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The next morning, college felt different.
The seminar banners hung across the gates, welcoming students with phrases like "Building a Purpose-Driven Future" and "Voices of Vision." It was a special event hosted by the college, and everyone was buzzing with excitement — because today, the college owner's son was coming to speak.
Lily was already hyped since yesterday.
"He's really wise, Fatima," she said while we walked toward the seminar hall. "He studied Islamic history, speaks at youth conferences, and… he's also really handsome." She winked.
I smiled faintly, tightening my grip on the strap of my bag. "Still not interested, Lily."
"I know, I know," she said. "But just try not to lower your gaze so hard that you fall over a chair."
We both laughed.
The seminar hall was packed. Boys and girls sat in separate sections, teachers guiding students to their places. I sat quietly, adjusting my abaya, while Lily fidgeted beside me in excitement.
Then… he entered.
Ehsan Khalid.
Tall, composed, modestly dressed in a crisp white kurta and navy waistcoat. There was no arrogance in his walk — just calm presence. The kind you don't find in many young men these days.
He stood at the podium, greeted everyone with Assalamu Alaikum wa Rahmatullah, and began his speech.
> "We all speak of goals, careers, power. But what is success without peace? What is a future without values? My father built this institution not just with bricks, but with dua and discipline. And I believe, no matter how far we go in life — our foundation must be Islam. Without it, we are nothing but empty shells in expensive clothes."
His voice was steady, his words sincere.
I admired his mindset — but not in a romantic way. Just… spiritually. It was rare to hear a man speak like that, especially in front of a crowd.
But then, during a moment when his eyes scanned the audience — they landed on me.
And for a brief second… he paused.
Not in a creepy way.
Not with arrogance.
Just stillness.
As if his eyes had recognized something deeper than a face. As if something inside him had been shaken awake.
I lowered my gaze instantly, heart quietly pounding.
Ya Allah…
He continued speaking like nothing happened, but something inside me had shifted.
I didn't like it.
No... maybe I misunderstood. Maybe he wasn't even looking at me.
Maybe it was just a glance in the general direction.
Why did my heart react like that? It's foolish.
He probably speaks like this to everyone. Looks at every audience like that. Listens with calm, speaks with wisdom, and carries himself with dignity — it's who he is, not how he feels about me.
I kept telling myself these things as if reciting an ayah to calm my thoughts.
---
After the seminar, Lily whispered, "Did you see the way he looked at you?"
"No," I replied quickly.
"You're lying."
"No, I'm guarding."
She was silent. Then smiled.
I didn't say anything more. I didn't need to.
---
The next few days in college blurred into each other.
Classes, assignments, discussions.
But every now and then, his name came up in whispers.
"Ehsan Khalid is holding another youth session."
"Did you hear? He's meeting student council reps."
"He's going to help restructure the leadership teams next month."
I ignored the chatter.
I focused on my notes. I attended my lectures. I memorized my verses.
But inside, I kept whispering to myself —
> "He doesn't know me. He didn't even look at me like that. And even if he did, it doesn't matter. I'm not here for this."
But every time I passed the hallway near the seminar block, I found myself walking a little faster.
Every time I heard his name in class announcements, I silently said astaghfirullah and lowered my gaze toward my book.
Was this the beginning of some distraction?
Or a test of sincerity?
---
One afternoon, we sat in the library during free period. Lily was solving her economics homework, and I was reviewing a tafsir notebook.
But my mind wasn't staying in place.
So I wrote instead.
> "Dear heart, don't mistake a ripple for a wave. Don't call attention love. Don't name glances as promises. Stay with your Lord, for only He knows what is truth and what is trial."
---
Later that week, we had a group workshop where students were selected for various panels. I was chosen for the "Voices of Values" panel to discuss integrity and student leadership.
I wasn't thrilled — I hated public speaking. But I accepted, because I knew I had something sincere to share.
And as fate would have it, Ehsan was facilitating that workshop.
When I saw his name on the orientation list, my heart skipped.
But I calmed myself.
> "He won't even remember you. This is just another college event."
Still, when the event began, and our eyes met briefly during introductions, there was that same stillness.
But I reminded myself —
He looks at everyone this way. He speaks to all students the same.
And I must not let whispers of nafs pretend to be signs from Allah.
---
During the panel, I spoke clearly but briefly. I focused on honesty and self-respect, sharing a reflection from the Seerah.
He nodded politely after my words. Said "thank you for your insight." Nothing more.
And that was enough to remind me —
> "See? It's nothing. Just respectful interaction. Don't let your imagination write a story Allah hasn't written."
I felt calm.
Grateful, even.
Not because he noticed me. But because I realized I didn't need to be noticed to feel worthy.
---
That night, Ehsan sat at his desk, his pen tapping gently on his notebook.
He wasn't writing. Not really. Just drawing lines and thoughts.
"She was composed," he thought. "There was no smile, no nod, no curiosity. Just calm. As if her dignity was her shield."
He prayed Isha, then sat for a while beneath the soft light of his room.
> "Ya Allah, if this is admiration, let it be pure. And if it's more, let it be only through You. Protect her from any harm that may come from a stranger's gaze — even mine."
---
And miles away, I sat on my prayer mat, whispering quietly:
> "Ya Allah, don't let admiration become attachment. Don't let anything come into my heart that removes You from the center. I trust Your plan. Keep my heart safe."
---
The next morning, the sun was soft, like mercy.
Fatima walked into her college gates with her usual calm. She greeted the guards, nodded to her classmates, and made her way to class. Her thoughts were clear — focused on her lecture, her assignments, and the list of duas she had made after fajr.
Ehsan, at the same time, walked into his office building with quiet dignity. He greeted staff, returned emails, and sipped his tea while preparing for a community workshop he was to host in the evening.
Neither of them searched for one another that day.
Neither of them needed to.
But in both hearts — there was a growing prayer.
Not for a person. Not for a moment.
But for a path —
That, if written by Allah, would lead to peace.
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How's the third chapter? Don't forget to like and let me know in comments how's it..