All things marriage

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Any cutie pie here

Do men cry more than the women?

Assalamu'allaikum what's up?

Any one else for Nikha

CHAPTER 3: THE END — WHO WAS THE IMAM? 😳🕌📻

The ten sinners stood frozen.

Each of them was convinced that somewhere inside the mosque was a mysterious Imam watching them.

The loudspeaker had finally gone silent.

But the mystery remained.

Where was the Imam?

Flex suddenly raised his hand.

"My people, attention please!"

Everyone turned toward him.

The drug dealer folded his arms.

The gambler stopped pacing.

The drunkard sat upright.

Even the prostitute became attentive.

Flex cleared his throat.

"My people, there is no way a loudspeaker will be talking without somebody behind it."

Everyone nodded.

"Correct."

"That's true."

Flex continued.

"Either someone is preaching while connected to the mosque's loudspeaker..."

He paused dramatically.

"...or a recorded tape is being played."

The group exchanged glances.

That made sense.

For once.

The gambler pointed at Flex.

"Today your brain is working."

"Thank you."

"It won't happen again."

🤣🤣🤣

The group laughed.

Flex ignored them.

"So I believe there must be a device hidden somewhere inside this mosque."

The drug dealer asked:

"Then what do we do?"

Flex smiled.

"We search everywhere."

The prostitute nodded.

"And if we find it?"

Flex replied:

"We turn it off."

Everyone looked confused.

"Then what?"

Flex grinned.

"Then whoever has been operating it will definitely come to check what happened."

The entire group gasped.

😳

The gambler slapped his forehead.

"Of course!"

The thief jumped excitedly.

"We catch the Imam!"

The drunkard shouted:

"The mystery ends tonight!"

And so the search began.

🔍🔍🔍

The drug dealer searched beneath prayer mats.

The gambler searched behind shelves.

The thief searched every suspicious corner.

The drunkard searched for three minutes and forgot what he was searching for.

🤣

Twenty minutes passed.

Nothing.

Thirty minutes passed.

Nothing.

Forty minutes passed.

Still nothing.

The gambler sat down.

"I give up."

The drug dealer rubbed his aching back.

The thief looked disappointed.

The drunkard had already started snoring.

😴🤣

Then suddenly—

"Wait!"

Everyone turned.

It was the prostitute.

She was standing beside the pulpit where the Imam normally delivered his sermons.

Her eyes were fixed on something.

"I think I found something."

The group rushed over.

Beside the pulpit was a small wooden door almost hidden in the wall.

😳

Nobody had ever noticed it before.

The gambler whispered:

"This is definitely it."

The thief smiled.

"The Imam's secret headquarters."

🤣

Flex moved closer.

He placed his ear against the wall.

Everyone waited.

Silence.

Then...

Bzzzzzz...

A faint vibrating sound.

His eyes widened.

"There is definitely something behind this wall."

The group exploded with excitement.

"We found it!"

"We finally found it!"

The drunkard woke up immediately.

"What happened? Did we arrest him?"

🤣🤣🤣

The gambler rolled up his sleeves.

"Let's break the door."

The thief cracked his knuckles.

"My area of expertise."

The drug dealer picked up a piece of wood.

But suddenly—

"STOP!"

Everyone froze.

Flex stood firmly before the door.

"We cannot break into a mosque."

The thief looked offended.

"That is literally my profession."

🤣

Flex shook his head.

"No. It will look like burglary."

The gambler sighed.

"You've become difficult."

The drunkard nodded.

"Very disappointing."

But Flex refused to move.

He stood before the door like a security guard.

Unfortunately...

The thief had other plans.

Without warning—

PUSH!

He shoved Flex hard.

CRAAAAACK!

A loud sound echoed.

Flex stumbled backward.

The door swung open.

😳😳😳

Everyone froze.

The door wasn't even locked.

For five whole minutes they had been arguing over a door that wasn't locked.

🤣🤣🤣

The thief adjusted his shirt proudly.

"I knew what I was doing."

"You pushed me!"

Flex shouted.

The group burst into laughter.

Slowly they directed their phone flashlights into the darkness.

One beam.

Then another.

Then another.

Ten flashlights pierced the room.

And there it was.

A tape recorder connected to an amplifier.

😳📻

The mystery was solved.

The gambler stared.

"So we've been arguing with a cassette all this time?"

The drunkard looked offended.

"I spent three nights hiding from Panasonic."

🤣🤣🤣

Everyone began talking at once.

But Flex wasn't listening.

His eyes were fixed on the wall.

There was writing.

Faded writing.

Written in large letters.

"EVERYBODY KEEP QUIET!"

Instant silence.

The flashlights turned toward the wall.

Written clearly were the words:

"If you enter here and see this writing, Allah has definitely chosen you for a great task."

A chill ran through the room.

Nobody laughed.

Nobody joked.

The prostitute whispered:

"Chosen... us?"

Below it was another message:

"Check the small box beneath the amplifier."

Immediately everyone pointed at Flex.

🤣

"You entered first."

"You saw it first."

"This responsibility belongs to you."

Flex frowned.

"Why me?"

The drug dealer smiled.

"Because Allah called your name, not ours."

Slowly Flex bent down and opened the small box.

Inside was a folded note and a bunch of keys.

His hands trembled as he unfolded the note.

Then he began reading.

The room became silent.

Even the mosquitoes stopped flying.

The letter read:

"I am the Imam of this mosque."

Everyone moved closer.

"This mosque has become almost empty. Only five people including myself pray here frequently."

The group exchanged glances.

"I no longer find rest seeing the House of Allah abandoned."

The prostitute lowered her head.

The gambler stopped smiling.

"So I decided to play this recording every weekend. Perhaps Allah may guide someone through it."

