It was a cool and pleasant day in Chittagong, the city that dwelled near the mountains. The clear blue sky stretched above as the sun glowered upon the residents. The mosque loomed in the distance, gleaming a pristine white against the polluted air.

Malika squinted in the sun as she stepped out in the parking lot. She quickly put on the sunglasses that covered half her face and tugged on the scarf covering her head to ensure it was in place. The streets were crammed, people were flocking in crowds to attend the Friday congregational prayer. She walked forward with her friend in the lead, there was a deep frown forming between her brows.

Dahlia was striding forward, the mauve pink abaya she was wearing trailed behind her, the matching scarf blowing in the wind. Malika was reluctant to leave her home given everything that was going on, but the hijabi insisted. As if sensing her hesitation, the girl halted in her steps to turn to look at her. Seeing the expression on her face, Dahlia rolled her eyes.

"Will you stop making that face?" Dahlia cried. "I told you everything will be fine."

Malika stopped in her tracks as well, her frown deepening. "You know how I feel about attending the mosque," she pouted, self-consciously tugging the scarf she had wrapped around her head. "I don't like the way the aunties stare at me."

"And why would you care about that?" Dahlia asked, raising a brow.

"It's annoying!"

Dahlia shot her a pointed look. The hijabi twirled on her feet to face her fully. "You're just worried you'll run into Ibrahim."

Just the mention of his name dropped her heart into her stomach. Malika shot her a dirty look. "You gave me your word you wouldn't mention anything about him!"

A corner of Dahlia's mouth quirked up in a smile. Malika could tell her friend was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "I barely said anything," she retorted.

Malika threw her head back and let out a groan. Even hearing his name flashed the horrible realization of her missing letters before her eyes. She was traumatized, Layla traumatized her.

"This was a bad idea." She turned on her feet to get back inside the car.

"Alright," Dahlia cried, clutching her arm gently to prevent her from leaving, that smile still etched on her lips. "He Who Must Not Be mentioned shall remain forgotten." Malika grudgingly faced her again.

"And I don't think you have to worry about running into Ibr-," Seeing the look on her face, Dahlia paused. "Sorry, 'you-know-who'," she said, using air quotes. "It's not like he's going to visit the women's side."

"Fine!" Malika said. "Now let's stop talking like I wrote letters to Voldemort or something."

The two girls started walking again, the reluctance in Malika's steps still present. "You do need to stop bringing me to the mosque," she grumbled under her breath. "I actually don't like how the aunties here look at me."

"Who cares?" Dahlia asked, unbothered. "I know you secretly enjoy attending the prayers, so what other people think shouldn't stop you. Focus should be on Allah alone, always."

Malika did actually secretly enjoy visiting the mosque with Dahlia, but she also felt like an intruder. She looked at Dahlia, the bliss and contentment that was usually present on her face when she visited the Friday prayer, was there.

She had witnessed Dahlia bear through rejections, resistance from family and life in general, with simply this - her Faith. The hijabi had the least tolerance and patience when it came to most things, but somehow she drew in the patience whenever needed from that Faith.

Malika wondered if she could ever get to that level of Faith, if it was even possible for someone like her. There were days when she felt that connection with Allah, the kind Dahlia was always talking about, however, there were days it felt like too much.

"You know, I don't see the point," she said, meeting Dahlia's eyes again. "Despite your efforts, I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell anyway."

Genuine mortification colored Dahlia's face. It was the hijabi's turn to stare at her with shock. "Malika, don't even joke about hell! Never!" she cried. "I'm serious."

Malika made a face as she opened and closed her right hand, the rest of her fingers gathering to touch the thumb and separate again, indicating that Dahlia was blabbering.

Dahlia looked over her shoulder and gasped as she saw what Malika was doing. "Stop acting like a child," she scolded, lightly batting her hand away. "And your attempt at being discreet is a failure as well."

Malika took off her sunglasses with a sigh. She knew she was being dramatic, as usual, but for once in her life she believed it was justified.

They stepped inside the women's area and the cool air conditioned room felt blissful against her sun-kissed skin.

Since Layla dropped the bomb on her, Malika had restless nights. Her beloved letters were gone. Her letters, where she poured her emotions and hid the deepest contents of her heart. As silly as it sounded, they were her closest friends in the past two years - aware of things that she hid from even her real friends.

And now they were just gone.

She also hadn't spoken to her Layla since. The girl insisted she was sorry. Text after text had bombarded her phone with apologies and hoping to clarify that she thought she was doing the right thing at the moment; and Malika believed all of that. There were a few people on this planet that cared about her, and she was sure Layla was one of them - growing up together had taught her this much; and also the fact that Layla was impulsive and that often led her to do stupid things.

She knew she would forgive Layla eventually, but for the time being, Malika chose to hide behind the walls that kept her heart safe.

She didn't even know why she had the letters in the first place. It was simply stupid. It was sometime right after graduation, she recalled being lonely, and the realization that she could actually never share her pain with the person she wanted to. Instead, she did the next best thing and poured her heart out on a piece of paper. Once she started, she couldn't stop. Over the years, the stack of her letters kept growing.

Malika never thought she would give the letters to Ibrahim. No one deserved to know her heart to this depth, yet. They were for her, more than anything.

Over the years, she contemplated destroying them several times; or at least to stop writing them. She tried to bid the letters, and him, goodbye - in the silence of her own pain. Then she saw Ibrahim laughing, or helping Neela Bashir with her groceries across the street, or simply being silly with Dahlia - and Malika ripped her heart out on a new piece of paper again.

