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افتح عقلك

It was a typical Monday morning at the office. Vincent, a 30-year-old project manager, made his way to the staircase for a cigarette break. The stairwell, often a quiet escape from the bustle of office life, today resonated with the soft murmur of a prayer.

As Vincent descended the stairs, he noticed Malik, a new colleague from the IT department, knelt on a small prayer mat. Malik, with his dark, curly hair slightly visible from under his taqiyah, was immersed in his Salah. His lips moved silently, and his forehead occasionally touched the ground in prostration. The serenity in his posture was a stark contrast to the usual office chaos.

Vincent paused, unsure whether to proceed or retreat. He didn't want to disturb Malik, yet his curiosity was piqued. He had seen Malik in passing but never like this, so deeply absorbed in his faith. Vincent decided to take a quiet step back, leaning against the wall, cigarette forgotten.

Minutes passed, and Malik completed his prayer with a peaceful look on his face. He rolled up his mat, stood up, and noticed Vincent for the first time.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," Vincent said, breaking the silence.

Malik smiled warmly, "No problem at all. I find peace in prayer, even here."

Vincent nodded, impressed yet bewildered. "I've never seen someone pray at work before."

"It's part of who I am," Malik replied, his voice calm and inviting. "Prayer gives me strength and clarity, especially on busy days."

Vincent, intrigued, responded with a respectful nod, "It's interesting. I've never been religious myself."

Malik's eyes lit up with understanding, "Everyone has their own path, Vincent. Faith is a personal journey."

The bell of the elevator dinged in the background, signaling the end of their impromptu meeting. They exchanged a brief smile before heading back to the reality of their office lives. This chance encounter in the stairwell, however, had subtly sown the seeds of curiosity in Vincent's mind.

Weeks had passed since Vincent's first encounter with Malik in the stairs. Their staircase meetings had become a regular occurrence. Vincent would often find Malik in quiet prayer during his cigarette breaks. The initial surprise had given way to a sense of respect, and a silent bond seemed to form between them.

One brisk Wednesday morning, as autumn leaves swirled outside the office building, Vincent found himself pausing longer than usual, watching Malik pray. The dedication and peace etched on Malik's face intrigued him. Finally, as Malik finished and stood up, Vincent spoke up.

"Malik, can I ask you something?" Vincent's tone was hesitant but curious.

Malik, rolling up his prayer mat, turned to Vincent with a welcoming smile. "Of course, Vincent. What's on your mind?"

Vincent shuffled his feet, searching for words. "I've noticed you praying here… and, well, I've been wondering, what does it mean to you? I mean, I see you here every day, and it seems so important."

Malik's eyes sparkled with a mix of gratitude and eagerness to share. "Prayer, Vincent, is my connection to something greater than this world. It's a moment where I can pause, reflect, and realign myself. In these few minutes, I find peace and a sense of direction."

Vincent listened, his usual skepticism softened by Malik's sincerity. "It sounds… comforting, in a way. I've never had that kind of belief myself."

Malik nodded understandingly. "Belief can be many things. For me, it's a guiding light. It doesn't have to be grand or overwhelming. Sometimes, it's just a quiet moment in a stairwell."

Their conversation continued, with Malik explaining the basics of his faith and Vincent sharing his own perspectives. It was a dialogue of mutual respect, bridging two very different worlds in the quiet of a stairwell.

As they parted ways that day, Vincent's curiosity was piqued. He didn't find himself drawn to the religious aspect, but he couldn't deny the appeal of the tranquility he saw in Malik. The seed of understanding had been planted, and a new respect for Malik's devotion had begun to grow in Vincent's heart.

Over the following weeks, the stairwell conversations between Vincent and Malik grew more frequent and deeper. They discussed various topics, from work to world events, but invariably, the subject would circle back to Malik's faith.

One chilly Tuesday morning, Vincent found Malik just finishing his prayer. This time, something within Vincent had shifted. He lingered longer, a contemplative look on his face.

