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My attempt to write daily this year |
All my writing for "Daily Writing Challenge" 
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I know." "So you're the reason someone is saying Alhamdulillah tonight." Fatima's eyes filled with happy tears. "I guess I am." "That's a good thing to be," Cupcake said. "A reason for someone else's Alhamdulillah." Fatima held her kitten close and stared at the ceiling, thinking about all the things she had learned today. That Alhamdulillah wasn't just a word. It was a way of seeing the world. Through grateful eyes. Through a thankful heart. That saying thank you for the good things was easy. But saying thank you for the hard things—that was where the real growth happened. That every broken glass, every rainy day, every moment of sadness could be a door to something better. If you let it. And that gratitude, once it took root, grew and grew until it filled every corner of your life. "Fatima?" "Yes, Cupcake?" "The purr in my heart is very loud tonight. Is that Alhamdulillah?" Fatima smiled into the darkness. "Yes, Cupcake. That's exactly what it is." "Good. Then I'll keep purring. Forever." "Alhamdulillah for that." "Alhamdulillah for you." And under the stars, with the rain finally stopped and the rainbow long faded, a little girl and her kitten fell asleep saying thank you. For everything. For everyone. For every moment. Alhamdulillah. Translations used in this chapter: Ammu (UM-moo): Mom/Mother (Bangla) Abbu (UB-boo): Dad/Father (Bangla) Shona (SHO-na): My gold/precious (term of endearment, Bangla) Alhamdulillah (Al-ham-du-li-lah): All praise is for Allah (Arabic) Subhan'Allah (SUB-han-AL-lah): Glory be to God (Arabic) Masha'Allah (MA-sha-AL-lah): God has willed it (said when something good happens, Arabic) Ayat (eye-YAAT): A verse from the Holy Quran (Arabic) Surah Ibrahim (SOO-rah Ib-ra-heem): The 14th chapter of the Quran, named after Prophet Abraham (Arabic) Hadith (ha-DEETH): A saying or teaching of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) (Arabic) chapter 10: The Lost Kitten and the Found Blessing It started with a cry. A tiny, desperate, heart-shattering cry that came from somewhere near the drainpipe behind the house. Fatima heard it while she was watering the marigolds in the cracked clay pot—the one she had planted with Khala Rashida. The flowers had grown tall and bright, orange as the sunset. "Did you hear that?" Cupcake's ears shot up. She was perched on the wall, her tail twitching, her bell silent for once. "I heard it." Fatima set down the watering can. "It sounds like… a kitten." "A kitten?" Cupcake jumped down and padded toward the drainpipe. "A REAL kitten? Not a pretend kitten like me?" "You're not pretend. You're real." "I meant…" Cupcake sniffed the air. "Oh. Oh no." "What? What is it?" Cupcake didn't answer. She just stared at the drainpipe, her green eyes wide. Fatima knelt down and peered into the darkness. At first she saw nothing. Just shadows and old leaves and a rusty pipe. But then—two tiny eyes. Golden. Terrified. "Hello?" Fatima whispered. The cry came again. Louder this time. And a small, shivering creature crawled out from behind the pipe. It was a kitten—smaller than Cupcake had been when Fatima first found her. Its fur was matted and wet. Its ribs showed through its thin coat. One of its ears was torn, and it was limping. "It's a baby," Cupcake said softly. "A real baby. And it's hurt." Fatima's heart cracked open. She reached out her hand slowly. "It's okay. I won't hurt you." The kitten flinched but didn't run. It was too weak to run. "Careful," Cupcake warned. "It might be scared. It might scratch." "Like you scratched me when I first found you?" Cupcake looked away. "I was scared too." Fatima gently scooped up the tiny kitten. It weighed nothing—just bones and fur and a heartbeat so fast it felt like a hummingbird's wings. The kitten didn't scratch. It just cried. "It's okay," Fatima whispered. "You're safe now. Alhamdulillah we found you." "Alhamdulillah?" Cupcake sounded confused. "For a hurt, scared, abandoned kitten?" "For finding it before it got worse. For having hands to hold it. For having a home to bring it to." Fatima stood up, cradling the kitten against her chest. "Alhamdulillah for everything, remember?" "Even this?" "Even this." Ammu was in the kitchen when Fatima walked in. She took one look at the tiny creature in Fatima's arms and immediately put down her ladle. Where did you find it?" "Behind the drainpipe. It was crying. Ammu, it's hurt. Look at its leg." Ammu examined the kitten gently. The leg was swollen—maybe broken, maybe just sprained. The torn ear had dried blood on it. The kitten was so thin that every rib was a mountain range under its skin. "We need to clean it up," Ammu said. "Warm water. Soft cloth. And we need to feed it. Small amounts. It's been hungry for a long time." "I know how that feels," Cupcake said quietly from the doorway. She wasn't coming closer. She was just watching, her tail low. Fatima noticed. "Cupcake? Are you okay?" "I'm fine." Cupcake's voice was flat. "I'm just… watching." Fatima wanted to ask more, but Ammu was already filling a bowl with warm water and finding a soft cloth. So she focused on the kitten. On cleaning its wounds. On wrapping its leg in a soft bandage. On feeding it tiny drops of milk from her fingertip. The kitten stopped crying. It started purring. A small, scratchy, broken purr—like an engine trying to start after a long winter. "Alhamdulillah," Fatima whispered. "You keep saying that," Cupcake said. "Because I mean it." By evening, the kitten was asleep in a small box lined with an old towel. Fatima had named it Noor—Arabic for "light"—because even in its darkest moment, it had found its way to her. "Noor," Cupcake said, testing the name. "It's a good name. For a kitten." "You don't sound happy." "I am happy." "Cupcake." Fatima sat down on the floor next to her kitten. "Talk to me." Cupcake was quiet for a long moment. Her tail swished back and forth. Her bell tinkled softly. When you found me," she finally said, "I was like that. Small. Scared. Hurt. And you took me in. You fed me. You held me. You loved me." "Yes." "And I thought… I thought I was the only one. The only kitten you would ever hold like that." Fatima's heart squeezed. "Cupcake…" "I know it's silly. I know I'm being selfish. But when I saw you holding Noor, I felt…" Cupcake's voice cracked. "I felt like the orange cat must have felt when I was mean to it. Small. Jealous. Ugly inside." feel ugly inside." Cupcake wouldn't look at her. "I don't want to share you." Total:1104 words |
| Are you saying Alhamdulillah for the man being wet?" Cupcake sounded confused. "No. I'm saying Alhamdulillah that we can help. That we have enough to share." Fatima stood up. "Come on." She ran to her closet and pulled out an old raincoat—one she had grown out of last year. Then she grabbed an umbrella from the stand by the door. "What are you doing?" Cupcake asked, trotting behind her. "I'm going to give him the raincoat." "In the rain? Fatima, you'll get wet!" "I'll take an umbrella. And Alhamdulillah for that too." Fatima ran out the gate, holding the umbrella over her head. The rain was cold, but not freezing. The man was still there, walking slowly, his head down. "Excuse me!" Fatima called. The man turned. His face was old and tired, with wrinkles like dried riverbeds. His eyes, though, were kind. "Yes, little one?" Fatima held out the raincoat. "This is for you. So you don't get so wet." The man stared at the raincoat. Then at Fatima. Then at the raincoat again. "Allah bless you, child," he said, his voice cracking. He took the raincoat with trembling hands and put it on. It was a little small for him, but it was dry. It was warm. "Alhamdulillah," Fatima said. The man smiled. "Alhamdulillah," he agreed. Then he continued walking, a little taller than before. Fatima ran back inside, dripping water on the floor. Cupcake was waiting by the door, looking horrified. "You're WET," she said. "You're very wet. The wettest I've ever seen you." Fatima laughed, shaking water from her hair. "Alhamdulillah." "For what NOW?" "That I have dry clothes to change into. That I have a towel to dry my hair. That I have a warm house to come back to." Cupcake stared at her. "You say Alhamdulillah for everything. It's exhausting just listening to you." "That's the point. When you say it enough, it becomes a habit. And when it's a habit, you start seeing blessings everywhere. Even in the rain." "Even in broken glasses?" "Even in broken glasses." "Even in me?" Cupcake's voice was suddenly soft. Fatima knelt down and scooped up her kitten. "Especially in you." That afternoon, the rain slowed to a drizzle. Fatima sat on the rooftop with Cupcake, watching the clouds part and the sun peek through. "The sky is doing that thing again," Cupcake said. "Where it makes colors." Fatima looked up. A rainbow was forming—faint at first, then brighter. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. A perfect arc across the sky. "Subhan'Allah," Fatima whispered. "Alhamdulillah." "What's Subhan'Allah?" "It means 'Glory be to Allah.' For beautiful things. Like rainbows." "So Alhamdulillah is for everything, and Subhan'Allah is for pretty things?" "Something like that." Cupcake nodded slowly. "I like that. I'm going to say it when I see a fish." "Subhan'Allah for fish?" "Yes. Fish are beautiful. Especially when they're on my plate." Fatima laughed. "You're ridiculous." "I'm purrfect," Cupcake corrected. "Now teach me more. What other words do you say?" Fatima thought. "There's Mashallah. That's for when you see something good and you don't want to jinx it." "Jinx it?" "Like when I see a baby and say 'Mashallah' to protect them from envy." "Cats don't get envy," Cupcake said. "We get jealousy. But we don't call it that. We call it 'healthy competition for resources.'" "Resources like fish?" "Resources like fish." Fatima shook her head, still laughing. "You're impossible." "I'm possible. I'm right here. Also, can we say Alhamdulillah for this moment? The rainbow. The rooftop. The rain stopping. You and me." Fatima's heart swelled. "Alhamdulillah for this moment." "Alhamdulillah," Cupcake agreed. And she purred so loudly that Fatima could feel it in her bones. That evening, Ammu found Fatima sitting on her bed, writing in her journal. Cupcake was curled up beside her, supervising. "What are you writing, shona?" "A list," Fatima said. "Of things to say Alhamdulillah for." Ammu sat down beside her. "Read it to me." Fatima cleared her throat. "Alhamdulillah for: The roof over my head The food on my plate The clothes on my back Ammu and Abbu Cupcake (even when she's bossy) Sarada and Andrea Khala Rashida Miss Farzana The yellow sweater that kept me warm (even though I gave it away) The blue glass that broke (because no one got hurt) The rain that flooded the roads (because it taught me to look for blessings) The man in the raincoat (because he reminded me that giving is better than keeping) The rainbow today The purr in my heart" Ammu's eyes were wet. "That's a beautiful list, Fatima mon." "The Quran says: 'If you are grateful, I will surely increase you.'" (Surah Ibrahim, 14:7) Fatima looked up. "Increase what?" "Blessings. When you're grateful for what you have, Allah gives you more. Not just things. More peace. More joy. More love in your heart." "Does that work for fish?" Cupcake asked. "If I'm grateful for fish, will Allah give me more fish?" Ammu laughed. "Gratitude works for everything, Cupcake." "Then I am VERY grateful for fish. Alhamdulillah for fish. Subhan'Allah for fish. Mashallah for fish. Do you think that's enough?" Fatima buried her face in her hands. "Cupcake, you can't just say all the words at once." "Why not? I want ALL the fish." That night, as Fatima was getting ready for bed, she noticed something on her pillow. A small piece of paper, folded into a square. She opened it. In Ammu's handwriting: "Fatima, Today you learned to say Alhamdulillah for everything. But I want you to know that I say Alhamdulillah for YOU. Every single day. From the moment you were born to this very moment right now. You are my blessing. My gift. My reason to be grateful. Alhamdulillah for you, my shona. Love, Ammu" Fatima read the note three times. Then she folded it carefully and tucked it under her pillow, right next to her heart. "What does it say?" Cupcake asked. Fatima told her. Cupcake was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Can you write me a note too? Saying Alhamdulillah for "It stops sometimes," Cupcake purred. Fatima turned off the light and lay down in the dark. Cupcake curled up on her chest, purring that deep, rumbly purr that made everything feel right. "Fatima?" "Yes?" "Do you think the man in the raincoat is saying Alhamdulillah tonight?" Fatima thought about it. "I hope so. For the raincoat. For the dry clothes. For the kindness of a stranger." "That stranger was you." |
| Chapter 9: The Thankful Heart It started with a broken glass. Fatima had been helping Ammu set the table for dinner. She was carrying a stack of plates and a tall glass of water when her foot caught on the edge of the rug. The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor. Water splashed everywhere. Shards of glass glittered like tiny diamonds in the evening light. "Oh no oh no oh no," Fatima whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "That was loud," Cupcake said from the safety of the doorway. "Is the glass okay?" "The glass is BROKEN, Cupcake." "Oh." Cupcake tilted her head. "Is that bad?" Ammu came running from the kitchen. "Fatima! Are you hurt?" Fatima shook her head, but the tears were already spilling down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Ammu. I wasn't looking. I broke your glass." Ammu knelt down and carefully picked up the larger pieces. "It's just a glass, shona. No one is hurt. That's what matters." "But it was your favorite. The blue one." Ammu looked at the shattered pieces. "It was pretty, yes. But things can be replaced. You cannot." She pulled Fatima into a hug. "Say Alhamdulillah." Fatima sniffled. "Alhamdulillah? For breaking your glass?" "For not getting cut. For having hands that can still hold things. For being safe." Ammu stroked her hair. "We say Alhamdulillah in good times and in hard times. Not because everything is perfect, but because Allah is always good." For not getting cut. For having hands that can still hold things. For being safe." Ammu stroked her hair. "We say Alhamdulillah in good times and in hard times. Not because everything is perfect, but because Allah is always good." Fatima wiped her eyes. "Alhamdulillah," she whispered. "Alhamdulillah," Cupcake echoed from the doorway, though Fatima wasn't sure the kitten understood what it meant. Later that night, Fatima lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Cupcake was curled up on her chest, purring. "You're thinking loud," the kitten said. "I can't help it. I keep thinking about the glass." "It's just a glass. Ammu said so." "I know. But I keep thinking about what Ammu said. About saying Alhamdulillah for everything. Even broken things." "What does Alhamdulillah mean, anyway? I hear you say it all the time. When you wake up. When you eat. When you finish your homework. It sounds like a sneeze but longer." Fatima giggled despite herself. "It's not a sneeze. It means 'All praise is for Allah.'" "All praise?" "All of it. Every bit. For everything." "Everything everything?" Cupcake sounded skeptical. "Even the glass breaking?" "I don't know. That's what I'm trying to understand." Cupcake was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "When I was little, before you found me, I was cold. And hungry. And scared. I didn't have a warm place to sleep or a human to love me." Fatima's heart squeezed. "I know, baby." "But then you found me. And now I have a pillow. And fish. And a bell. And you." Cupcake purred louder. "So maybe the cold and the hungry and the scared were worth it. Because they led me to you." Fatima hugged her kitten tight. "That's what Alhamdulillah is. Saying thank you for everything. Even the hard parts. Because the hard parts lead to good parts." "That's very wise," Cupcake said. "For a human." The next