In the amber glow of a dimly lit room, a figure sat motionless on a prayer mat. Having just completed the Fajr prayer, she raised her hands in a quiet, heartfelt supplication.
"Oh Allah, count me among the righteous," she whispered into the silence. "Grant me knowledge and wisdom. Make my faith unshakeable, and please, do not let me go astray."
Her voice trembled slightly as she continued, "Keep my parents healthy and happy. Do not let me be a trial for them; instead, let me be the coolness of their eyes. They gave me this life and shaped who I am today. They loved me and protected me, and I am forever indebted to them. Grant them peace, Ya Allah."
A soft radiance seemed to settle over her features-a look of profound tranquility. She finished her prayer, folded the mat with practiced grace, and returned it to its usual place. It was her sanctuary, starting every morning with Salah and a plea for those she loved.
A small, furry weight suddenly pressed against her ankles. A white persian cat purred loudly, weaving through her legs.
Inayat knelt, her fingers disappearing into the soft fur as she rubbed the cat's head. The cat let out a satisfied meow.
"Hey, baby," Inayat cooed, her voice thick with affection. "You're up early." She scooped the cat into her arms and pressed a gentle kiss to its forehead.
She had found her a year ago in a state that still haunted her dreams. It happened on an ordinary afternoon, on her way home from university.
Flashback
Inayat was walking through the neighborhood when a sharp, distressed sound pierced the air. She followed the noise into a narrow alleyway, and the sight that met her made her blood boil.
A group of teenage boys stood in a semi-circle, laughing with a cruelty that felt inhuman. At their feet, a kitten-barely a month old-was wailing in agony.
Nearby, its mother lay in a pool of blood, gasping her last breaths. The boys had stoned the mother cat and tied the kitten's leg to a heavy rock, mocking its struggle to move.
Inayat marched toward them, her fear overridden by pure indignation. "What the hell are you all doing ?" she yelled.
The laughter died instantly. One of the boys stepped forward, a cigarette tucked arrogantly between his fingers. "Mind your own business, Miss," he sneered.
"Should I show you exactly what my business is?" Inayat challenged. She didn't hesitate; she pulled out her phone and began dialing.
"Hello? I'd like to report a case of aggravated animal cruelty," she said firmly into the receiver. "A group of teenagers in the alleyway have brutally attacked a cat and her kitten. I have their descriptions."
The boys' faces paled.
In the UK, the legal consequences for animal abuse are severe. Under the Animal Welfare Act, those found guilty of such brutality can face up to five years in prison, unlimited fines, and a lifelong ban on owning animals.
Having volunteered at animal shelters for years, Inayat knew these laws by heart. She had seen the scars of such cruelty before, and she wasn't about to let it slide.
The boys scattered, disappearing into the streets, but Inayat had already noted their faces.
She rushed to the mother and kitten, gathering them into her arms as she sprinted toward the nearest veterinary clinic.
The doctors worked quickly, but the mother's injuries were too severe; she passed away shortly after. The kitten, however, survived.
Inayat felt tears prick her eyes as she held the tiny, trembling creature. Sensing a kind spirit, the kitten snuggled deep into Inayat's chest, seeking the warmth she provided.
In that moment, Inayat knew she couldn't leave her behind.
She lifted the kitten to eye level. "Do you want to stay with me, baby?"
As if understanding the promise of safety, the kitten let out a soft, melodic meow. Inayat smiled through her tears.
"You'll need a name, little one," she murmured.
"How about Daisy?"
The kitten stared blankly.
"Chloe?"
Silence.
"Snowy?"
At this, the kitten let out an approving chirp.
Inayat's smile widened as she kissed the small forehead. "Snowy it is."
Flashback ends
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After freshening up, I headed downstairs. Yesterday had been exhausting, especially that high-profile event I was forced to attend.
As I entered the kitchen, the warm, buttery scent met me; Mom was already busy making parathas.
"Assalamualaikum, Mom," I greeted her, wrapping my arms around her from behind and resting my head on her shoulder.
