She was my sister!!!! (honestly one of the most touching artice i've read)

Her cheeks were worn and sunken, and her skin hugged her bones. That
didn't stop her because you could never catch her not reciting
Qur'an. She was always vigil in her personal prayer room that our
father had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in
prayer, was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again;
boredom was for other people.

As for me, I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels.
I treated myself to videos until the trips to the rental place
became my trademark. It's a saying that when something becomes
habit, people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my
responsibilities and my salah was characterized by laziness.

One night, after a long three hours of watching, I turned the video
off. The adhan rose softly in the quiet night. I slipped peacefully
into my blanket.

Her voice called me from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like
anything Noorah?" I asked.

With a sharp needle she popped my plans. "Don't sleep before you
pray Fajr!"

Agghh! "There's still an hour before Fajr. That was only the first
adhan," I said.

With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was
like that even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut
her in bed. "Hanan, can you come sit beside me."

I could never refuse any of her requests; you could touch the purity
and sincerity in her. "Yes, Noorah?"

"Please sit here."

"Alright, I'm sitting. What's on your mind?"

With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:

Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your
earnings on the Day of Resurrection.

She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Do you believe in death?"

"Of course I do," I replied.

"Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do,
regardless of how small or large?"

"I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful, and I've got a long life
waiting for me."

"Stop it Hanan! Are you not afraid of death and its abruptness? Take
a look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car
accident. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure
of when you shall die."

The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of
the dark and now you made me scared of death. How am I supposed to
go to sleep now? Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on
vacation during the summer break."

Her voice broke and her heart quivered. "I might be going on a long
trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. All of our lives are in
Allah's hands and we all belong to Him."

My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks. I pondered my
sisters grizzly sickness. The doctors had informed my father in
private that there was not much hope Noorah was going to outlive the
disease. She wasn't told, so I wondered who hinted to her. Or was it
that she could sense the truth?

"What are you thinking about Hanan?" Her voice was sharp. "Do you
think I am just saying this because I am sick? I hope not. In fact,
I may live longer than people who are not sick. How long are you
going to live Hanan? Perhaps twenty years? Maybe forty? Then what?"
Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed
gently. "There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave
this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the
words of Allah:

Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will
have triumphed.

I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: "May
Allah guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer."

I heard pounding on my door at eight o'clock in the morning. I don't
usually wake up at this time. There was crying and confusion. O
Allah, what happened?

Noorah's condition became critical after Fajr; they took her to the
hospital immediately.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'oon.

There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that
I would spend the summer at home.

It felt like an eternity had gone by when it was one o'clock in the
afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital.

"Yes. You can come and see her now." Dad's voice had changed, and
mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left
immediately.

Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why
was it so very long now? Where was the cherished crowd and traffic
that would give me a chance to gaze left and right? Everyone, just
move out of our way!

Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made du'a for
her Noorah. We arrived at the hospital's main entrance. One man was
moaning, while another was involved in an accident. A third man's
eyes were iced. You couldn't tell if he was dead or alive.

Noorah was in intensive care. We skipped stairs to her floor. The
nurse approached us. "Let me take you to her."

As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet
of a girl Noorah was. She somewhat reassured Mother that Noorah's
condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning. "Sorry.
No more than one visitor at a time," the nurse said.

This was the intensive care unit. Past the flurry white robes,
through the small window in the door, I caught my sister's eyes.
Mother was standing beside her. After about two minutes, mother came
out unable to control her crying. "You may enter and say salaam to
her on the condition that you do not speak too long," they told
me. "Two minutes should be enough."

"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"

We held hands; she squeezed harmlessly. "Even now, alhamdulillah,
I'm doing fine."

"Alhamdulillah. ..but...your hands are so cold."

I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked
it away. "Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words."

Waltafatul saaqu bil saaq (One leg will be wrapped to the other leg
[in the death shroud]).

"Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the Hereafter
very soon. It's a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good
deeds in my suitcase."

A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried
and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us two sisters to
cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister's palm,
which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried
about me. I've never cried like that before.

At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a
sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. One after another,
my cousins came in my room. The visitors were many and all the
voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at
that point – Noorah had died!

I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember
what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't
even cry anymore.

Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my
hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time. I had kissed
Noorah's head.

I remember only one thing while seeing her spread on that bed – the
bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:

One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud).

And I knew too well the truth of the next verse:

The drive on that day will be to your Lord (Allah)!

I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet
dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured the person that had
shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.

I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with, who comforted my rainy
days. I remembered who prayed for my guidance and who spent so many
tears for many long nights telling me about death and
accountability. May Allah save us all.

Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O
Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an
and her prayer mat. And this was the spring, rose-colored dress that
she told me she would hide until she got married; the dress she
wanted to keep just for her husband.

I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost.
I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I
prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to
mention in her supplications.

At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself what if it was I who had
died. Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears
began all over again.

"Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar…" The first adhan rose softly from the
masjid. It sounded so beautiful this time. I felt calm and relaxed
as I repeated the mu'adhin's call. I wrapped the shawl around my
shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last
prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It
had been her last Fajr.

Now, and in sha Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the
morning I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening
I do not count on being alive by morning. We are all going on
Noorah's journey. What have we prepared for it?