morning, Fatima woke up to rain. Not a soft drizzle, but a pounding, crashing, window-rattling storm. The kind of rain that made the streets flood and the rickshaws stop and the whole city groan. "It's wet outside," Cupcake observed from the windowsill. "Very wet. The wettest I've ever seen." Fatima looked out the window. The courtyard was a small lake. The palm trees were bending. The sky was dark gray, like someone had spilled ink across the clouds. "No school today," Fatima said. "The roads will be too flooded." "No school?" Cupcake's ears perked up. "That's good, right?" Fatima shrugged. She had been looking forward to art class today. Miss Farzana was going to teach them how to mix colors to make purple. Now she would miss it. "Ammu," she called, walking into the kitchen. "The rain means no school?" Ammu looked up from the stove, where she was stirring a pot of warm rice porridge. "Most likely, shona. The news said the roads are underwater." Fatima sighed. Ammu noticed her face. "Say Alhamdulillah, Fatima." "For what? I wanted to go to school today." "For a warm house while the rain pours outside. For a full stomach while others go hungry. For a family that loves you." Ammu smiled. "The Prophet (peace be upon him) said: 'Look at those who have less than you, not those who have more. That is more likely to keep you from despising Allah's blessings.'" Fatima thought about this. She thought about Meena, the little girl who had received her yellow sweater. Did Meena have a warm house today? Did Meena have rice porridge for breakfast? Alhamdulillah," Fatima said. And this time, she meant it. "Alhamdulillah," Cupcake said, jumping onto the table and sniffing the porridge. "Also, can I have some?" After breakfast, Fatima sat by the window, watching the rain pour down. Cupcake sat beside her, watching a bird take shelter under the leaves. "That bird looks miserable," Cupcake said. "She's probably saying Alhamdulillah for the leaves," Fatima said. "What?" "For having somewhere to hide from the rain." "Birds don't say Alhamdulillah." "How do you know? Maybe they do. In bird language." Cupcake considered this. "Maybe. Bird language is very hard to understand. They speak too fast. And they never stop moving." Fatima laughed. Then she noticed something. On the street below, a man was walking in the rain. He had no umbrella. No raincoat. He was soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging to his thin body. In his hands, he carried a large sack—maybe his only possessions. Fatima watched him walk past their gate, hunched against the wind. Her heart ached. "He looks cold," Cupcake said softly. Say Alhamdulillah," Fatima whispered. "For what?" "That we have a roof. That we're not walking in that rain. That we have dry clothes and warm porridge." (Total 1033 words) |
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Ammu," she said. "Will Meena write back?" Ammu glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Maybe. Maybe not. But that's not why you wrote the letter, is it?" Fatima shook her head. "I wrote it so she would know someone cares about her. Even someone she's never met." "That's very mature," Cupcake said. "For a human." Fatima laughed. "Thank you, Cupcake." "You're welcome. Now can we go home? I need a nap. All this generosity is exhausting." That night, Fatima sat on her bed, looking at her closet. It was emptier now. There was space where the bags had been. Space where Lila used to sit. She thought she would feel sad. But she didn't. She felt light. "What are you thinking about?" Cupcake asked, curling up beside her. "I'm thinking about Sadaqah. About how giving things away doesn't make you have less. It makes you have more." "More what?" "More… space. In your heart." Fatima touched her chest. "More room for other things. Like kindness. Like love. Like Allah." "That's very poetic," Cupcake said. "I would say something poetic too, but I'm tired. So I'll just purr." And she did. She purred and purred until Fatima's whole body vibrated with the sound. Fatima picked up her pen and a fresh piece of paper. She wasn't sure who she was writing to this time. Maybe no one. Maybe herself. But she wrote anyway. Dear Whoever Needs This, Today I learned that giving is not about losing. It's about growing. When you give something away, you don't get smaller. You get bigger. Because your heart stretches to hold more people. More love. More of Allah's blessings. I gave away my yellow sweater today. And my doll Lila. And I thought I would be sad. But I'm not. I'm happy. Because somewhere, a little girl named Meena is wearing that sweater. Somewhere, a little girl is hugging Lila. And that means my things are still being loved. Just by someone else. The Prophet (peace be upon him) said: "The believer's shade on the Day of Resurrection will be their charity." I want a big shade. So I will keep giving. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard. Your friend, Fatima P.S. Cupcake says to tell you that cats are also charity. Because they make you kinder. And also because they need fish. Send fish. "I did NOT say that last part," Cupcake mumbled sleepily. "You absolutely did." "Fine. Maybe I did. But only a little fish. A very little fish." Fatima folded the letter and tucked it under her pillow. Not to send to anyone. Just to keep. To remind herself. She looked at her drawing on the wall—the one of Cupcake with her green eyes and her shining bell. Underneath it, she had written: "Cupcake is my blessing from Allah." Now she added another line: "And giving is my blessing to Allah." "That's beautiful," Cupcake whispered. "Now go to sleep. Tomorrow we can give away more things." "What things?" "I don't know. Maybe that ugly vase in the living room. Ammu hates it anyway." Fatima laughed. "Cupcake!" "What? It's ugly. The geckos make fun of it." Fatima hugged her kitten close and closed her eyes. She thought about Meena's smile. About the empty space in her closet. About the light in her chest. She thought about Sadaqah. About handwritten letters. About how a piece of paper with your words on it could travel across neighborhoods and touch someone's heart. She thought about Allah, who loved givers. Who promised no fear and no grief to those who shared. And she thought about Cupcake, who had started it all with one simple question: "Why would you throw it away? It's still good." "Fatima?" "Yes, Cupcake?" "The purr in my heart is very loud tonight." "Mine too, Cupcake. Mine too." "Good. Now sleep. We have more giving to do tomorrow. And also, I want fish." Fatima smiled into the darkness. "Goodnight, my blessing." "Goodnight, my human." And under the stars, with Cupcake's purr filling the room like a prayer, Fatima dreamed of yellow sweaters and faded dolls and little girls who smiled when they realized someone cared. Translations used in this chapter: Ammu (UM-moo): Mom/Mother (Bangla) Abbu (UB-boo): Dad/Father (Bangla) Shona (SHO-na): My gold/precious (term of endearment, Bangla) Sadaqah (sa-DA-ka): Voluntary charity given for the sake of Allah (Arabic) Zakat (za-KAT): Obligatory charity, one of the Five Pillars of Islam (Arabic) Assalamu Alaikum (As-sa-la-mu A-lai-kum): Peace be upon you (Islamic greeting, Arabic) Ayat (eye-YAAT): A verse from the Holy Quran (Arabic) Surah Al-Baqarah (SOO-rah Al-BA-ka-rah): The 2nd chapter of the Quran (Arabic) Hadith (ha-DEETH): A saying or teaching of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) (Arabic) |
| She was my best friend before you," Fatima whispered. "I know," Cupcake said. "But now you have me. And some other little girl doesn't have anyone. Maybe she needs Lila." Fatima hugged the doll one last time. Then she placed her on top of the pile. Ammu helped Fatima pack everything into two large bags. As they worked, Ammu told Fatima more about Sadaqah. "The Quran says: 'Those who spend their wealth in charity day and night, secretly and openly, will have their reward with their Lord. They will have no fear, nor will they grieve.'" (Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:274) "No fear? No grief?" Fatima asked. "When you give for the sake of Allah, you don't have to worry. You don't have to be sad. Because you know that what you give will come back to you in other ways. Maybe not as money or things. But as peace in your heart. As blessings in your life." "Like when I gave my mouse toy to the orange cat," Cupcake said. "I was sad at first. But then I saw him playing with it, and I felt… light." "Exactly," Ammu said. "That's the feeling of Sadaqah." But Fatima wasn't done. That afternoon, she sat at her desk with a piece of paper and a pen. Cupcake curled up beside her, watching. "What are you doing now?" "I'm writing a letter." "To who?" "I don't know yet." Fatima stared at the blank paper. She had an idea, but she wasn't sure how to make it work. "Ammu," she called. "Who are we giving these things to?" Ammu came to the doorway. "There's a family in the next neighborhood. The mother is sick, and the father works very hard, but they don't have much. There's a little girl named Meena. She's about your age." Fatima's eyes lit up. "Can I write her a letter? To go with the things?" Ammu smiled. "That's a beautiful idea, shona. Handwritten letters are special. Anyone can send a message on a phone. But a letter—a letter takes time. Effort. Love. It shows someone that you thought about them. Really thought about them." Fatima picked up her pen. Dear Meena, She stopped. What do you say to someone you've never met? "Say hello," Cupcake suggested. "Hello is always safe. Unless you're a cat. Then you say 'meow.'" Fatima kept writing. Dear Meena, My name is Fatima. I am eight years old. I live in Dhaka with my Ammu, my Abbu, and my kitten Cupcake. Cupcake is fluffy and bossy and she talks to me inside my head. I am sending you some things I used to love. A yellow sweater that kept me very warm. A pink dress I wore on my birthday. Some books I read so many times the pages got soft. And a doll named Lila. Lila was my best friend for a long time. But now I have Cupcake, and Lila is lonely on my shelf. I think she wants a new friend. I don't know you, but I hope you are okay. I hope you are not too cold or too hungry. I hope you have someone to play with. My Ammu says that giving things away is called Sadaqah. It's when you share what you have because Allah loves it when we take care of each other. So I am giving you these things because Allah loves you. Even though we've never met. If you want to write back, my address is on the envelope. Your friend, Fatima P.S. Cupcake says to tell you that cats are blessings from Allah and if you ever want one, you should get an orange one because they are very forgiving. Also, she says to send fish. "I did NOT say to send fish," Cupcake protested. "You absolutely did." "Fine. Maybe I did. But only a little fish. A small one. For the orange cat." Fatima folded the letter carefully and placed it in an envelope. On the front, she wrote: For Meena. Ammu drove Fatima to the next neighborhood the following day. Cupcake came too, sitting in Fatima's lap, watching the streets pass by. "This is a different Dhaka," Cupcake observed. "The roads are bumpier." Fatima looked out the window. The houses here were smaller. Some were made of tin and bamboo. Children played in the dirt with sticks and stones. A little girl sat on a stoop, wearing a faded dress that was too big for her. "That's her," Ammu said softly. "That's Meena." Fatima's heart beat faster. She had imagined Meena many times while writing the letter, but she hadn't imagined her like this. So small. So thin. So… real. Ammu parked the car, and they walked to the stoop with the two large bags. Meena looked up, her eyes wide. "Assalamu Alaikum," Ammu said gently. "Are you Meena?" The girl nodded slowly. "We brought you some things. From my daughter, Fatima." Meena looked at the bags. Then she looked at Fatima. Fatima smiled, but her smile felt shaky. "Say something," Cupcake whispered in her mind. "Don't just stand there." yarn hair and the faded pink dress. Meena held Lila like she was made of glass. Like she had never held anything so precious in her whole life. And then she smiled. It was a small smile. A shy smile. But it was real. Fatima felt something crack open in her chest. Not in a painful way. In a way that let light in. "That's Sadaqah," Cupcake said softly. "That feeling right now. That's what Ammu was talking about." Fatima nodded, not trusting her voice. On the drive home, Fatima was quiet. Cupcake sat in her lap, purring. "You did a good thing today," the kitten said. "I didn't do anything. I just gave away old things." You gave away things you loved. That's not nothing." Cupcake looked up at her. "You gave away Lila. Your best friend before me. That took courage." Fatima thought about Meena's smile. About the way she had held Lila. About the letter she had written, hoping it would make a difference. |
| Chapter 8: The Box of Giving It started with a closet. Fatima stood in front of her cupboard, staring at the shelves stuffed with clothes that no longer fit, toys she no longer played with, and books she had read a hundred times. Her mother had asked her to clean it out, but every time Fatima tried, she found herself remembering. This pink dress—she had worn it on her sixth birthday. This stuffed rabbit—Cupcake had slept on it for a whole month before deciding the pillow was better. This puzzle—she and Abbu had spent an entire rainy afternoon putting it together. "Why are you just standing there?" Cupcake asked from her perch on the bed. "Are you having a staring contest with your old clothes? Who's winning?" Fatima sighed. "I can't decide what to keep." "Keep everything," Cupcake said simply. "That's what I do with my toys. I keep all of them. Even the ones I've destroyed." "You destroy your toys." "I love them aggressively." Fatima laughed, but her heart wasn't in it. She pulled out a yellow sweater that was now too short in the sleeves. It was so soft, so warm. She remembered the day Ammu had bought it for her, how she had worn it every single day for a week until Ammu had to wash it in secret. "You're not going to wear that again," Cupcake observed. "Your wrists are hanging out. It looks silly." "Cupcake!" "I'm just saying. It's a sweater for a smaller Fatima. That Fatima doesn't exist anymore." Fatima looked at the sweater. Cupcake was right. She hated when Cupcake was right. What am I supposed to do with it? Throw it away?" "Why would you throw it away? It's still good. It's still soft. Some smaller Fatima somewhere could wear it." Fatima paused. "Some smaller Fatima?" "You know. A little girl. One who doesn't have a yellow sweater. One who might be cold." Cupcake tilted her head. "Isn't that what your religion says? Share what you have?" Fatima stared at her kitten. Sometimes Cupcake said things that were so wise, Fatima forgot she was a cat. That evening, Fatima sat with Ammu on the rooftop. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Cupcake was chasing a moth in circles, her bell tinkling with every jump. "Ammu, what does Islam say about giving away things you love?" Ammu looked at her daughter with gentle eyes. "Why do you ask, shona?" Fatima told her about the closet. About the yellow sweater that didn't fit anymore. About the toys she never touched. About how Cupcake had said some smaller Fatima somewhere might need them. Ammu smiled. "Your kitten is very wise." "I know," Cupcake said from across the rooftop, pouncing on the moth. "I'm basically a philosopher." "There's something called Sadaqah," Ammu said. "It means voluntary charity. Giving to others not because you have to, but because you want to. Because it pleases Allah." "Like Zakat?" "Zakat is the obligatory charity—the one we must give every year. But Sadaqah is different. Sadaqah can be anything. A smile. A helping hand. A bowl of water for a thirsty bird." Ammu paused. "A yellow sweater for a little girl who has no warm clothes. Fatima thought about this. "Does it count if I don't want to give it away? If it's hard?" Ammu nodded. "That's when it counts the most, shona. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said: 'The best charity is that which is given when you are in good health and feeling stingy, hoping for wealth and fearing poverty.' It's easy to give away things we don't care about. But giving away something we love—something that hurts to lose—that is real Sadaqah." Fatima looked down at her hands. She thought about the yellow sweater. She did love it. But she would never wear it again. It was just sitting in the closet, taking up space, doing nothing. While somewhere, maybe, a little girl was cold. The next morning, Fatima made a decision. She marched to her closet, pulled open the doors, and started pulling things out. The pink dress. The stuffed rabbit. The puzzle. The yellow sweater. Three pairs of shoes that were too small. A box of crayons she hadn't touched in two years. "Whoa," Cupcake said, jumping onto the pile. "You're being aggressive. I like it." "I'm being generous," Fatima corrected. "Same thing. Aggressive generosity. I'm going to call it Aggerosity." Fatima kept pulling. Books. Hair clips. A small doll that had once been her favorite. She piled everything in the middle of the room until there was a mountain of things she no longer needed. Then she stopped. The doll. She had almost given away the doll. She picked it up, holding it carefully. The doll had brown yarn hair and a faded pink dress. Its name was Lila. Fatima had carried Lila everywhere for three years. Lila had been to school, to the mosque, to her grandmother's house in the village. Lila had even been to the doctor once, when Fatima had fallen and scraped her knee, and the doctor had laughed and put a tiny bandage on the doll's arm too. "That one looks hard," Cupcake said softly, sitting beside her. "You don't have to give that one away." Fatima's eyes filled with tears. "I know. But I never play with her anymore. She just sits on the shelf." "So? I sit on the shelf sometimes. That doesn't mean you should give me away." Fatima laughed through her tears. "You're not a doll, Cupcake. You're my cat." "I'm also a blessing from Allah, and blessings should be kept." Cupcake pressed her head against Fatima's hand. "But Lila… Lila could be a blessing for someone else." Fatima looked at the doll. At her faded dress. At her button eyes. (Total:975 words) |