She had also hoped that over the years she would stop feeling for Ibrahim the way she did, but that didn't work out as well. It pained her to keep writing letters she would never send, it was just a reminder of how she kept pining after a boy who could never be hers. But Malika didn't know how to stop doing that either.

Her eyes trailed Dahlia's movements as the girl searched for an empty place for them to sit. Malika knew Dahlia was dumbfounded with the turn of events, and she didn't blame her friend. That fact that Dahlia was even aware of the letters mortified her. But the hijabi has been trying to be more supportive rather than inquisitive.

They did sit down one evening and wondered where the letters might have ended up. Layla confessed to sneaking into Ibrahim's room in the middle of Rose's Mehendi Night and placing them on his bedside table, which earned her another deeply disappointed look from Dahlia.

"It's just that I caught you looking at him." Layla turned to Malika pleadingly. "And you looked so sad. I just wanted to help."

At that, the look Malika shot Layla could have put her down six feet under.

However, whether Ibrahim actually received the letter or read them, he didn't say or show. Granted, Malika has been avoiding him like COVID-19 since the incident.

Dahlia was sure the letters were misplaced. If her brother had received them he must have said something. However, Malika wasn't convinced. She had a feeling he had them. If that were the case, then he read her feelings towards him and simply chose not to react to it.

And that possibility wrung Malika's gut equally painfully.

Ibrahim Ahmad squinted against the afternoon sun as he searched for his sunglasses inside the compartment of the car. He woke up to Dahlia's text telling him she would be taking a ride with Malika instead of him. A snapping of fingers in front of him broke him out of his chain of thoughts. Ibrahim realized he had zoned out again.

"Dude, are you even listening?" Shahriar cried.

Ibrahim turned to look at him. The guy was staring at him with an exasperated face. Shahriar 'Shorty' Kabir had barely changed over the years. As Ibrahim focused back on him, he couldn't help but think how much the clueless look on his face resembled his facial expressions during high school Chemistry classes.

"Heard every word," Ibrahim finally responded.

Shorty narrowed his eyes to examine his friend. Then he swatted a hand and said. "Yeah, I don't think that's true. Let me start from the beginning."

"Diya's brother doesn't think you're old enough," he quickly interjected. "He wants you to call off the wedding."

Shorty pursed his lips. "Well, that's the gist of it." He paused. "So, what do you think?" He stared at Ibrahim expectantly.

"You're young," Ibrahim stated. "But you're both consenting adults, so I don't see a problem with it." He shrugged.

"If it was your sister would you still have the same response?" Zakariya Azad piped in from the backseat.

The guys turned their heads to face him. "My sisters have been advised to maintain a ten meters radius from him," Ibrahim quipped.

"Oi!" Shahriar cried. They got down from the car, all the while the boy muttered under his breath, "The Ahmad sisters don't know what they missed out on. I'm the catch of the century!"

They walked forward as the mosque loomed in the distance. A warm breeze blew through, dampening the air further, but showing promise of rain.

Ibrahim found a familiar group of faces. Salman Bashir noticed him from a distance. "Aye, Sasquatch!" he shouted across the lot. Several people turned around to check them out. "You woke up for Fajr today?"

Ibrahim rolled his eyes at the amused look on the prick's face. Salman was at work until late and before going to sleep he called him and said, "Hey man, it's time for Fajr!" Though it was nowhere near time for the dawn prayer.

Salman Bashir was beginning to become an everyday part of Ibrahim's life. Starting from dinner parties to the mosque he frequented - Salman was always there. They first ran into each other at the Fayyad's house. Salman was buttering up Yasmine Fayyad, the lady of the house, real nice - until her eyes landed on Ibrahim. She pulled him into the conversation to introduce him to Salman and started gushing about him.

Ibrahim was caught off guard at first. He was usually embarrassed when people exaggerated with the praises. But when he saw the jealousy slowly coloring Salman's face, he ended up smirking through the entire conversation.

Since then, he took every opportunity to remind Salman that he was Yasmine Fayyad's favorite and thoroughly enjoyed the reaction he got out of it. It was something so simple, but it made Salman so mad. Ibrahim knew he got on the man-child's nerves.

Usually, he preferred peace over pettiness, but considering the first unpleasant interaction he had with Salman years ago, remembering how he treated his sister and some of the things that still comes out of his mouth - Ibrahim couldn't say he was sorry for his actions.

"I do everyday, Alhamdulillah," Ibrahim finally responded.

Salman's gaze was already on the face in the crowd. Ibrahim quickly introduced the bespectacled boy to Salman and his friends.

"I know you." Salman narrowed his eyes at Zakariya, scrutinising the boy's face as he racked his brain. "You were in my A2 Statistics class in your Freshman year."

Zakariya Azad looked surprised. "I was."

"Why were you in A2 Statistics with Zakariya? You were two years ahead of us." Ibrahim asked Salman in return. "Were you held back?" The pleasure in Ibrahim's eyes, as he asked the question, wasn't missed on anyone.

"I was the one who skipped a couple of grades," Zakariya responded sheepishly. "The teachers thought I was fit to be in the class meant for students two year ahead of me."

"And he was the smartest in class too," Salman admitted without hesitation. Then he narrowed his eyes at Zakariya. "Do you still remind teachers about homework and rat out those who skipped class?"

Zakariya wasn't even offended. In fact, he seemed quite flattered to be acknowledged by the once popular kids of high school. He even humored Salman and added, "University teachers actually don't appreciate snitches."

Salman let out a loud laugh. "I like your friend, Sasquatch."

After exchanging greetings and pleasantries, the boys headed for the prayer.