"Malik," Vincent began, his voice tinged with a newfound earnestness, "Could you… would you mind showing me how you pray?"

Malik looked up, surprised but pleased. "Of course, Vincent. I'd be honored to share it with you."

They moved to a quieter corner of the stairwell. Malik first demonstrated the wudu, the ritual washing. He explained each step, the symbolic cleansing of the body and spirit. Vincent watched intently, absorbing the reverence of the act.

Next, Malik unrolled his prayer mat. He stood on and guided Vincent next to him. "Prayer is about submission and finding peace in surrender," Malik explained. "Follow my lead, and just let yourself feel the moment. Repeat after me: رطانة غير مفهومة، رغم أن فنسنت يركز إلا أنه لا يفهم الكلمات التي يتلوها واحدة تلو الأخرى بعد مالك, now follow my gestures and let me talk"

They stated the prey, Vincent imitated Malik's movements — the standing, bowing, and prostrating. It felt awkward at first, his body unaccustomed to the rhythm and flow. But Malik's gentle guidance and the fluidity of his own motions provided a calming influence.

As they concluded, Malik recited prayers in Arabic. Vincent didn't understand the words, but the melodic rise and fall of Malik's voice had a tranquil effect. For a moment, Vincent felt a glimpse of the peace that Malik found in these daily rituals.

Afterward, as they rolled up the mats, Vincent was quiet, reflective. "That was… different than I expected," he admitted. "There's a certain calmness to it."

Malik smiled, "It's about finding a moment of stillness in our hectic lives. I'm glad you felt it, even if just a little."

As Vincent ascended the stairs back to the bustle of the office, his mind lingered on the stairwell's tranquility. He realized he had discovered something unexpectedly profound in those quiet moments of prayer — a sense of peace he hadn't known he was seeking.

The stairwell sessions became a sanctuary for Vincent and Malik, a place where the mundane merged with the spiritual. Vincent's curiosity about Malik's faith grew, leading to deeper, more philosophical discussions.

One serene Thursday afternoon, as they settled on the steps post-prayer, Malik brought out a well-worn, beautifully bound book from his bag.

"Vincent, I'd like to share something special with you," Malik said, holding the book gently. "This is the Quran, our holy book."

Vincent eyed the Quran with a mix of curiosity and respect. "I've heard of it, of course, but never actually seen one."

Malik opened it to a marked page, revealing pages rich in Arabic script. "Each verse here is more than just words. They are guidance, wisdom, a way of life. Would you like me to read a passage?"

Vincent nodded, and Malik began to recite. The words, though foreign, flowed with a rhythm and beauty that transcended language. Vincent listened, captivated by the sound and the evident reverence with which Malik spoke.

After the recitation, Malik translated the verses into English. They spoke of compassion, of understanding one another, and of finding strength in faith.

"This… it's quite profound," Vincent remarked, genuinely moved. "It's not just religious text; it's poetry, philosophy."

Malik's eyes lit up. "Exactly, Vincent. It's about understanding life, our place in the world, and how we connect with each other and the divine."

Walking back to his desk, Vincent felt a sense of enlightenment. The Quran, a book he had only known by name, had opened a new window to understanding Malik's world - a world rich in spirituality and wisdom. For the first time, Vincent found himself looking forward to the next prayer session, eager to learn and experience more.

Weeks passed and Vincent keep is interest for Islam. On a Thursday, as the afternoon light waned, Malik and Vincent concluded their prayer in the now-familiar stairwell. Vincent was gradually becoming more adept at the movements, finding a sense of rhythm and calm in the ritual.

As they were rolling up the prayer mats, Malik turned to Vincent with a warm expression. "Vincent, would you like to come over to my place this evening? We could have dinner, talk more. I think you might find it interesting."

Vincent was taken aback but pleasantly surprised. "I'd like that, Malik. Thank you."

They returned to their desks, their minds abuzz with the prospect of the evening ahead. As the workday drew to a close, Vincent excused himself to the restroom. Standing alone, he splashed water on his face, looking up to meet his reflection in the mirror. His eyes, usually a clear blue, appeared to him, for a brief moment, as deep brown. He blinked, startled, then laughed at himself. "Must be the lighting," he mused, shaking his head at the odd illusion.