I want to learn more about Abu Hurayra. And about cats in Islam. And I want to draw a picture of Cupcake to put on my wall. A big one. So I never forget how much she means to me." Ammu's face softened into a warm smile. "That's a beautiful idea, shona. After breakfast, we'll look up stories together." "A big picture of me?" Cupcake's voice was delighted. "How big? As big as the door? As big as the house? As big as—" "Maybe as big as a piece of paper," Fatima whispered. "That's not very big." "It's big enough." "Fine. But use my good side. The left side. My whiskers are better on the left." After breakfast, Fatima sat at the dining table with a large sheet of paper, her colored pencils, and Ammu's laptop open to stories about Abu Hurayra. Cupcake sat in the middle of the table, right on top of Fatima's eraser, supervising. "Make my eyes bigger," she instructed. "And my tail fluffier. And add more bells. I want at least five bells." "You only have one bell." "In the picture, I can have five. It's art, Fatima. Art doesn't have to be real." Fatima giggled and kept drawing. Ammu read aloud from the laptop: "It says here that Abu Hurayra loved cats so much that he would feed stray cats before he ate his own food. He would carry water for them on hot days. He would even let them sleep in his bed." "A bed!" Cupcake said. "This man was very wise. Why don't you let me sleep on your pillow, Fatima?" "You do sleep on my pillow." "The whole pillow. Not just the corner." "Fine. Tonight, you can have the whole pillow." "And the blanket?" "Don't push it." Ammu continued reading. "The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said: 'Fear Allah regarding these animals, for they cannot speak.' That means we have to take care of animals because they can't tell us when they're hungry or hurt or scared." Fatima looked at Cupcake, who was staring at her with those enormous green eyes. "You can talk," she whispered. "You talk to me." "Only to you," Cupcake said softly. "Because you listen." Fatima felt her heart swell. "I'll always listen." "Good. Now make my nose pinker. It's very pink in real life. The pinkest nose in all of Bangladesh." That evening, Fatima finished her drawing. It wasn't as big as the door, but it was big enough to fill an entire sheet of paper. Cupcake sat in the center, her green eyes bright, her bell shining, her tail curled around her like a fluffy question mark. Around the drawing, Fatima had written some of the things she had learned: "Abu Hurayra = Father of the Kitten" "The Prophet cut his sleeve for his cat" "Kindness to animals = kindness to humans" "Cupcake is my blessing from Allah" She taped the drawing to the wall above her bed, right where she could see it every morning when she woke up and every night before she fell asleep. "It's beautiful," Cupcake said, sitting on the pillow and looking up at her portrait. "My eyes are very sparkly. You captured my soul." "I tried." "You succeeded. I look like a movie star. A very fluffy movie star." Fatima climbed onto her bed and pulled Cupcake into her lap. The kitten purred, that deep rumbly purr that made Fatima's whole body feel warm. "Cupcake?" "Yes?" "Do you know how much you mean to me?" Cupcake was quiet for a moment. Then she pressed her tiny forehead against Fatima's chin. "I think so," she said softly. "But tell me anyway." "You came to me when I was little. You were so small you fit in my two hands. Your eyes weren't even open yet. Ammu said you were abandoned, that your mother cat had left you behind." "I don't remember that," Cupcake said. "I only remember you." "I fed you with a tiny bottle. I kept you warm against my chest. I sang to you when you cried." Fatima's voice got quieter. "And you grew. And you started talking to me. And you became my best friend." "I am a very good best friend," Cupcake agreed. "I am also very humble." Fatima laughed through the tears forming in her eyes. "When I'm sad, you know. When I'm happy, you know. When I'm scared, you sit on my chest and purr until I'm not scared anymore." "That's my job," Cupcake said simply. "That's what cats do for the people they love." "I didn't know that. Before you, I didn't know a cat could love someone so much." "We love very hard," Cupcake said. "We just don't show it all the time. Sometimes we show it by sitting on your homework. Or knocking things off tables. Or waking you up at 3 AM because we want to play." Fatima giggled. "That's love?" "The highest form." Later, Ammu came to tuck Fatima into bed. She saw the drawing on the wall and stopped. "Fatima," she said softly. "This is beautiful." "Ammu, do you think Allah sent Cupcake to me?" Ammu sat down on the edge of the bed. "I think Allah sends us blessings in many forms. Sometimes as sunshine. Sometimes as good friends. Sometimes as a tiny kitten who needs a home and grows up to fill our hearts with purrs." "I am a blessing," Cupcake said, preening. "I always suspected." Fatima hugged her kitten. "I'm going to be like Abu Hurayra. I'm going to take care of cats forever. All the cats. Every cat I see." That's just such a sweet thought my dear girl. Ammu said, kissing Fatema's forehead. Total:950 words |
| Father of the Kitten?" she repeated. "There was a man called Father of the Kitten?" Abbu laughed. "Yes. His real name was different, but he was given this nickname because he loved cats so much. He always carried a small kitten with him, everywhere he went. In his sleeve, in his pocket, on his shoulder." "Like me!" Cupcake said excitedly. "I go everywhere with Fatima! Am I famous now?" Fatima scooped up her kitten and held her close. "Tell us more, Abbu!" Abbu set down his teacup and settled into a comfortable position. "Abu Hurayra loved the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) more than anyone. He spent all his time with him, learning from him, memorizing his sayings. Because of Abu Hurayra, we know many of the Prophet's teachings today. He memorized thousands of hadiths." "Thousands?" Cupcake whispered. "That's more than the number of times I've chased my tail." "But why was he called Father of the Kitten?" Fatima asked. "Because he never went anywhere without his cat. He fed stray cats. He took care of them. He believed that being kind to cats was a way of being kind to Allah's creation." Abbu smiled. "The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) himself loved cats. He had a cat named Muezza. There's a famous story that once, when the Prophet had to leave for prayer, he found Muezza sleeping on his robe. Instead of waking the cat, he cut off the sleeve of his robe so she could keep sleeping." Fatima's mouth fell open. "He cut his own robe? For a cat?" "For a cat?" Cupcake echoed, her voice full of wonder. "A very important man cut his clothes for a cat?" "Yes," Abbu said. "Because the Prophet taught us that all living creatures deserve kindness and respect. He said: 'A good deed done to an animal is like a good deed done to a human being.'" Fatima looked down at Cupcake, who was staring up at her with those enormous green eyes. "So… loving Cupcake is like loving a person?" "In a way, yes," Abbu said. "Allah created all living beings. When we care for them, we are showing gratitude to Allah for His creation." That night, Fatima couldn't sleep. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything Abbu had told her. Abu Hurayra, the Father of the Kitten. The Prophet cutting his robe for his cat. The saying that a good deed to an animal is like a good deed to a human. Beside her, Cupcake was curled into a tiny ball, her bell silent, her breathing soft and even. Every few seconds, her whiskers twitched, as if she was dreaming about chasing something. "Cupcake?" Fatima whispered. "Mm?" The kitten's voice was sleepy. "Are you awake?" "I am now." Cupcake yawned, showing her tiny pink tongue. "What's wrong? Is there a dust monster?" "No. I'm just thinking." Thinking is dangerous at night," Cupcake said, blinking slowly. "Thinking leads to worrying. Worrying leads to no sleep. No sleep leads to grumpy Fatima. And grumpy Fatima forgets to give me fish." Fatima giggled softly. "I won't forget the fish." "Promise?" "Promise." Cupcake settled back down, but Fatima kept talking. "Do you know what Abbu told me? About Abu Hurayra?" "The Father of the Kitten," Cupcake said. "I remember. That's a very good name. Better than 'Cupcake.' Can I change my name to Father of the Kitten?" "You're not a father. You're a girl cat." "Mother of the Kitten?" "You don't have kittens." "Yet." Cupcake's eyes gleamed. "One day. Many kittens. An army of kittens. We will take over the house." Fatima laughed. "Cupcake, focus. I'm trying to tell you something important." Fine, fine. Important things." Cupcake stretched her body long, then curled back up. "I'm listening." "Abu Hurayra loved cats so much that he made it his whole name. People still say his name today, hundreds and hundreds of years later, because of his love for kittens." "Hundreds of years?" Cupcake's voice was quiet now. "People remember him because he loved cats?" "Yes. The Prophet said that kindness to animals is rewarded by Allah. Every time I feed you, every time I pet you, every time I make sure you're safe and warm—that's a good deed." Cupcake was very still. Her purr, which was always there in the background, grew louder. "Fatima?" "Yes?" "Do you think Allah knows about me? About us?" Fatima thought about this. "I think Allah knows about everything. Every leaf that falls from a tree. Every fish in the river. Every kitten who purrs on a little girl's pillow." "Even the geckos?" Cupcake asked suspiciously. Even the geckos?" Cupcake asked suspiciously. Fatima laughed. "Even the geckos." "Hmm." Cupcake considered this. "I still need to chase them. But maybe I'll chase them more gently. If Allah is watching." Fatima hugged her kitten tight. "I'm glad you're my cat, Cupcake." "I'm glad you're my human," Cupcake said. "Even when you're grumpy. Even when you forget the fish. Even when you squeeze me too tight." "I don't squeeze you too tight." You're squeezing me right now." Fatima loosened her grip and kissed the top of Cupcake's head. "Sorry." "It's okay. I like being squeezed. Just a little." The next morning, Fatima woke up with an idea. She ran to Ammu in the kitchen, where the smell of fresh parathas and hot tea filled the air. Cupcake trotted behind her, her bell announcing their arrival. "Ammu! Can we do something special today?" Ammu looked up from the stove. "What kind of special, Fatima? (Total:927 words) |
| Remember what Ammu said about the backbiters? Woe to them. That's serious." Fatima nodded slowly. "I kept thinking about those verses. About the Crusher. And I thought… I don't want to be someone who hurts others with my words. Or my silence." "You're not," Cupcake said firmly. "You're the opposite. You're the fixer. You went to Rima. You went to the teacher. You spoke to Nabila. That's not backbiting. That's front-facing." "Front-facing?" "Yes. You face the problem. You don't hide. You don't whisper. You stand in front of it and you say, 'This is wrong, and I'm going to fix it.'" Cupcake looked up at her with admiration in her green eyes. "That's brave. That's the opposite of backbiting." Fatima hugged her kitten close. "Do you know what the orange cat did? After you were mean about it?" "What?" "It came back. A few weeks later. And you were so ashamed that you hid behind the bush. But it found you. And you know what it did?" Cupcake was very still. "What?" "It rubbed its head against yours. And it purred. And then it chased a butterfly with you." "How do you know that?" Cupcake whispered. "Because I saw it. From the rooftop. I was watching, and I saw the whole thing. That cat forgave you. Even though you didn't deserve it." Cupcake was quiet for a long moment. Then she pressed her face into Fatima's hand. "I try to be like the orange cat now," she said softly. "It's hard. But I try." Fatima stroked her kitten's fur. "I want to be like the orange cat too. Forgiving. Brave. Not hiding." "You already are," Cupcake said. "You went to Rima. You didn't have to do that. But you did." Fatima looked up at the stars. The sky was clear and deep, the stars scattered like tiny diamonds. She thought about the verses Ammu had read. "Woe to every backbiter, slanderer…" She never wanted to be one of those people. Never again. Not the spreader of rumors. Not the silent watcher. She wanted to be the one who stood up. Who spoke for those who couldn't speak for themselves. Who faced the problem instead of whispering behind backs. "I'm never going to do that again," Fatima whispered. "Not the spreading. Not the silence. I'm going to speak up." "Even if people laugh at you?" Cupcake asked. "Even if." "Even if they whisper about you next?" Fatima swallowed. "Even if." "Then you are braver than the orange cat," Cupcake said. "And I'm going to be brave with you. We'll be the front-facing team." "Deal." Fatima kissed the top of her kitten's head. "And Fatima?" "Yes?" "I'm glad you're my human. You have a good heart. Even when it's scared, it's still good. And I think Allah is proud of you today. For standing up. For not being a backbiter." Fatima leaned her head back and looked at the stars. Somewhere in the neighborhood, an orange cat was probably chasing a butterfly, not knowing that it had taught a little girl and her kitten something important. That words could hurt like knives. That silence could be a weapon too. And that the bravest thing you could do was to speak up for someone who couldn't speak for themselves. "Fatima?" "Yes, Cupcake?" "Tomorrow, can we visit Rima? Maybe bring her some of Ammu's payesh? I think she needs something sweet after all those whispers." Fatima smiled. "That's a wonderful idea." "And maybe we can bring the orange cat some fish. For being so forgiving." "We'll see." "Fine. But I'm bringing my bell. I think Rima needs a tinkle. And the orange cat needs to know I remember." Fatima laughed, and the sound floated up into the night sky, joining the stars. Translations used in this chapter: Ammu (UM-moo): Mom/Mother (Bangla) Shona (SHO-na): My gold/precious (term of endearment, Bangla) Fatima mon (FAH-tee-ma mon): My precious (term of endearment, Bangla) Payesh (pai-ESH): Rice pudding, Bengali dessert (Bangla) Ayat (eye-YAAT): A verse from the Holy Quran (Arabic) Surah Al-Humazah (SOO-rah Al-hoo-MA-zah): The 104th chapter of the Quran, meaning "The Backbiter" or "The Slanderer" (Arabic) Hadith (ha-DEETH): A saying or teaching of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him, Arabic Chapter 7: The Cat Who Never Left It started with a sneeze. A tiny, unexpected, adorable sneeze that came from Cupcake as she sat on the windowsill, washing her face with one paw. "Something tickled," she said, shaking her head. Her bell tinkled softly. "Probably a dust monster." Fatima giggled. "There's no such thing as dust monsters." "How do you know? You're not a cat. Dust monsters could be everywhere." Cupcake narrowed her green eyes dramatically. Fatima was about to argue when Abbu walked into the room, holding his teacup. He stopped when he saw Cupcake on the windowsill and smiled. "You know, Fatima," he said, sitting down on the edge of her bed, "having a cat in the house is a very special thing in our religion." Fatima's ears perked up. "It is?" Abbu nodded. "Do you know the story of Abu Hurayra?" Fatima shook her head. Cupcake stopped washing her face and tilted her head, listening. Abu Hurayra was one of the closest companions of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him)," Abbu began. "But do you know what his name means?" "What?" Fatima asked. "Abu Hurayra means 'Father of the Kitten.'" Fatima's eyes went wide. (Total 901 words) |