"Walaikum Assalam, beta," she replied gently, turning slightly to pat my cheek. "You were so tired last night, weren't you?"
"Jii... and you know I find those social gatherings incredibly boring, yet you still dragged me there," I pouted, reaching for a glass of water.
"It was necessary, beta," she said, her tone softening as she tried to make me understand. "Your father's friend hosted that party to celebrate a major business deal. They are very close; it would have been disrespectful not to show our support."
"I know, Mom, but it's always the same. Everyone is either hovering around Dad to talk business or prying into our personal lives. You know how much I hate that." Mom sighed, knowing I was right, and quietly dropped the subject.
I pulled some fruits from the fridge and began slicing apples to help out. Once the table was set, Dad entered the dining room, his presence filling the room with a sense of calm.
"Assalamualaikum," he announced.
"Good morning, Dad!" I chirped, giving him a quick hug. He chuckled warmly, "Good morning, beta."
As we sat down to eat, Mom looked over at me. "What are your plans for the day?"
"Since it's Saturday and I don't have any lectures, I'll probably head to the animal shelter with my friends. Other than that, my schedule is wide open," I said with a shrug.
"By the way," Dad interjected, his expression turning serious yet proud, "you did a wonderful thing yesterday by clearing Zohaib's name."
"Zohaib?" I blinked, the name not immediately clicking.
"The young man you helped by revealing the truth. That was Zohaib Mirza, the future CEO of Mirza Corporation. He's a good man-very well-mannered. I knew deep down he was incapable of what he was being accused of."
My mood soured as the memory of the incident resurfaced. "I didn't even know his name, Dad. I just saw a girl trying to dismantle his reputation. He didn't even look like the type to interact unnecessarily with women, yet she had the audacity to accuse him of harassment."
I set my fork down, my appetite momentarily dampened by the injustice of it all. "I don't understand how people can stoop so low. She proposed to him, he rejected her, and her fragile ego couldn't handle it. She was the one who touched him without consent, then flipped the narrative to play the victim. It's scary how quickly people are ready to judge without proof."
Dad reached over, gently caressing my head. "I am so proud of you for standing up for the truth, even when it wasn't your fight."
I leaned into his touch and smiled. "It's your upbringing, Dad. I'm just a reflection of what you taught me."
The rest of breakfast passed with light, pleasant conversation.
Once finished, I headed back upstairs to get ready for a long, fulfilling day at the shelter.
---------------------------------------
I dressed with care, opting for an oversized, beige ribbed-knit sweater paired with high-waisted, cream-colored wide-leg trousers.
I styled a chocolate-brown hijab to pull the look together and grabbed my tote bag, stuffing it with my phone, a water bottle, a few energy bars, and my wallet.
Glancing at the wall clock, my heart skipped a beat.
"Oh no! I'm supposed to meet them by 10:00 AM at the park, and it's already 9:50!"
I grabbed my bag and flew downstairs.
After a hurried goodbye to my parents, I shoved on my white sneakers and sprinted toward the park.
Near the gate, I spotted my friends: Isabelle, Kritika, and Safiya.
"I'm here! I'm here!" I panted, rushing toward them while trying to catch my breath.
"Thank God," Isa said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "We thought we'd have to wait until evening for Your Highness to grace us with her presence."
"No need to be rude, Izzy! I was having a wardrobe crisis and lost track of time," I exclaimed, pulling my most innocent face.
It wasn't exactly a lie; I'd spent far too long debating my outfit choice for a day spent with animals.
"I'm not being rude, Inny, I'm being realistic," Isa teased. "Miss Sophie is expecting us by 10:30."
Miss Sophie was the manager of the shelter and a stickler for punctuality.
"Right, I'm sorry. Let's go!" We piled into Kritika's car and set off.
---------------------------------------As Kritika pulled into the driveway of "Paws & Peace Shelter," the atmosphere shifted. The air was a thick, familiar blend of fresh hay, cedar chips, and wet dogs.