The drunkard whispered:

"SubhanAllah..."

Flex continued reading.

"At present I have travelled home to care for my sick mother."

"I do not know when I shall return."

"The tape may eventually stop playing because I will not be available to continue setting it up."

The room became emotional.

Then came the next part.

"Please, for Allah's sake, do not reject this responsibility."

"The keys in this box belong to the mosque."

"You are now in charge."

Everybody immediately stepped backward.

Three steps.

🤣🤣🤣

"Not me."

"Definitely not me."

"I don't even wake up for Fajr."

The thief pointed at Flex.

"It's him."

The others nodded.

"Flex."

"Congratulations."

Flex looked horrified.

"Congratulations for what?"

The gambler smiled.

"You are the new Imam."

🤣🤣🤣

Flex continued reading.

"Keep the mosque open."

"Call the Adhan."

"Lead the prayers."

"If this responsibility becomes heavy for you, let your friends assist you."

"Call me on this number whenever you need guidance."

"May Allah guide and strengthen you."

"You are the new Imam now."

"— Imam."

The room became silent.

Very silent.

Then something happened.

The drug dealer started crying.

The gambler wiped his eyes.

The prostitute burst into tears.

Even the drunkard looked away pretending dust had entered his eyes.

For the first time in years, they felt hope.

❤️

That night changed everything.

The drug dealer abandoned his trade.

The gambler abandoned gambling.

The thief stopped stealing.

The drunkard stopped drinking.

The prostitute sincerely repented.

And Flex...

Well...

Flex became the Imam.

At first things were rough.

His first Adhan sounded like two goats arguing over inheritance.

🤣🤣🤣

Children laughed.

Cats ran away.

But he continued.

Every Friday, Saturday and Sunday they called the mysterious Imam.

Patiently he taught them Islam.

Prayer.

Qur'an.

Tawheed.

Character.

Everything.

Months became years.

The sinners became students.

The students became teachers.

The teachers became examples.

By the second year the mosque had completely transformed.

Rows were full.

The compound was crowded.

A madrasah had been established.

Weekend halaqahs attracted people from neighboring communities.

And now the voice coming from the loudspeaker was no longer a tape recorder.

It was Flex.

🎙️🕌

The same Flex who once believed the Imam was spying on him.

As for the prostitute...

One day Flex approached her family properly.

With respect.

With witnesses.

With sincerity.

And they got married.

❤️

Years later Allah blessed them with beautiful children.

People who saw them could hardly believe their past.

Because Allah had changed them completely.

Alhamdulillah.

🌙

But the strangest part of the story happened years later.

One Friday after Jumu'ah.

Flex entered the old storage room.

The same room.

The same amplifier.

The same dusty box.

He found the old letter again.

As he read it, tears gathered in his eyes.

Then he decided to call the Imam.

Just once more.

Just to thank him.

He dialed the number.

The phone rang.

Then—

"The number you are trying to reach is unavailable."

Flex tried again.

And again.

And again.

Nothing.

The number was gone.

Nobody knew where the Imam was.

Nobody knew whether he had returned from caring for his mother.

Nobody knew if he had moved away.

Nobody knew if he was still alive.

Or if Allah had already called him back.

The mystery remained unsolved.

🤔

That evening after Maghrib, Flex sat quietly inside the mosque.

The rows behind him were full.

Children were reciting Qur'an.

Teachers were teaching.

The mosque was alive.

Exactly as the Imam had hoped.

Flex looked at the old letter.

Smiled.

And whispered:

"Wherever you are, Imam... may Allah reward you for not giving up on us."

A tear rolled down his cheek.

He folded the letter carefully and placed it back into the box.

Then he stood up.

The Adhan was almost due.

The worshippers were waiting.

The mosque was waiting.

Life was moving on.

But one question remained unanswered.

Who was the Imam?

Only Allah knows.

And perhaps...

That was exactly how the Imam wanted it.

🌙✨

THE END

Love shouldn't feel like a competition it should feel natural

There is a difference between games and love

"🗣️🤔🤔Google I tried to tell the man who uses the Muzz application, don't fill in your profession column if you want to find true love, he defended himself, afraid that women would think he doesn't work and lives underground. How much do you agree with Google with that man? Does that man not believe in true love and destiny that has been written in Lauhul Mahfudz?"

✔️✔️On matchmaking platforms like Muzz, honesty is the best policy. Hiding your profession out of fear of rejection often attracts the wrong matches or wastes time. Being upfront about your circumstances is the quickest way to find a partner who values authenticity and will build a strong foundation.

Does he not believe in destiny (Lauhul Mahfudz)?
Faith in destiny (Qadar) and taking proactive steps are not mutually exclusive in Islam. Believing that your spouse has already been written in Lauhul Mahfudz means trusting Allah's plan, but it still requires you to tie your camel (Tawakkul) and put in sincere effort.

Why his defensive reaction is a concern
Creates a false foundation: If you hide your profession and a match likes you for it, the connection is built on incomplete information.

Not trusting Allah's provision: Allah is the ultimate provider (Ar-Razzaq). Worrying that someone will reject you because of a temporary lack of wealth reflects a lack of faith that Allah will provide for you both.

Weeding out the wrong people: Revealing your true financial or career status helps filter out people who might be looking for superficial wealth, ensuring you connect with someone who loves you for you.

✔️✔️https://share.google/aimode/UDaVZyNtXMa49zQ53

Allah bless us with his blessings and keep us safe and Allah give us peace ✌️ and Happiness Stay safe

Assets we hire, sins we hold and deeds we own and also use to wash away sins. Ultimately ownership lies when death arises. What we are investing in is what's needed to be reassessed wether it's a ball of fire and grief or a feeling of comfort and sanctuary