| Ammu took her daughter's hands. "Staying silent when you know something is wrong—that can be its own kind of hurt, shona. Not the same as spreading the rumor, but still… you knew it wasn't right. And you didn't stop it." "Like when I didn't stop the other cats from being mean to the orange one," Cupcake said softly. Fatima looked down at her hands. "What do I do, Ammu?" Ammu stroked her hair. "The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said: 'Whoever believes in Allah and the Last Day, let him speak good or remain silent.' That means if you don't have something good to say, it's better to say nothing at all. But if you see someone being harmed by words—then silence is not enough. Then you must speak." Fatima thought about this. "I didn't speak. I didn't stop it. I just… let it happen." "You can change that now," Ammu said. "You can't take back the past, but you can decide what you do tomorrow." The next morning, Fatima made a decision. She walked into school with her bag over her shoulder and her heart beating fast. She found Rima sitting at her desk—she was back today—looking smaller than usual, her shoulders hunched. Fatima walked up to her. "Rima?" Rima looked up, her eyes wary. "Yes?" Fatima sat down beside her. "I heard what people are saying. About your project." Rima's face crumpled for just a second before she forced it back into a mask. "I didn't copy," she said quietly. "I researched. I wrote everything in my own words. I had my sources at the end. But no one looked at that. They just…" "I know," Fatima said. "I'm sorry." Rima blinked. "Why are you sorry? You didn't say anything." Fatima's cheeks burned. "That's why I'm sorry. I should have said something. I should have told them to stop." Rima stared at her for a long moment. Then her eyes filled with tears. "Everyone just believed her," she whispered. "No one asked me. No one came to me to ask if it was true. They just… decided." Fatima felt something crack open in her chest. She had been part of that. Not the spreading, but the silence. The silence had been just as loud. "I'm going to talk to Miss Farzana," Fatima said suddenly. Rima's eyes went wide. "What? No! That will make it worse!" "Will it? Right now, everyone thinks you cheated. If Miss Farzana looks at your project and sees that you didn't, then they'll have to stop." "But what if she thinks I copied too?" "She's a teacher. She'll know. She'll look at your sources and your notes." Fatima stood up. "I'll go with you. You don't have to do it alone." Rima hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded. Miss Farzana listened carefully as Rima explained. She looked through Rima's project, checking the sources at the end, the notes Rima had made, the rough drafts she had saved. "This is original work," Miss Farzana said finally. "I can see your process here, your revisions. This isn't copied." Rima let out a breath she had been holding for days. Miss Farzana looked at Fatima. "Thank you for bringing this to me. It takes courage to stand up for someone." Fatima nodded, but she didn't feel courageous. She felt like she was just now doing what she should have done from the beginning. That afternoon, Miss Farzana made an announcement to the class. "Some of you have been spreading rumors about Rima's science project," she said, her voice firm. "I have reviewed her work thoroughly. It is original, well-researched, and properly cited. There was no copying." The classroom was silent. Nabila stared at her desk, her face red. "Rumors and backbiting hurt people," Miss Farzana continued. "They damage reputations. They cause pain. And they are against everything we teach in this school about respect and kindness. I expect this to stop immediately." After class, Fatima found Nabila at the water fountain. "You knew," Fatima said quietly. "You knew it wasn't true." Nabila didn't look at her. "I didn't know anything. I just heard it from someone." "And you spread it anyway. Without checking. Without asking Rima." Nabila finally looked up. Her face was defensive, but her eyes were ashamed. "It's not that big a deal. Everyone talks about everyone." "It IS a big deal," Fatima said, her voice stronger now. "Do you know what Allah says about backbiters? He calls them people of 'woe.' He says they will be thrown into the Crusher. That's how serious it is." Nabila's face went pale. "I didn't… I didn't know." "Now you do. And Rima cried. She stayed home because she was too embarrassed to come to school. And you didn't even know if it was true." Nabila opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. She looked away. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't think…" "Maybe next time, think before you speak," Fatima said. And she walked back to class, her heart pounding. That evening, Fatima sat on the rooftop with Cupcake, watching the stars appear one by one. You did good today," Cupcake said, curled up in her lap. "I should have done it sooner." "Maybe. But you did it. That's what matters." Cupcake purred, her little body vibrating against Fatima's legs. " Total 887 words |
| That evening, Fatima sat on the rooftop with Cupcake, watching the sun set. But she wasn't really seeing it. "You're quiet again," Cupcake said, climbing into her lap. "Is it the green monster again?" "No. It's something else." "What?" Fatima told her about the whispers. About Nabila. About Rima's empty seat. About how everyone was talking behind her back. When she finished, Cupcake was very still. "Did Rima really copy?" the kitten asked. "I don't know. No one knows. They're just… saying things." "But if they don't know, why are they saying it?" Fatima shook her head. "I don't know." "And you? Did you say anything?" Fatima hesitated. "I said I didn't know." "But you didn't say, 'Stop talking about her when she's not here.' You didn't say, 'That's not fair.'" Fatima's cheeks burned. "I… no. I didn't." "Why not?" "Because… because everyone was saying it. Because I didn't want them to turn on me too." The words hung in the air, ugly and honest. Cupcake was quiet for a long moment. Then she climbed up and pressed her tiny forehead against Fatima's cheek. "I did that once," she said softly. "With the orange cat from down the street." "What happened?" "I was jealous of it. It was bigger than me. It caught a mouse once and everyone said how clever it was. So when I saw it knock over Mrs. Haque's flower pot, I told everyone. I said it did it on purpose. I said it was a bad cat." Cupcake's voice was barely a whisper. "But I didn't know if it was on purpose. It might have been an accident. I just wanted everyone to think it was bad." Fatima stared at her kitten. "What happened to the orange cat?" "Everyone was mean to it. It stopped coming down the street. And I felt…" Cupcake shivered. "I felt small. And ugly. And I couldn't take back what I said. The words were already out." Fatima hugged her kitten tight. "You didn't mean to hurt it." "But I did. And that's what matters." Cupcake looked up at her. "Talking about someone when they're not there to defend themselves… it's like stabbing them in the back. They can't see it coming. They can't protect themselves. And by the time they find out, the damage is already done." "Backstabbing," Fatima whispered. She had heard the word before, but she had never really understood what it meant until now. "Yes," Cupcake said. "That's what it is. Stabbing someone in the back. And I did it. And you almost did it too." That night, Ammu found Fatima sitting on her bed, staring at the wall. "Fatima mon? What's wrong?" Fatima didn't answer at first. Then, in a small voice, she said, "Ammu, what does backstabbing mean?" Ammu sat down beside her. "It's when someone speaks badly about another person behind their back. When they say things they wouldn't say to their face. Why do you ask?" Fatima told her everything. The whispers. The group at the water fountain. How she had stayed silent when she knew she should have spoken. How she had been afraid. When she finished, Ammu was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached for the Quran. "Do you know what Allah says about this, shona?" Fatima shook her head. Ammu opened the book and read softly: "Woe to every backbiter, slanderer, who amasses wealth and counts it, thinking that his wealth will make him immortal. No! He will surely be thrown into the Crusher." (Surah Al-Humazah, 104:1-4) Fatima's eyes widened. "Woe to every backbiter? What does 'woe' mean?" "It means destruction. Loss. Great suffering," Ammu explained. "Allah is warning us that backbiting—talking about people behind their backs, slandering them, whispering about them—is a serious sin. It's so serious that Allah calls those who do it people of 'woe.'" Woe sounds bad," Cupcake said from the foot of the bed, her ears flat. "What's 'the Crusher'?" Fatima asked quietly. "It's one of the names for the hellfire," Ammu said gently. "Allah is telling us that the people who spend their time backbiting and slandering others, who think their money and status protect them—they are in for a terrible punishment. Because they have hurt people with their words. They have destroyed reputations. They have caused pain that cannot always be fixed." Fatima felt her stomach clench. "But I didn't say anything bad about Rima. I just… didn't say anything." Ammu took her daughter's hands. "Staying silent when you know something is wrong—that can be its own kind of hurt, shona. Not the same as spreading the rumor, but still… you knew it wasn't right. And you didn't stop it." Like when I didn't stop the other cats from being mean to the orange one," Cupcake said softly. Fatima looked down at her hands. "What do I do, Ammu?" Ammu stroked her hair. "The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said: 'Whoever believes in Allah and the Last Day, let him speak good or remain silent.' That means if you don't have something good to say, it's better to say nothing at all. But if you see someone being harmed by words—then silence is not enough. Then you must speak." Fatima thought about this. "I didn't speak. I didn't stop it. I just… let it happen." Total 885 words |
 Chapter 6: The Whisper That Stung It started with a whisper. Fatima was sitting in the courtyard, watching Cupcake chase a butterfly. The kitten leaped and pounced, her bell tinkling with every jump, but the butterfly always fluttered away at the last moment. "It's mocking me," Cupcake huffed, flopping down in defeat. "That butterfly has no respect." Fatima giggled. "It's just playing." "I'll show it playing," Cupcake muttered, her tail twitching. Just then, Sarada came running through the gate, her face flushed. "Fatima! Did you hear what happened?" Fatima sat up. "What?" "Remember the science project? The one Rima presented yesterday?" Fatima nodded. Rima was in their class. She was quiet, kept to herself, and always did her work neatly. Her science project on how plants grow had been good—not amazing, but solid and careful. "Some of the girls are saying she copied it," Sarada said, lowering her voice. "From the internet. They're telling everyone." Fatima's stomach tightened. "Did she?" "I don't know. But even if she did, why are they telling everyone? Why not just tell Miss Farzana?" Sarada looked upset. "They're whispering about her behind her back. I heard them in the bathroom. They were laughing." Fatima felt something cold crawl up her spine. She had seen those girls whispering in corners, their heads together, their voices low. She had never thought much about it before. But now… "What are they saying exactly?" Fatima asked. "That she's a cheater. That she's lazy. That her parents probably did the project for her." Sarada's voice cracked. "Rima wasn't even there. She went home early because she had a headache." Fatima didn't know what to say. She looked at Cupcake, who had stopped chasing butterflies and was now sitting very still, her green eyes fixed on Fatima's face. "That's not nice," Cupcake said softly in her mind. "Talking about someone when they're not there. That's like… that's like hiding in the bushes and hissing when no one can see you." Fatima nodded slowly. The next day at school, the whispers were louder. Fatima sat in her seat, trying to focus on Miss Farzana's lesson about fractions, but her ears kept catching bits of conversation from the back of the room. "—heard she copied the whole thing—" "—my mother said that's called cheating—" "—she probably doesn't even know how plants grow—" Fatima glanced at the empty seat where Rima usually sat. She wasn't there today either. During break, Fatima found herself standing with a group of girls near the water fountain. Nabila, a girl with sharp eyes and a louder voice than anyone else, was holding court. "So anyway," Nabila was saying, "Rima's project was exactly like something I saw on a website. EXACTLY. She didn't change a single word." "Maybe she just researched it?" one girl said uncertainly. Nabila rolled her eyes. "Research is one thing. Copying is another. My mother says people who copy never succeed in life." A few girls nodded. A few others laughed. Fatima stood at the edge of the group, not laughing, not nodding. Something felt wrong. "Say something," Cupcake's voice suddenly whispered in her mind, even though the kitten was at home. Fatima had learned that Cupcake could reach her sometimes, when the feeling was strong enough. "That's not true. You know it's not true." But Fatima didn't know it wasn't true. What if Rima really had copied? What if everyone was right? Nabila turned to her. "Fatima, you sit near Rima. Did you see her project? Did she copy?" All the girls were looking at her now. Waiting. Fatima's throat went dry. She thought about Rima's quiet face, her careful handwriting, the way she always shared her colored pencils when anyone asked. She thought about the whispers, the laughter in the bathroom, the empty seat. That evening, Fatima sat on the rooftop with Cupcake, watching the sun set. But she wasn't really seeing it. "You're quiet again," Cupcake said, climbing into her lap. "Is it the green monster again?" "No. It's something else." "What?" Fatima told her about the whispers. About Nabila. About Rima's empty seat. About how everyone was talking behind her back. When she finished, Cupcake was very still. "Did Rima really copy?" the kitten asked. "I don't know. No one knows. They're just… saying things." "But if they don't know, why are they saying it?" Fatima shook her head. "I don't know." "And you? Did you say anything?" Fatima hesitated. "I said I didn't know." "But you didn't say, 'Stop talking about her when she's not here.' You didn't say, 'That's not fair.'" Fatima's cheeks burned. "I… no. I didn't." "Why not?" "Because… because everyone was saying it. Because I didn't want them to turn on me too." The words hung in the air, ugly and honest. "I… I don't know," she said finally. "I didn't see her project up close." Nabila shrugged. "Well, everyone knows anyway." She turned away, and the group's attention shifted to something else. Fatima walked back to class with her hands in her pockets, feeling like she had swallowed something sour. |