Outside, Malik was waiting in his car. The drive to his home was filled with light conversation, the city lights blurring past as they delved into topics ranging from food to family.

Arriving at Malik's home, a cozy apartment adorned with intricate tapestries and soft lighting, Vincent felt a wave of warmth and hospitality. Malik excused himself to change, reemerging in a traditional white djellaba, its fabric flowing gracefully around him.

After dinner, as they prepared for the Isha prayer, Malik went to his wardrobe and pulled out a neatly folded white djellaba. He held it out to Vincent with a gentle smile.

"Vincent, I thought you might like to wear this. It's a traditional djellaba, like mine, it's much more confortable than a suit" Malik offered.

Vincent looked at the garment, a mix of surprise and appreciation in his eyes. "Thank you, Malik. I'm honored," he said, accepting the djellaba.

As Vincent slipped into the soft fabric of the djellaba, he felt a sense of inclusion, a step closer to understanding Malik's world. The garment draped over him, its fabric cool and comfortable against his skin.

They moved to the prayer area in Malik's living room, where two mats were laid out facing Qibla. Malik demonstrated the steps again, and Vincent followed, more confidently now. The fabric of the djellaba flowed around him as he moved through the positions of the prayer.

After the prayer, they sat on the floor, the atmosphere serene in the dimly lit room. Malik broke the silence, "How do you feel, Vincent? Wearing the djellaba, joining in the prayer?"

Vincent pondered for a moment, then replied, "It's different, in a good way. Wearing this, participating in your rituals… it feels like I'm part of something larger. It's a new experience for me, but it's enriching."

Malik nodded, his eyes reflecting understanding and respect. "It's about connecting, Vincent. With ourselves, with each other, and with a greater purpose. I'm glad you're open to experiencing it."

They continued to talk late into the night, delving into discussions about spirituality, life, and the common threads that bind different cultures and beliefs.

As the evening drew to a close, Vincent felt a profound sense of peace and camaraderie. The experience in Malik's home, praying side by side in their djellabas, had opened a door to a world he had never known, a world where faith and tradition wove a rich tapestry of life and community.

The morning light filtered through the curtains as Vincent stirred awake on the couch in Malik's living room. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, then remembered the profound experiences of the previous night. The white djellaba was still draped over him, a tangible reminder of his foray into Malik's world.

Malik emerged from the kitchen with two cups of steaming tea. "Good morning, Vincent. How did you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well," Vincent replied, sitting up and accepting the tea. "It's been an eye-opening experience, Malik. Thank you for that."

Malik sat down beside him. "I'm glad to hear it. Today I'm going to the mosque. I know you have work, but you're welcome to join me if you'd like."

Vincent glanced at his watch, a sense of duty tugging at him. He was expected at the office, yet the allure of experiencing something as significant as a Friday prayer tugged at his heart. He was at a crossroads, torn between the familiar path of work and the pull of this newfound spiritual journey.

"Vincent," Malik said gently, sensing his dilemma, "it's your choice. Whatever you feel is right for you."

Vincent took a deep breath, the aroma of the tea mingling with his thoughts. "Malik, I think I want to go with you to the mosque. Work can wait for once. I feel like this is something I need to experience."

Malik's face lit up with a warm smile. "I'm glad, Vincent. The Jumu'ah prayer is a beautiful experience. Hurry up! We'll be late!"

They dressed quickly, Vincent still in the djellaba, feeling both out of place and oddly at home in it. As they walked to the mosque, the streets were busier than usual, with people of all ages heading in the same direction.

Inside, the mosque was filled with a sea of worshippers. Malik led Vincent to a spot where they could join the congregation. The air was filled with a sense of unity and purpose. Vincent, surrounded by the faithful, felt a stirring in his soul, a connection to something he couldn't quite define.

