, her expression shifting.
"Emma, I have to leave now."
Emma frowned. "So soon?"
Hoor nodded, already rising to her feet. "Hmm… Take care of yourself."
Emma pouted slightly. "I haven't even talked to you properly yet."
"Call me later, or come over," Hoor replied distractedly, her attention drifting back to her phone. Another message had just arrived, and as she read it, she took a deep breath.
Emma watched her closely. Why does she look so restless?
"Okay, bye," Hoor said quickly.
Emma studied her friend for a moment longer before nodding slowly. "Hmm… Allah Hafiz."
Without another word, Hoor turned and walked swiftly out of the park gates.
Emma watched her go, a strange feeling settling in her chest.
Something was definitely wrong.
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