| I… I don't know." "Let's see your painting," Cupcake demanded. "Right now. I want to see it." Fatima hesitated. "It's in my room. Facedown." "Facedown?" Cupcake sounded horrified. "You put ME facedown?" "It's not you. It's a painting." "It IS me. You painted me. With my eyes. You said so." Cupcake jumped off her lap and marched toward the stairs, her tail held high. "Come. We're getting it." Fatima followed her kitten downstairs. Cupcake led the way like a tiny general, her bell announcing their arrival before they even reached Fatima's room. "There," Cupcake said, pointing with her nose at the painting leaning against the wall. "Pick it up. Turn it around. I want to see." Fatima lifted the painting slowly, her cheeks warm. Cupcake stared at it for a long, long moment. Her green eyes moved across the rooftop, the sunset, the tiny figure of herself with the bell around her neck. She was so still that for a moment Fatima thought she had stopped breathing. Then Cupcake let out the loudest, happiest purr Fatima had ever heard. "Fatima," she whispered. "This is me. This is ACTUALLY me. You painted my eyes EXACTLY right. Even the little sparkle." "Yes." "And my bell. You painted my bell." Cupcake's voice was soft with wonder. "You see me like this? All golden and warm?" "Of course I do." "Then how can this painting be not good?" Cupcake looked up at her, and her green eyes were shining. "It's the best painting in the whole entire world because it's MINE. Because you made it with love. Because you looked at me and saw THIS." Fatima's eyes filled with tears. "Sarada's painting is beautiful too," Cupcake continued, rubbing her head against Fatima's ankle. "I like the lion lady. But it's not YOUR painting. It's not MY painting. You don't have to be better than Sarada. You just have to be you. And you are the best you there is." Fatima knelt down and scooped up her kitten, holding her tight. Cupcake purred so loudly it felt like a tiny motor vibrating against her chest. "I still feel the green monster a little," Fatima "I know," Cupcake said. "I can smell it. But it's smaller now, right?" Fatima nodded. "Smaller." "Good. Because I don't like old fish smell. I prefer fresh fish smell. Can we have fish for dinner?" Fatima laughed, and the sound surprised her. It felt good to laugh. That night, after dinner, Ammu found Fatima sitting on her bed with Cupcake curled up beside her. The two paintings—Fatima's rooftop sunset and Sarada's Durga Puja—were propped up against the pillows. Cupcake was studying both of them intently, her head tilted from side to side like a tiny art critic. "Yours has better sky," she announced. "Sarada's has better lion. But yours has ME, so yours wins." "You're biased," Fatima whispered. "I'm a cat. We're allowed to be biased. It's in the rules." Ammu sat down beside them, smiling at the scene. "You've been quiet tonight," she said gently. "What's on your mind, Fatima mon?" Fatima hesitated. Then, with Cupcake's warm body pressed against her leg, the words spilled out. "I was jealous of Sarada, Ammu. Her painting was better and everyone said so and I felt hot and ugly inside and I didn't want to feel that way but I did." She took a shaky breath. "Cupcake says my heart smelled like old fish." Ammu's eyes crinkled with a smile, but she didn't laugh. "Old fish?" "Very old fish," Cupcake confirmed. "It was terrible." "Cupcake says she felt jealous too. When the fluffy white cat came to visit." Ammu reached out and stroked Cupcake's head. The kitten leaned into her hand, purring. "Is that true, Cupcake? You were jealous of the fluffy cat?" "I was AWFUL," Cupcake admitted. "I hissed. I hogged your lap. I sat on its tail once. Just a little." Ammu laughed softly. "I remember. But you know what? The next time Khala Ayesha brought the cat over, you were much calmer. You shared your cushion. You didn't hiss at all. What changed?" Cupcake was quiet for a moment. "I realized you loved me no matter what. The cat didn't take anything away from me. And also…" She looked a little embarrassed. "The cat wasn't so bad. It was soft. And it purred nicely. We chased a gecko together." "See?" Ammu said, looking at Fatima. "Jealousy is like a fire. It starts small, but if you feed it, it grows and burns everything. But if you notice it early—if you talk about it, if you remember that someone else's good thing doesn't take away your good thing—then it becomes just a feeling that passes." "Like old fish smell," Cupcake added. "You open the window and it goes away." Ammu reached for the small Quran on Fatima's shelf. "Do you know what Allah says about jealousy?" Fatima shook her head. "Allah tells us: 'Do not envy one another.'" (Surah Al-Hujurat, 49:10) Ammu read softly. "And in another place, He says: 'Say, I seek refuge in the Lord of daybreak… from the evil of the envier when he envies.'" (Surah Al-Falaq, 113:1-5) "Envier?" Fatima asked. "Someone who lets jealousy take over their heart. Someone who lets the green monster grow so big that it starts hurting others." "Like I wanted to hurt the fluffy cat," Cupcake said quietly. "But you didn't," Ammu reminded her. "You felt the feeling, and then you let it go. That's what we all have to learn." Fatima looked at the two paintings on her bed. Sarada's beautiful Durga Puja. Her own rooftop sunset. "I don't want to be jealous of Sarada," she said quietly. "I love Sarada." "Then do something," Cupcake said, sitting up suddenly. "That's what helped me with the fluffy cat. I chased a gecko with it. It was fun. Maybe you can do something with Sarada." Ammu nodded. "Action pushes jealousy away. When we do something kind, the green monster has no room to grow." Fatima thought for a moment. Then she smiled. The next morning, Fatima walked to school with a small package in her bag. Cupcake had insisted on coming part of the way, padding alongside her until they reached the corner where the school bus stopped. "Are you going to give it to her?" Cupcake asked. "Yes." "Good. The green monster will be very small after that." Cupcake rubbed against her legs. "And Fatima?" "Yes?" "Your painting IS the best. Because it's mine. That's science." Fatima laughed and bent down to hug her kitten. "You're ridiculous." "I'm purrfect," Cupcake corrected, and trotted back toward home, her bell tinkling. When Fatima found Sarada by the classroom door, her heart was beating fast. The green monster was still there, somewhere deep inside, but it was tiny now. The size of a mouse. A very small mouse. "Sarada!" she called. Sarada turned, her curls bouncing. "Fatima! Did you see the notice board? Miss Farzana put both our paintings up!" Fatima walked over to the notice board, and there they were—her rooftop sunset and Sarada's Durga Puja, side by side. "Yours is so beautiful," Sarada said softly. "The colors are like magic. I wish I could paint sunsets like that." Fatima stared at her friend. Sarada wasn't jealous. Sarada was happy for her. The green monster shrank to the size of a grain of rice. "I brought you something," Fatima said, pulling out the package. "To say thank you for the painting you gave me." Sarada opened it carefully. Inside was a small handmade card. On the front, Fatima had painted Sarada's curls—those beautiful bouncing curls—in bright colors, with a tiny gold star tucked into them. "I was jealous of your painting," Fatima blurted out. "And I didn't want to be. So I made you this instead." Sarada looked at the card. Then she looked at Fatima. Her eyes were soft and warm. "You were jealous of me?" she said. "Fatima, I was jealous of YOU. Your sunset was so beautiful. I can never get the sky right. It always looks flat." The two girls stared at each other. Then they both burst out laughing. "We're both silly," Sarada said, wiping her eyes. "Both jealous of each other for no reason." "My cat says jealousy is like old fish smell," Fatima said. "You open the window and it goes away." Sarada laughed again. "Your cat is very wise." "She is. Also very spoiled." That evening, Fatima sat on the rooftop with Cupcake, painting a new picture. It wasn't a sunset this time. It was Cupcake chasing a gecko, both of them mid-spring, with a bright sun behind them. "That gecko looks terrified," Cupcake observed, watching Fatima's brush. "Good. Geckos should be terrified." "It's not about the gecko," Fatima said. "It's about something else." "What?" "It's about how even when things feel dark, there's always light. If you wait for it. The green monster felt dark, but then I made a card for Sarada and it got lighter." "Like when I chased the gecko with the fluffy cat," Cupcake said wisely. "At first I wanted to hiss at it. Then we chased the gecko together and I forgot to be jealous." "Exactly." Cupcake climbed onto Fatima's lap and curled into a ball. Her purr started softly, then grew louder and louder until it vibrated through Fatima's whole body. "Fatima?" "Yes?" "Your heart doesn't smell like old fish anymore." Fatima smiled. "What does it smell like?" Cupcake sniffed deeply, her tiny nose twitching. "Paint. Sunshine. And something sweet. Like the semai Ammu makes for Eid." "The purr in my heart is clear again," Fatima whispered. "Mine too," Cupcake whispered back. "And it's saying: you are enough. Your paintings are enough. Your friendship is enough. You don't need to be better than anyone. Also, please paint more pictures of me. I am very photogenic." Fatima laughed and set down her paintbrush. She picked up her kitten and held her close, feeling the steady rhythm of her purr, the warmth of her tiny body. "I love you, Cupcake." "I love you too," Cupcake said. "Even when your heart smells like old fish." Fatima looked up at the stars, just beginning to appear in the darkening sky. Each one was different. Some were brighter, some were dimmer. Some were alone, some were clustered together. But every single one was exactly where it was supposed to be. Shining its own light. "Fatima?" "Yes?" "Can we keep the painting of me? The one you made for school? I want to sleep next to it." "Of course." "Good. And can we have fish for dinner tomorrow?" Fatima laughed. "I'll ask Ammu." "You're the best human," Cupcake said, settling deeper into her lap. "Even when you're jealous. Even when your heart smells bad. You're still the best." Fatima kissed the top of her kitten's head. "You're the best cat." "I know," Cupcake said. "Now paint me catching a fish. That would be a VERY good painting." And under the stars, with Cupcake purring in her lap and a new painting taking shape beside her, Fatima let the last of the green monster float away like a cloud in the wind. |
Chapter 5: The Green-Eyed Monster Fatima had always loved her best friend Sarada's curls. They were long and black and bounced like little springs when Sarada laughed. Fatima would watch them sometimes in class, mesmerized by how they moved. But today, something felt different. Fatima sat in her classroom at the end of the day, watching Miss Farzana hand back their art projects. The assignment had been to paint something that made them happy. Fatima had painted her rooftop at sunset, with Cupcake sitting beside her and the sky bursting with orange and pink. She had worked so hard on it. For three whole evenings, she had mixed paints until she got the colors just right. She had painted Cupcake's green eyes perfectly, even the little sparkle in them. And when Miss Farzana held up her painting, Fatima's heart swelled with pride. "This is beautiful, Fatima," Miss Farzana said. "The colors are so warm. I can feel the love in this picture." Fatima beamed. Then Miss Farzana held up another painting. It was Sarada's. And it was… incredible. Sarada had painted her family's Durga Puja celebration. The goddess Durga sat on her lion, fierce and magnificent, while her children stood beside her. The colors were so bright they almost glowed. The details were so tiny and perfect—the patterns on the goddess's clothes, the flowers in her hair, the lion's golden mane. The whole class gasped. "Sarada," Miss Farzana said softly, "this is exceptional. The detail, the colors, the emotion. This is the best painting I have ever seen from a student." Sarada's cheeks turned pink with happiness. Her curls bounced as she smiled. And something happened inside Fatima's chest. It was a strange feeling. Tight. Hot. Like a fist squeezing her heart. Her painting, which had felt so special just a moment ago, suddenly felt small. Plain. Not good enough. She tried to smile when Sarada looked at her, but the smile felt fake on her face. That evening, Fatima sat on the rooftop with Cupcake. But she wasn't watching the sunset. She wasn't painting or playing. She was just… sitting. Staring at nothing. Cupcake, who had been chasing a fallen leaf around the rooftop, suddenly stopped. Her bell tinkled as she tilted her head, her green eyes narrowing. "You're quiet," she observed, padding over and jumping into Fatima's lap. She sniffed Fatima's face, then her hands, then her chest. "Too quiet. Did a gecko steal your voice?" Fatima didn't laugh. "Fatima?" Cupcake pressed her tiny pink nose against Fatima's cheek. "What's wrong? Your heart smells funny." "My heart smells?" "Mm-hmm. Usually it smells like sunshine and paint. Right now it smells like…" Cupcake sniffed again, her nose twitching. "Like old fish. The kind that's been left out too long." Fatima couldn't help but giggle a little. "My heart smells like old fish?" "Very old. Very sad fish." Cupcake climbed up onto Fatima's shoulder and wrapped herself around the back of her neck like a warm, purring scarf. "Tell me what happened. I can't fix the smell if I don't know what it is."Fatima sighed. She didn't want to talk about it. But Cupcake always knew. The kitten could feel everything Fatima felt, like their hearts were connected by a string. "Remember Sarada's painting?" Fatima finally said. Cupcake's ears perked up. "The one with the lion lady? The one with all the bright colors?" "Yes. It was so good, Cupcake. Everyone said so. Miss Farzana said it was the best she'd ever seen." "That's nice," Cupcake said, kneading her paws gently into Fatima's shoulder. "Sarada is your friend. She brought us the lion. Remember the lion? It's mine. I sleep next to it." I know." Fatima's voice came out smaller than she intended. "But… I worked so hard on mine too. For THREE evenings. I mixed the orange paint seven times to get it right. And hers was just… better." Cupcake stopped kneading. She slid down from Fatima's shoulder and sat in her lap, staring up at her with those enormous green eyes. "Oh," she said softly. "So you're sad because someone else did something good?" "No! I'm not sad. I'm…" Fatima searched for the word. "I don't know what I am." "I know what it is," Cupcake said, her voice very serious. She stood up on her hind legs and pressed one tiny paw against Fatima's chest, right over her heart. "It's the green monster. I can feel it in there. It's all prickly and hot." Fatima stared at her kitten. "How do you know about that?" "I felt it once," Cupcake admitted, settling back down. Her tail swished back and forth, the bell tinkling softly. "Remember when that fluffy white cat came to visit? The one Ammu was watching for Khala Ayesha?" Fatima nodded slowly. "I HATED that cat," Cupcake said dramatically. "I hated its white fur. I hated its squeaky meow. I hated the way it sat on MY cushion. I wanted to hiss at it. I wanted to bite its tail. I wanted it to go away FOREVER." Fatima's eyes widened. "You did?" "Yes. I felt hot and prickly inside. Exactly like your heart smells right now. Old fish hot." Cupcake's ears flattened slightly at the memory. "I followed it everywhere. I wouldn't let it near my food bowl. I sat on Ammu's lap whenever it tried to get close. I was AWFUL." "What happened?" "The cat left after three days. It went back to Khala Ayesha's house. And I was happy at first." Cupcake's voice got quieter. "But then I saw Ammu looking at the empty cushion. And she looked a little sad. And I realized something." "What?" "The fluffy cat wasn't taking anything away from me. Ammu still loved me. I still had my warm spot. The fish was still mine. The cat was just… also loved. That didn't mean I was loved less." Cupcake looked up at Fatima. "Do you think Sarada's painting being good makes yours less good?" |