As the Jumu'ah prayer began in the mosque, Vincent, standing amidst a sea of worshippers, felt a wave of foreignness wash over him. The Imam's recitation, a flowing melody of Arabic, sounded like distant, unintelligible echoes in Vincent's ears. He felt disconnected, the words slipping past him like whispers in a breeze.

As the prayer progressed, something within Vincent began to shift. At the first salutation, when he turned to his neighbor and murmured the traditional greeting, the words felt strange on his tongue, yet not entirely unfamiliar.

"Assalamu alaikum," he heard himself say.

With each subsequent salutation, his understanding deepened. The Imam's words, once muffled and distant, began to resonate with clarity and meaning. By the time the second salutation came, Vincent found himself whispering the responses in Arabic, each word resonating with an understanding that startled him.

"Subhan Rabbiyal A'la," he heard himself say, praising the Lord Most High, and the words felt like a natural extension of his thoughts.

By the final salutation, Vincent was fully immersed. He understood every word, every nuance of the prayer. It was as if a veil had been lifted, and the language of the prayer had become his own.

The congregation concluded the prayer, and Malik turned to Vincent, "Vincent, are you alright?"

But Vincent couldn't understand. Malik's words sounded like garbled noises, disjointed and incomprehensible. Panic surged through him. He tried to respond, but the words that came out were in Arabic.

"ماذا يحدث لي؟ لماذا لا أستطيع فهمك؟" Vincent stammered, his own voice foreign to his ears.

Realizing the extent of his transformation, Vincent rushed to the mosque's ablution area, desperate for a mirror. Staring back at him was not the face he knew, but that of an Arab man, his features similar yet distinctly different.

Malik followed, "لا تقلق يا أخي، كل شيء سيكون على ما يرام."

Vincent understood every word. The shock of his physical and linguistic transformation was overwhelming, yet Malik's words in Arabic provided an unexpected comfort. As he gazed into the mirror, grappling with his new identity, he realized that his journey had taken a turn beyond his wildest imagination.

Vincent, turned to Malik, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. "كيف حدث هذا؟" he asked.

"نحن بحاجة إلى التحدث إلى الإمام," Malik suggested.

Together, they approached the Imam, who was speaking with a group of worshippers. Noticing their approach, the Imam excused himself from the group and turned his attention to them.

"يا إمام، صديقي فنسنت قد مر بتغيير كبير، ونحن بحاجة إلى مساعدتك.", Malik explained.

The wise old man approached Vincent for a closer inspection. He looked deeply into Vincent's eyes, as if searching for a glimpse into his soul. His gaze then moved methodically, examining Vincent's features - the shape of his mouth, the contour of his ears, the texture of his hair, and even the lines on his fingers.

With each observation, the Imam's touch was gentle, almost reverential, as if he were reading a story written in Vincent's very being. There was a profound silence in the room, filled only with the soft rustle of the Imam's robes as he moved around Vincent.

Finally, the Imam stepped back, his expression one of quiet reflection. He looked at Vincent, now a completely different man in appearance and spirit, and spoke with a voice that carried both authority and warmth.

"إن التحول الذي حدث لك يعكس قوة الإيمان والتغيير العميق الذي خضته. إنه ليس مجرد تغيير في المظهر، بل تغيير في الروح. ولهذا، سأسميك... إبراهيم."

Ibrahim absorbed this new identity, a profound sense of connection to his newfound faith enveloping him. The name Ibrahim, a name steeped in tradition and significance, felt like a mantle being placed upon him, signifying his rebirth and the path that lay ahead.

Ibrahim looked at the Imam, his eyes filled with gratitude. "شكراً لك، يا إمام. أشعر أن هذا الاسم يعبر عن رحلتي الجديدة."

As they left the Imam, Malik, placed a supportive hand on Ibrahim's shoulder. "مرحباً بك في عالمك الجديد يا أخي"

Ibrahim nodded, a sense of peace and purpose settling within him. His journey had taken an extraordinary turn, and he was ready to embrace the path of Ibrahim, a path of faith, discovery, and self-renewal.

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