Chapter 4: The Box of Broken Things Fatima loved Saturdays. No school. No homework. Just a whole day to play with Cupcake, read stories, and help Ammu in the kitchen. Saturdays were soft and slow, like the sunshine that streamed through the window and made dust motes dance in the air. This Saturday, Fatima was helping Ammu clean the storage room behind the kitchen. It was a small room where they kept things they didn't use anymore—old pots, Abbu's college books, a fan that no longer spun, and boxes of things that had no home anywhere else. "What's in here?" Cupcake's voice echoed in Fatima's mind. The kitten had squeezed herself into a small cardboard box and was poking her head out, her green eyes glowing in the dim light. "Old things," Fatima said, pulling out a chipped blue mug. "Things Ammu says are 'junk.'" "What's junk?" "Things nobody wants anymore." Cupcake tilted her head. "I want it. It's a box. I love boxes." Fatima laughed. "You can have the box, silly. But look at all this other stuff." She pulled out a clay pot with a crack running down its side, a saree with a tear in the fabric, and a wooden frame with no picture inside. "Throw it in the corner," Ammu called from the kitchen. "The garbage man comes on Monday." Fatima looked at the pile of broken things. Something about throwing them away felt… wrong. "What are you thinking?" Cupcake asked, padding over and rubbing against Fatima's leg. "I don't know," Fatima said slowly. "It just feels sad. All these things had a life once. The mug held chai. The pot cooked dal. The saree was someone's favorite." "And now they're junk," Cupcake said matter-of-factly. "Like old fish bones after I've eaten all the fish." "But fish bones can be used again," Fatima said, her eyes suddenly lighting up. "Ammu puts them in the plants! She says they make the soil strong. So fish bones aren't really junk. They become something else!" Cupcake blinked. "So… junk isn't junk?" Fatima jumped up. "Ammu! Can I keep these things? Just for a little while?" Ammu appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her orna. "What do you want with broken things, Fatima mon?" "I want to see if they can become something else. Like the fish bones!" Ammu studied her daughter's face—that determined look she got when an idea had taken root. She smiled. "Alright, shona. But keep them in the yard, not inside the house." Fatima carried the broken things to the small courtyard behind their house. She laid them out on an old piece of cloth: the chipped blue mug, the cracked clay pot, the torn saree, the empty frame, and a handful of other forgotten things she had found. "This looks like a sad market," Cupcake observed, sitting in the middle of the display. "Nobody is buying anything." "I'm not selling them. I'm fixing them." "How?" Fatima stared at the pile. She had no idea. Just then, a voice came from the gate. "Assalamu Alaikum!" It was Khala Rashida, their neighbor from next door. Since Fatima had started bringing her food every day, Khala Rashida had become like another grandmother to her. She came over often now, bringing small gifts of puffed rice or homemade pickles. "Wa Alaikum Assalam, Khala!" Fatima ran to open the gate. "Come see! I'm trying to fix broken things." Khala Rashida walked slowly into the courtyard, her crinkly eyes scanning the pile. She picked up the torn saree, running her wrinkled fingers over the soft fabric. "This was a beautiful saree once," she said softly. "Ammu was going to throw it away," Fatima said. "Throw it away?" Khala Rashida looked almost offended. "Beta, nothing that has life left in it should be thrown away. This fabric can still be used. These colors are still bright. Why throw away when it can become something new?" Fatima's heart leaped. "That's what I was thinking! But I don't know how." Khala Rashida smiled, her eyes disappearing into happy creases. "You know, in the Quran, Allah tells us: 'And do good as Allah has done good to you. And do not seek to cause corruption in the earth.'" (Surah Al-Qasas, 28:77) "What does that mean?" Fatima asked. "It means we should take care of the world Allah gave us. We shouldn't waste things or destroy them. Everything has value. Everything can be used again if we have imagination and care." "Even old fish bones," Cupcake added helpfully. Khala Rashida knelt down slowly—her knees still hurt—and picked up the cracked clay pot. "My grandmother taught me something. She said a crack is not the end of a pot. It's just a place where light can get in." "How do you fix it?" "You don't always fix it. Sometimes you make it into something else." She looked around the courtyard. "Do you have any soil? And some seeds?" Fatima nodded and ran to get a small bag of soil and a packet of marigold seeds Ammu had bought for the roof garden. Together, they filled the cracked pot with soil. Khala Rashida showed Fatima how to press the seeds gently into the earth, just deep enough to sleep, and then cover them with a soft blanket of soil. "The crack," Khala Rashida said, pointing to the dark line running down the side of the pot. "Now it's not a flaw. It's a place for water to drain. So the flowers don't drown." Fatima poured a little water through the crack, watching it trickle out slowly. "It works!" "The pot is useful again," Cupcake purred. "It's not junk anymore." Khala Rashida picked up the torn saree next. "This fabric can become many things. Do you have scissors?" Fatima fetched scissors, and Khala Rashida showed her how to cut the saree into long strips. "What are we making?" "Rope. Strong rope. From fabric that was going to be thrown away." They twisted the strips together, pulling them tight, and soon Fatima had a long, colorful rope made from blue and gold fabric. "This can tie up plants in the garden," Khala Rashida said. "Or make a leash for a certain kitten who likes to explore." "A leash for ME?" Cupcake's voice was horrified. "I am not a dog. I do not need a leash. I am a dignified creature." Fatima giggled. "It's for the plants, Cupcake. Don't worry." Then Khala Rashida picked up the chipped blue mug. She turned it over in her hands, examining the missing piece. "My son used to have a mug like this," she said quietly. "Before he went away to work in the city." Fatima saw something sad flicker in the old lady's eyes. "Khala?" Khala Rashida smiled, but it was a smaller smile than before. "He gave me a mug like this when he was young. It broke years ago. I threw it away." She sighed. "I wish I hadn't." Fatima looked at the chipped mug. Then she looked at Khala Rashida. An idea bloomed in her mind like the marigold seeds in the cracked pot. "Khala, can I give you something?" Fatima asked. "What, beta?" Fatima ran inside and came back with a small paintbrush and some colorful paints Ammu kept for her art projects. She sat down and carefully painted the chipped mug. Around the crack, she painted tiny green vines and bright red flowers. When she was finished, the chip wasn't ugly anymore. It looked like a little window into a garden. "This is for you," Fatima said, holding out the mug. "So you can remember your son. And so the chip can be a place where light gets in." Khala Rashida took the mug with trembling hands. Her eyes filled with tears. For a moment, she didn't speak. Then she pulled Fatima into a tight hug. "Allah bless you, my child," she whispered. "You have turned something broken into something beautiful. Not just the mug. My heart too." "I like her," Cupcake said softly in Fatima's mind. "She has a purr in her heart too. Even when she's sad." That evening, Fatima sat on the rooftop with Cupcake, watching the sun set over the palm trees. The sky was orange and pink, streaked with clouds that looked like cotton candy. Beside her sat the empty wooden frame. She hadn't figured out what to do with it yet. "It's still junk," Cupcake said, nudging the frame with her paw. "Not yet. It's waiting to become something." "Like what?" Fatima thought. Then she had an idea. She ran downstairs and came back with a small photo—a picture of herself with Ammu and Abbu at the last Eid. She placed it in the frame. "It fits!" Cupcake said excitedly. But the frame was still empty where the glass should have been. Fatima touched the space where something was missing. Then she looked up at the sky. The sunset was fading, and the first stars were appearing. One star was brighter than the others, twinkling like a tiny diamond. Fatima picked up the frame and held it up to the sky. Through the empty space where the glass should have been, she could see the bright star framed perfectly. "It doesn't need glass," Fatima said softly. "It's a frame for stars." "For stars?" Cupcake looked up. "Can you frame the moon too?" "Maybe. On different nights, it will show different things. The moon. The clouds. The birds flying home." She leaned the frame against the wall, facing the sky, and sat back to admire it. "It's not junk anymore," Cupcake said. "It never was junk, Cupcake. It was just waiting for someone to see what it could become." Later, Ammu came up to the rooftop to call Fatima for dinner. She saw the painted mug drying on a cloth, the rope coiled neatly, the pot with its marigold seeds sleeping in soil, and the frame leaning against the wall, holding the evening sky. "Fatima," she said softly. "What have you done?" Fatima looked up, a little nervous. "Is it okay? I gave the mug to Khala Rashida. She was sad about her son. And the pot has seeds. And the frame is for stars now." Ammu sat down beside her and pulled her close. "Do you know what Allah says about people like you?" Fatima shook her head. "In the Quran, Allah tells us: 'The example of those who spend their wealth in the way of Allah is like a seed of grain which grows seven spikes; in each spike is a hundred grains.'" (Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:261) "I don't understand," Fatima said. "The seeds you planted today, Fatima, were not just in the soil. You planted seeds of kindness in Khala Rashida's heart. You planted seeds of care in the broken things. Every time you turn something forgotten into something beautiful, you are growing goodness. And Allah loves that." Fatima smiled. She looked at the frame again, holding the bright evening star. "Can we keep the frame up here, Ammu? So everyone can see the stars through it?" Ammu kissed the top of her head. "We can keep it forever, shona." "Forever is a long time," Cupcake said sleepily from Fatima's lap. "Will I still be here?" "I hope so," Fatima whispered. "Good. Because I like watching the stars with you. Even through a broken frame." Fatima hugged her kitten tight. The frame stood against the wall, empty and full at the same time. In its center, a star shone brightly, light streaming through the space where something had been lost. But nothing was really lost. It had just become something new. The Next Morning When Fatima woke up, she went straight to the courtyard to check on her marigold seeds. There was no green shoot yet, of course—it was too early. But she watered them anyway, watching the water trickle through the crack in the pot. Then she went to the rooftop to check her frame. The morning sun was streaming through it now, making a perfect square of light on the wall behind it. The frame wasn't holding a star anymore. It was holding sunlight. "Different treasures," Cupcake observed, padding up beside her. "Last night, a star. This morning, the sun. Tonight, maybe the moon." Fatima nodded slowly. "That's what Khala Rashida meant. About cracks letting light in. The empty space in the frame… it's not missing anything. It's a window." "A window to everything," Cupcake agreed. Fatima looked at her kitten, her green eyes bright in the morning light. She thought about the chipped mug that was now a flower garden. The torn saree that was now a strong rope. The cracked pot that was now a home for seeds. The empty frame that was now a window to the sky. And she thought about Khala Rashida, whose heart had been cracked like the pot, but who now came over every day with a little more light in her eyes. "Fatima?" Cupcake's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Yes?" "Do you think people can be like broken things too? And become something new?" Fatima thought for a long moment. Then she picked up her kitten and held her close. "I think everyone has a crack somewhere, Cupcake. But that's where the light gets in." "Like my bell," Cupcake said, shaking her head so it tinkled. "It makes noise now. But before it was just metal." "Exactly. Everything can become something more. We just have to see it." Fatima set Cupcake down and looked one more time at the frame holding the morning sun. In the Quran, Allah said: "And He found you lost and guided you." (Surah Ad-Duha, 93:7) She hadn't understood that verse before. But now she thought she did. Nothing was ever truly lost. Everything was waiting to be found. To be seen. To become something beautiful. Even broken things. Even people. Even kittens who thought they were tiny lions. "I am a tiny lion," Cupcake said firmly, as if reading her thoughts. "And I am not broken. I am purrfect." Fatima laughed. "Yes, you are." And in the morning light, with the sun streaming through a broken frame and marigold seeds sleeping in a cracked pot, a little girl and her magical kitten watched the world become new again. |
| Ammu smiled that warm smile that made her eyes crinkle. "Of course they can come, shona (my gold). The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) taught us to be kind to everyone, no matter their religion. In the Quran, Allah says: 'Allah does not forbid you from those who do not fight you because of religion and do not expel you from your homes from being righteous toward them and acting justly toward them.'" (Surah Al-Mumtahina, 60:8) "What does that mean?" Fatima asked. "It means we can be friends with everyone. We can be kind, we can share food, we can give gifts. As long as we stay true to our own faith, we should treat others with love and respect." "Gifts?" Cupcake's voice perked up in Fatima's mind. "Did someone say gifts?" Fatima giggled. "Can we give them something, Ammu? For coming to our Eid?" Ammu's eyes twinkled. "That's a beautiful idea, Fatima mon (my precious). Giving gifts is also a sunnah—something our Prophet loved to do. He said: 'Give gifts to one another, for gifts remove ill feelings from the hearts.'" Fatima clapped her hands. "I know exactly what to give them!" Two hours later, the doorbell rang. Fatima ran to open it, Cupcake racing beside her. Standing on the doorstep were her two best friends in the whole world. Sarada had long black braids with little red flowers tucked into them. She wore a beautiful blue saree that her mother had draped for her specially. Her eyes were wide and curious, taking in everything. In her hands, she carried a small package wrapped in orange cloth. Andrea had curly brown hair and freckles across her nose. She wore a pretty yellow dress and clutched a small box wrapped in shiny gold paper. "Happy Eid, Fatima!" she said in her funny accent—her family had moved to Dhaka from England two years ago. "Eid Mubarak!" Sarada added shyly, holding up her orange bundle. "Eid Mubarak to you too! Come in, come in!" The girls stepped inside, and immediately Sarada gasped. "Your house smells AMAZING." "I know, right?" Cupcake's voice said proudly in Fatima's mind. "I helped by sniffing everything." Fatima led them to the sitting room, where Ammu had laid out a beautiful spread on the floor—bright cushions to sit on, plates piled high with sweets and snacks, and little glasses of colorful rooh afza sherbet. "This is so pretty," Andrea said softly, touching one of the cushions. "At Christmas, we decorate a tree. But this is different. It's like… everywhere is decorated." Ammu smiled and invited them to sit. "Fatima, why don't you tell your friends about Eid?" Fatima sat up straight, feeling important. "Well, Eid ul-Fitr comes after Ramadan. Ramadan is the whole month when we fast—no food or water from sunrise to sunset." Sarada's eyes went huge. "No food ALL DAY? For a whole MONTH?" "Not even water?" Andrea looked shocked. Fatima nodded. "It's hard at first. But after a while, it feels… good. It reminds us how lucky we are to have food. And it reminds us that poor people feel hungry all the time, so we should help them." "I couldn't do it," Cupcake whispered in her mind. "I'd eat all the fish. ALL of it." Fatima hid a giggle. "And then when the new moon comes," she continued, "Ramadan is over, and it's Eid! We wear new clothes, we pray together in the morning, we give money to poor people so they can celebrate too, and then we eat LOTS of food and visit family and get Eidi!" "Eidi?" Andrea asked. Fatima pulled out the little green envelope Abbu had given her. Inside were three crisp new twenty taka notes. "Eidi is money! Grown-ups give it to children as a gift on Eid. From parents and grandparents and uncles and aunties!" Sarada's eyes sparkled. "That's like Diwali! We get new clothes and sweets and gifts too!" "Tell us about Diwali!" Fatima said eagerly. "And Durga Puja! Ammu said you celebrate Durga Puja." Sarada's face lit up. She tucked her braids behind her ears and sat cross-legged on the cushion. "Durga Puja is our biggest festival. It's for Goddess Durga—she's strong and powerful and she rides a lion and fights a bad demon called Mahishasur." "A lion?" Andrea's eyes went wide. "Like in a jungle?" Sarada nodded happily. "For ten days, we have these big beautiful statues of her in pandals—special tents—all over the city. We go visit them, and we wear new clothes, and we eat so much food. On the last day, we take the statues to the river and put them in the water to say goodbye until next year." "That's beautiful," Ammu said softly. "Thank you for sharing, Sarada." "A lion-fighting goddess," Cupcake mused in Fatima's mind. "I like her. Can she fight geckos too?" Fatima pressed her lips together to stop laughing. "Andrea?" Fatima prompted. "Tell us about Christmas!" Andrea's face broke into a huge smile. "Christmas is my absolute favorite! It's when we celebrate the birth of Jesus." Fatima nodded. "We believe in Prophet Isa too! He's one of our prophets. We call him Isa, but it's the same person." Andrea's eyes lit up. "Really? You believe in Jesus?" "Of course! The Quran tells us many stories about him. About how he was born to Maryam—we call her Mary—and how he could heal people and bring birds to life with Allah's permission." "Birds to life?" Cupcake's voice was full of wonder. "Can he make fish come to life? I'd like that. Fresh fish." Andrea clapped her hands. "I didn't know you believed in Jesus! That makes me so happy!" "Tell us more about your Christmas," Sarada encouraged. Andrea beamed. "Well, we decorate a pine tree with lights and sparkly balls and a star on top. And we hang stockings by the fireplace for Santa Claus to fill with presents—" "Santa Claus?" Sarada interrupted. "Who's that?" "He's this jolly old man in a red suit who flies through the sky on a sleigh pulled by reindeer and comes down chimneys to deliver presents to good children!" Sarada and Fatima stared at her. "Flying reindeer?" Cupcake's voice was full of wonder. "Can I meet one? Would it chase me?" "A flying man who comes down chimneys?" Fatima repeated. "But… how?" Andrea shrugged happily. "I don't know. It's magic, I think. But the best part is Christmas morning—waking up and seeing all the presents under the tree, and eating a huge dinner with my family, and singing carols about peace and joy. And we go to church to celebrate Jesus's birth." "That sounds wonderful," Ammu said warmly. "Every culture has such beautiful ways of celebrating." Sarada suddenly sat up straight. "Oh! I almost forgot!" She held up the orange bundle in her hands. "Fatima, this is for you. For Eid." Fatima's mouth dropped open. "For ME?" Andrea giggled and held up her gold package. "Me too! We both brought you something!" Fatima looked at Ammu, who nodded with a warm smile. "Presents!" Cupcake's voice squealed in her mind. "Presents for US! Open them! OPEN THEM!" With trembling fingers, Fatima took Sarada's bundle first. She unwrapped the orange cloth carefully—and inside was a small clay idol of a lion, no bigger than her palm, painted in bright colors with a friendly face. "It's from the Durga Pandal near my house," Sarada explained shyly. "It's a little lion. Because Durga Ma rides a lion. And I thought… since Cupcake is like a little lion…" She trailed off, blushing. Fatima held up the tiny lion. It was beautiful. "A lion," Cupcake breathed. "A tiny lion. For ME?" "For both of you," Sarada said softly. "To remember that you have a friend who celebrates Durga Puja." Fatima felt her eyes getting wet. "I love it, Sarada. I'll keep it forever." Then Andrea handed her the gold package. Fatima unwrapped it even more carefully—and inside was a small snow globe. When she shook it, tiny white flakes swirled around a little nativity scene: a baby in a manger, with a star shining above. "It's the first Christmas," Andrea explained quietly. "With baby Jesus. Every time I look at mine, I remember that he brought peace to the world. Now you can remember too." Fatima shook the globe again, watching the snow fall gently over the tiny baby. "Snow," Cupcake whispered in wonder. "I've never seen snow. It's like floating milk." "It's beautiful, Andrea. Thank you." Fatima wiped her eyes quickly—she didn't want anyone to see her crying—and then jumped up. "Wait here! I have something for you both too!" She ran to her room and came back with two small, carefully wrapped parcels. She handed one to Sarada and one to Andrea. "For us?" Sarada's voice was soft with surprise. "Eid gifts! Because giving gifts is sunnah—something our Prophet loved to do. Open them!" Sarada unwrapped hers carefully. Inside was a small glass bangle set—bright orange and red and yellow, the colors of sunset. "They're like the colors of Durga Puja!" Sarada breathed. "Oh Fatima, they're beautiful!" She slipped one on immediately and held up her wrist to show everyone. Andrea unwrapped hers next. Inside was a small silver star on a thin chain—simple and delicate and perfect. "A star," Andrea whispered. "Like the Star of Bethlehem! The one that guided people to baby Jesus when he was born." Her eyes were shining. "I love it. I'll wear it forever." "What about me?" Cupcake's voice piped up. "I want a gift too!" Fatima giggled and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a little bell on a red ribbon and tied it gently around Cupcake's neck. The bell tinkled softly when the kitten moved. "A noisemaker!" Cupcake said happily, shaking her head to make it ring again. "Now I can announce my presence with style. The geckos will TREMBLE." Sarada and Andrea watched Fatima giggling at nothing, but they were used to it. Fatima always seemed to know what her kitten was thinking. Just then, Ammu stood up. "Wait, girls. I have something for all of you." She went to the small cupboard in the corner and came back with three small green envelopes—just like the one Fatima had received from Abbu. "Eidi," Ammu said warmly, handing one to each girl. "Money for Eid. For Fatima, for Sarada, and for Andrea. Because on Eid, we share our happiness with everyone." Sarada stared at the envelope in her hands. "But… I'm not Muslim." Andrea nodded, her eyes wide. "Me neither." Ammu knelt down so she was at their level. "Eidi money is not just for Muslims, my darlings. It's for children. It's for friends. It's for hearts that are open to love and kindness. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) taught us to be generous to everyone, no matter what they believe." "Even cats?" Cupcake asked hopefully in Fatima's mind. Fatima whispered, "Cupcake wants to know if cats get Eidi money too." Ammu laughed, that warm musical laugh that filled the whole room. "Cupcake already got her gift—a beautiful new bell. But if she could spend money, I'd give her some too!" "I'd buy ALL the fish," Cupcake said dreamily. Sarada opened her envelope carefully. Inside were three crisp new twenty taka notes—just like Fatima's. "My first Eidi money ever," she whispered. "Wait until I tell my mother!" Andrea opened hers next. "Mine too! Look, Fatima! We all have Eidi money now!" All three girls held up their green envelopes and their crisp new notes, laughing with joy. "Now," Ammu announced, "we have gifts from Eid, from Durga Puja, and from Christmas, all in one room! And Eidi money for everyone!" Andrea held up her star necklace. Sarada held up her bangle. Fatima held up her little clay lion and shook her snow globe one more time. And all three held up their Eidi money. Three girls. Three faiths. Gifts and Eidi money for everyone. And one very happy kitten, ringing her bell like she was the queen of the world. Later that evening, after Sarada and Andrea had gone home with full stomachs, happy hearts, and Eidi money in their pockets, Fatima sat on the rooftop with Cupcake in her lap. The moon was fuller now, bright and beautiful in the dark sky. On her windowsill behind her sat two new treasures—a little clay lion and a snow globe that sparkled when the last light hit it. In her pocket, her Eidi money crinkled softly when she moved. "Today was good," Cupcake purred. "I liked the friends. They smell nice. Sarada smells like flowers. Andrea smells like… like…" "Like what?" "Like cookies. Warm cookies. And they brought us presents." Fatima laughed. "They brought ME presents." "The lion is for me," Cupcake said firmly. "Sarada said so. It's a tiny lion, and I am a tiny lion, so it's mine." "Fine, fine. The lion is for you. The snow globe is for me." "Deal. And the Eidi money?" "That's for saving. Ammu said I should save half and spend half." "Spend half on fish," Cupcake suggested. "For me." Fatima giggled. "We'll see." Cupcake's green eyes reflected the moonlight. "Can we invite them again next year?" "Of course. Eid is every year." "And they'll get more Eidi money?" "Probably. Ammu loves giving gifts." "Good." Cupcake purred contentedly. "Friends who share food and stories AND presents AND money are the best friends." Fatima hugged her kitten close. She thought about everything she'd learned today. About Durga Puja and lions and statues in the river. About Christmas and stars and baby Jesus. About how different everyone's celebrations were, but how they all had one thing in common. Joy. Family. Food. Gifts. And being together. In the Quran, Allah said: "O mankind, indeed We have created you from male and female and made you peoples and tribes that you may know one another." (Surah Al-Hujurat, 49:13) "Know one another," Fatima whispered to the stars. "That means be friends. Learn about each other. Give each other presents. And share Eidi money with everyone." "I knew that," Cupcake said sleepily. "I know lots of things. Like where the fish is kept. And which sunbeams are warmest. And that you're my favorite human." Fatima's heart felt so full it might burst. "The purr in my heart is loud tonight, Cupcake." "Mine too," whispered the kitten. "Mine too. And now I have a bell to announce it." Tinkle tinkle tinkle went the bell as Cupcake curled into a tighter ball. And under the Eid moon, with the sounds of celebration still drifting up from the streets below, a little girl and her magical kitten fell asleep counting their blessings—and their new gifts, and their Eidi money, and their new friends. Translations used in this chapter: Chand raat (chund raat): Moon night—the night before Eid when the new moon is sighted (Urdu/Bangla) Eid ul-Fitr (Eed ul FITT-er): The festival marking the end of Ramadan (Arabic) Semai (seh-MAI): Sweet vermicelli noodles, traditional Eid dish (Bangla) Payesh (pai-ESH): Rice pudding, Bengali dessert (Bangla) Shona (SHO-na): My gold/precious (term of endearment, Bangla) Fatima mon (FAH-tee-ma mon): My precious (term of endearment, Bangla) Eidi (EYE-dee): Money given as gifts on Eid (South Asian) Sunnah (SOON-nah): The practices and teachings of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) (Arabic) Rooh afza (rooh AF-zah): A sweet, floral syrup drink popular in South Asia (Urdu) Taka (TAH-kah): Bangladeshi currency Pandal (pun-DAHL): Temporary structure/tent for festivals (Bangla) Prophet Isa (peace be upon him): The Islamic name for Jesus, revered as a prophet in Islam Maryam (MARY-am): The Islamic name for Mary, mother of Jesus Durga Ma (DOOR-ga Ma): Mother Durga, the Hindu goddess Masha'Allah (MA-sha-AL-lah): God has willed it (said when something good happens, Arabic) Ayat (eye-YAAT): A verse from the Holy Quran (Arabic) Surah Al-Mumtahina (SOO-rah Al-mum-ta-HEE-na): The 60th chapter of the Quran Surah Al-Hujurat (SOO-rah Al-HOO-ju-rat): The 49th chapter of the Quran |
| Chapter 3 The Three Presents The moon had appeared. Fatima had stared out the window for three evenings straight, her nose pressed against the glass, searching the sky. And finally, there it was—a thin, beautiful sliver of silver light. "Chand raat! Chand raat!" Fatima danced around the rooftop. "The moon night is here!" "What's so special about a skinny moon?" Cupcake asked, tilting her head. She sat on the rooftop railing, her tail swishing curiously. "It's not even round yet." "Tomorrow is Eid!" Fatima scooped up her kitten and spun her around. "Eid ul-Fitr! The best day of the whole entire year!" "Better than fish day?" Cupcake's ears perked up. "MUCH better than fish day!" Downstairs, the house was buzzing like a hive of happy bees. Ammu was putting the final touches on a new dress for Fatima—bright pink with tiny gold flowers embroidered along the edge. Abbu was counting out Eidi money, crisp new notes that crinkled when you touched them. And the kitchen smelled like heaven. Semai (sweet vermicelli) with milk and nuts. Payesh (rice pudding) cooling in clay pots. And so many spicy, crunchy snacks that Fatima's mouth watered just thinking about them. "Can we eat everything?" Cupcake asked hopefully. "Almost everything. You can't have the semai—it has milk, and milk makes you sick." "I want the sick," Cupcake mumbled. "If it tastes that good." Fatima laughed so hard her stomach hurt. The next morning, Fatima woke up before the sun. She put on her new pink dress. She let Ammu put little sparkly stickers on her cheeks. She ate three bites of semai even though she was too excited to feel hungry. And then she asked the question she'd been thinking about all week. "Ammu? Can Sarada and Andrea come over today?" Ammu paused, her hand halfway to a plate of biscuits. "Sarada from your class? And Andrea from the flat downstairs?" Fatima nodded eagerly. "I told them about Eid. Sarada has never celebrated it before. And Andrea says Christmas is different but also special. Can they come? Please please please?" |
| The next night at dinner, something different happened. Fatima looked at her plate. There was rice again. Plain white rice. But next to it was a small bowl of dal (lentil soup) and some fried begun. She picked up her spoon. "Are you going to eat it this time?" Cupcake asked. "Or is the plant getting another dinner?" Fatima giggled. "I'm eating it." And she did. Every single grain. "How does it taste?" Cupcake asked curiously. Fatima thought about it. The rice was still plain. Still white. Still boring. But somehow, it tasted different. It tasted like the look on Khala Rashida's face when she opened the door that evening and saw them standing there with a warm container. It tasted like her crinkly smile and the way she said "Allah bless you, ma (child)" to both Fatima and Cupcake. It tasted like not being wasteful. Like being grateful. Like being the kind of person who helps her neighbors. "It tastes good, Cupcake," Fatima said. "Really good." "Can I try some?" Fatima laughed and put a tiny grain of rice on the table. Cupcake sniffed it, licked it once, and then looked up with disgust. "It doesn't taste like anything!" "Exactly," Fatima said, still giggling. "But that's the point." Cupcake shook her head in confusion and went back to her own bowl of milk. Humans were very strange creatures. But later that night, as Fatima got ready for bed, Cupcake curled up on her pillow and purred that deep, rumbly purr. "Fatima?" "Yes, Cupcake?" "I'm glad you didn't give your rice to the plant tonight." "Why?" "Because now Khala Rashida gets extra tomorrow. And also because…" Cupcake's voice got softer. "The purr in my heart is louder when you're kind." Fatima hugged her kitten tight. And as she drifted off to sleep, with the sound of crickets outside and the distant croaking of frogs, she made a promise to herself. No more wasting. No more throwing away. Because every grain of rice was a gift from Allah. And gifts should never be thrown away. The Next Morning Fatima woke up early. She tiptoed to the kitchen, found the biggest container she could carry, and carefully filled it with rice and curry from last night's dinner. "What are you doing?" Cupcake asked sleepily from the doorway. "Khala Rashida's breakfast," Fatima whispered. "Before school." "Can I come?" "Of course." Together, the girl and her kitten walked next door in the soft morning light. When Khala Rashida opened the door and saw them, her crinkly eyes filled with tears again. But this time, Fatima knew they were happy tears. "Nasta (breakfast)!" Fatima announced, holding up the container proudly. Khala Rashida knelt down—slowly, because her knees hurt—and pulled Fatima into a hug. "Allah bless you, my sweet ma. Allah bless you and your little cat." "I'm not little," Cupcake grumbled in Fatima's mind. "I'm perfectly sized." But Fatima could hear the purr in her kitten's heart. And it was loud and happy. Just like hers. Translations used in this chapter: Begun (BEH-goon): Eggplant Ammu (UM-moo): Mom/Mother (Bangla) Abbu (UB-boo): Dad/Father (Bangla) Shona (SHO-na): My gold/precious (term of endearment, Bangla) Fatima mon (FAH-tee-ma mon): My precious (term of endearment, Bangla) Ma (ma): Child/dear (term of endearment, Bangla) Khala (KHA-la): Auntie (literally mother's sister, but used respectfully for any older woman, Bangla) Orna (OR-na): Light scarf worn by women (Bangla) Dal (dahl): Lentil soup, a staple in Bangladesh Nasta (NAS-ta): Breakfast/snack (Bangla) Masha'Allah (MA-sha-AL-lah): God has willed it (said when something good happens, Arabic) Ayat (eye-YAAT): A verse from the Holy Quran (Arabic) Surah Al-A'raf (SOO-rah Al-A-raf): The 7th chapter of the Quran (Arabic) Hadith (ha-DEETH): A saying or teaching of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him, Arabic) |
Chapter 2: The Secret Behind the Rice Dinner time was Fatima's favourite time of day. Usually. The smells from the kitchen would float up the stairs and wrap around her like a warm hug. The sizzle of onions frying. The puff of steam when Ammu lifted the lid off the rice pot. The clatter of spoons and dishes as everything was laid out on the dining table. But tonight, when Fatima sat down and looked at her plate, her heart sank. There, next to the spicy shrimp curry and the golden fried begun (eggplant), sat a big, fluffy mountain of rice. Plain white rice. Boring white rice. Rice with nothing special about it at all. Fatima poked it with her finger. "What's wrong?" Cupcake's voice purred in her mind. The kitten was curled up on the empty chair beside her, watching everything with her big green eyes that sparkled like glass bangles. "This," Fatima muttered quietly, so Ammu wouldn't hear. She pointed at the rice. "It's white," Cupcake observed. "And fluffy. Like me, but less furry. What's the problem?" "It's boring. I don't want it." "Oh." Cupcake considered this. "Can I have it? I like boring things. Boring things don't chase you." Fatima giggled, but not too loudly. She looked around. Ammu was still in the kitchen, getting more curry. Abbu (Dad) wasn't home from work yet. The coast was clear. Quickly, Fatima took her spoon and scraped half the rice off her plate and behind the big pot of plants in the corner. The plants had big green leaves that hid everything perfectly. She smoothed the top of her remaining rice so it looked like nothing was missing. Perfect. "That's a lot of rice," Cupcake said quietly. "The plant looks happy." Fatima grinned and started eating her shrimp curry with the tiny bit of rice left. Much better. The next morning, something strange happened. Ammu handed Fatima a small container as she was leaving for school. "Take this, Fatima mon." "What is it?" "Leftover rice from last night. And some curry. Khala (Auntie) next door hasn't been well, and her son is away working in another city. She has no one to cook for her today." Fatima took the container. Khala Rashida was an old lady who lived alone in the tiny house next to theirs. She had kind, crinkly eyes and always gave Fatima puffed rice or sticky date pithas when she visited. But Fatima had never thought about who cooked for her. "Can I come with you?" she asked. Ammu smiled. "Of course, shona (my gold)." They walked next door and knocked on the faded green door. When Khala Rashida opened it, Fatima felt something strange in her chest. The old lady looked so small. So thin. And when she saw the container of food, her eyes filled with tears. "Allah bless you, ma (child)," she whispered, taking the container like it was made of gold. "I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. I was too weak to go to the market." Fatima's mouth fell open. Since yesterday morning? They stayed only a few minutes, but walking back to their house, Fatima couldn't stop thinking about it. Khala Rashida had cried over a container of rice. Plain white rice. The same rice Fatima had fed to the plant last night. Fatima?" Cupcake's voice was soft in her mind. She had followed them next door and was padding along beside them now. "Why was the old lady crying?" "She was hungry," Fatima whispered. "Really, really hungry." "Oh." Cupcake was quiet for a moment. "Like when I haven't had fish for a whole day?" "Worse, Cupcake. Much worse." "Then why did you give your rice to the plant?" Fatima didn't have an answer. Her cheeks felt hot. That evening, after school, Fatima sat on the rooftop with Cupcake in her lap. The sun was setting over the palm trees, painting the sky orange and pink. But Fatima wasn't watching it. She was thinking. "Ammu?" she called downstairs. "Can you come here please?" Ammu came up, wiping her hands on her orna (scarf). "What is it, Fatima mon?" Fatima took a deep breath. "Ammu… do you remember the rice from last night? The one I didn't eat?" Ammu's face didn't change, but her eyes got a little softer. "Yes, shona." "I…" Fatima's voice came out small. "I threw it away. Behind the plant. Because I thought it was boring. But then today, Khala Rashida… she was so hungry. And I wasted food that could have helped her." The words tumbled out like water from a broken pot. Fatima's eyes felt hot and wet. Ammu sat down beside her and pulled her close. Cupcake purred loudly, pressing her warm little body against Fatima's leg. "Oh, my sweet girl," Ammu said gently. "Do you know what Allah says about wasting food?" Fatima shook her head, sniffling. "In the Quran, Allah tells us: 'Eat and drink, but waste not by excess. Surely, He likes not those who waste.'" (Surah Al-A'raf, 7:31) "Those who waste," Fatima repeated quietly. "That means people like me?" "It means all of us, when we forget how precious food is," Ammu said. "You see, shona, everything we have—our food, our water, our home—it all comes from Allah. And He asks us to be grateful. To share. To not throw away what others might be praying for." Fatima looked down at her hands. "I didn't know Khala Rashida was hungry." "Now you do. And now you can do something about it." "What about the plant?" Cupcake's voice piped up. "The plant ate the rice. Was that wasting?" Fatima repeated the question to Ammu. Ammu smiled. "That's a very clever question, Cupcake. No, shona, giving food to plants isn't wasting—it's returning to the earth what Allah gave us. Plants grow, and they give us more food. But plain rice thrown behind a plant? The plant can't eat cooked rice. It just sits there. It doesn't help anyone." Fatima nodded slowly. She understood now. "Ammu? Can we take Khala Rashida food every day? Until she gets better?" Ammu's smile grew so wide it lit up her whole face. "Masha'Allah (God has willed it). You know, shona, the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said: 'He is not a believer who eats his fill while his neighbor goes hungry.' That means we have to look after the people around us. And yes, we will take her food every day. Would you like to help?" Fatima nodded so hard her ponytail bounced. |
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A Purr In my Heart Kazi Falguni Eshita Chapter 1: The Dragon in the Maths Book Fatima loved a lot of things. She loved the smell of her mother's spicy shrimp curry cooking in the kitchen. She loved the sound of the azan (call to prayer) echoing from the mosque near their house. She loved swinging on the old wooden gate in front of their home in Dhaka. And most of all, she loved her tiny, fluffy kitten, Cupcake. Cupcake was the colour of warm caramel—just like the mishti (sweets) from the shop down the lane. Her fur was so soft it felt like stroking a cloud. She had four little white paws that looked like she had dipped them in flour, and the most enormous green eyes that sparkled like jamdani bangles in the sunlight. Her tail was a fluffy feather duster that swished whenever she was curious, and her tiny pink nose twitched at everything—especially if ilish mach (hilsa fish) was involved. But Cupcake was not like other kittens. When she purred, which was almost always, it wasn't just a regular purr. It was a deep, rumbly, magical sound that made Fatima's heart feel warm and tingly. And sometimes, when they were alone together, Cupcake did something extraordinary. She talked. Not in words that anyone else could hear. But Fatima could hear her. Right inside her mind. Like a tiny, purring voice that only she was blessed to understand. Right now, as Fatima stared at her maths book, that little voice spoke up. "What's a maths book?" Cupcake asked, tilting her head. "Is it tasty?" Fatima giggled quietly. "No, silly. It's for learning." "Oh." Cupcake sounded disappointed. "Does it bite?" "No." "Does it chase mice?" "No, Cupcake." "Then why are you scared of it?" Fatima didn't have an answer. She just sighed and flopped her head onto the table. "Time for homework, my little star!" called her Mama from the kitchen. Fatima's heart did a little flop. She trudged to the kitchen table, her school bag feeling heavier than usual. Cupcake padded along beside her, her tiny white paws making no sound at all. "Don't worry," Cupcake's voice purred in her mind. "I'll protect you from the book." Fatima smiled. Having a talking kitten definitely made things better. She pulled out her maths book. On the cover was a picture of a smiling robot. Fatima was sure the robot was only smiling because it was good at maths. She slumped into her chair. Mama placed a warm glass of milk and a small plate of dates next to her. "What's the matter, habibti (my darling)?" she asked. She gently touched Fatima's forehead. "You look like a little raincloud." Fatima pointed a grumpy finger at the open page. It was full of subtraction problems. "It's the dragon," she mumbled. Mama's eyes twinkled. "The dragon? In our kitchen?" "The maths dragon," Fatima explained. "It's too hard. What if I get all the answers wrong? What if everyone in class laughs?" Just then, Cupcake hopped onto the chair next to Fatima and put her two front paws on the edge of the table. Her green eyes studied the page seriously. Then she looked at Fatima and blinked slowly—the kitten way of saying "I love you." "The numbers aren't moving," Cupcake observed. "They're just sitting there. Like sleeping mice. Very boring sleeping mice." Fatima had to cover her mouth to stop from laughing out loud. Mama smiled at them both and sat down. "You know, sweetie, everyone feels scared of new or difficult things sometimes. Even the Prophets, peace be upon them, felt worried or scared. But they knew they weren't alone." She reached for the small, velvet pouch where she kept their copy of the Quran. Gently, she opened it and turned the pages. "There's a special verse, a beautiful Ayat (a verse from the Quran), that Allah sent to tell us not to be afraid." She read in a soft, sing-song voice: "So fear not they, for I am with you, hearing and seeing." (Surah Ta-Ha, 20:46) "This was a message to Prophet Musa (Moses), peace be upon him," Mama explained. "He was worried about facing a big, difficult challenge. And Allah told him, 'Don't be afraid. I am with you. I hear you and I see you.' Just like I hear you and see you right now. And even more than that, Allah, who made the whole wide world and all the stars in the sky, is always with you, listening and watching over you." Fatima looked at the Ayat written in beautiful, flowing script. The words 'I am with you' felt warm, like a cozy blanket wrapped around her heart. She wasn't alone. She had Mama, she had Cupcake… and Allah was with her too. Cupcake gently patted the page of the maths book with her soft paw. "See?" her voice purred. "We're all here. Even the Big Boss upstairs." Fatima gasped softly. "Cupcake! You can't call Allah that!" "Why not? He's the boss of everything. The biggest boss. The boss of all bosses." Cupcake's tail swished proudly. "And He's on our side. So those numbers don't stand a chance." Fatima couldn't argue with that logic. "Okay," she whispered. "Maybe I can try." Mama pointed to the first problem. It was: 15 - 7 = ? Fatima stared at it. The dragon started to stir. Fifteen minus seven is too hard! Then, she had an idea. "Mama, can I use my dates?" "Of course, habibti. Whatever helps." Fatima laid out fifteen dates in a row on the table. "Ooh, shiny brown things," Cupcake said eagerly. "Can I eat one?" "No! These are for maths!" "Maths looks delicious," Cupcake mumbled sadly. Fatima pushed seven dates away to the side. "If I give away seven… I have one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight left!" she counted, her voice getting stronger. "Eight! The answer is eight!" Mama clapped her hands softly. "Masha'Allah (God has willed it)! You did it! You tamed the dragon all by yourself!" A tiny sparkle of pride lit up inside Fatima. The dragon didn't seem so scary now. It was just a puzzle. And she had dates. "Told you," Cupcake purred smugly. "The Big Boss helped. And also the shiny brown things helped." For the next problem, 12 - 4, Cupcake decided to help in her own way. Fatima put out twelve dates. While she wasn't looking, the sneaky little kitten gently nudged four of them off the table with her nose! They rolled onto the floor with a soft plop. "Whoops," said Cupcake's voice, but she didn't sound sorry at all. "Cupcake!" Fatima laughed. She looked at the table. Eight dates were left. "12 minus 4 is… eight!" She wrote the answer down, giggling. "Cupcake, you're a maths genius!" "I know," said Cupcake, licking her paw casually. "I'm a genius at everything. Especially napping." For the last problem, 20 - 9, Fatima closed her eyes. She didn't need the dates. She pictured twenty shiny stars in the dark night sky. Then, she imagined nine of them gently fading away. She could see the remaining stars shining brightly. "Eleven!" she declared, her eyes popping open. "It's eleven!" Mama beamed with pride. "Look at you, my little mathematician! You see? The problems were the same as before, but you found a way to solve them. You used the things Allah gave you—your clever brain, your imagination, and even your silly kitten—and you asked for help when you needed it. Subhan'Allah (Glory be to God)!" That night, as Fatima got ready for bed, she didn't feel scared about tomorrow's maths lesson. She felt… excited. She climbed into bed, and Cupcake immediately curled into a tiny, purring ball on the pillow beside her. "Today was good," Cupcake's sleepy voice murmured in her mind. "We beat the dragon. Tomorrow, can we beat a butterfly? I want to chase one." Habibti (ha-BEEB-tee): My darling (feminine) Ayat (eye-YAAT): A verse from the Holy Quran Masha'Allah (MA-sha-AL-lah): God has willed it (said when something good happens) Subhan'Allah (SUB-han-AL-lah): Glory be to God (said when amazed by something beautiful or wonderful) |
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