Miss Sophie was already standing by the gate, a clipboard tucked under her arm and a senior Golden Retriever leaning contentedly against her leg.
She arched an eyebrow at her watch.
"Ten twenty-nine," she noted, her voice warm but firm. "I was just about to send out a search party."
"Don't look at us, Miss Sophie," Kritika laughed, tossing her keys into her bag. "Inny was having a runway moment in her room."
I offered a sheepish grin, smoothing down my sweater. "At least I'm dressed for the occasion? Mostly?"
We split up according to the morning "To-Do" list. The tasks were messy, loud, and incredibly rewarding.
Safiya and Isa headed to the kitten ward; minutes later, I heard Isa squealing from down the hall. "It's trying to climb my jeans! Send help!"
Kritika, the bravest among us, took on the monumental task of bathing 'Bear,' a Newfoundland (dog breed) who seemed convinced that bathwater was molten lava.
Miss Sophie handed me a stack of leashes. "Inny, since you're so energized from your run to the park, you're on walking duty for the new arrivals."
I eventually found myself in a patch of sunlight in the backyard with a scruffy, shy terrier mix named Tobby. While my friends were busy snapping photos for the shelter's Instagram, I focused on the quiet work.
I reached into my tote-now lightly dusted with dog hair-and pulled out a tennis ball.
Tobby didn't chase it at first; he just stepped closer and nudged my hand with a cold, wet nose.
"See?" I whispered to him, ignoring the two muddy paw prints now staining my cream trousers.
"The wardrobe crisis was worth it. I look great, even if you're about to ruin these pants."
By noon, the four of us regrouped near the feeding station, looking like a different set of people.
Safiya had cat hair stuck to her lip gloss.
Isa was covered in tiny scratches but looked triumphant.
Kritika was literally soaked from the waist down, thanks to Bear's "shake-dry" technique.
"Okay," Kritika said, eyeing my muddy knees and her own drenched shirt. "Inny, you win. Your outfit was definitely the most 'aesthetic'."
As the clock hit 4:00 PM, golden afternoon light stretched across the kennel floors. Miss Sophie walked over and handed each of us a damp towel.
"You girls were a god-send today," she said, looking at our exhausted but happy group. "The dogs are walked, the kittens are socialized, and Bear is... well, Bear is at least forty percent cleaner than he was this morning."
Bidding her goodbye, We walked back to the car, a stark contrast to the polished group that had arrived.
My cream trousers were now a canvas of muddy paw-print art, and my chocolate hijab had strands of Golden Retriever fur clinging to it like glitter. My mother was definitely going to have a fit.
As we pulled out of the driveway, the cool breeze hit my face, whisking away the lingering scent of the shelter.
I was already dreading the laundry, but looking at my friends-messy, tired, and laughing-I knew I wouldn't change a single thing.
---------------------------------------
After taking a long, deep cleansing bath to wash away the remnants of the shelter, I slumped onto my bed, feeling that heavy, satisfied kind of tiredness.
Snowy immediately hopped up and curled into the crook of my arm. As I began to stroke her fur, she let out a long, rhythmic purr and relaxed against me.
My obsession with animals wasn't a phase; it was woven into my DNA.
I remember being seven years old, tugging at my Dad's sleeve and begging him to buy me a kitten.
When he refused, I was heartbroken. At that age, I couldn't grasp why he would say no to something that would clearly bring me so much joy. I spent the evening sulking, convinced he just didn't understand.
A few days later, Dad didn't take me to a pet store; instead, he took me to an animal shelter for the very first time.
The sight pained my little heart. I saw old dogs and weary cats in congested cages, their eyes filled with a quiet, hollow sadness. Some had been abandoned by families who no longer wanted them, while others were sick or recovering from injuries.
I still carry my Dad's words from that day with me. He had knelt beside me, gently caressing my hair as I stared at a lonely terrier.
"I refused to buy you a pet, beta, because these animals should never be treated as commodities," he explained softly.
"They deserve to live a full, respected life, not to be caged up as toys until an owner gets bored and abandons them like this. I am not against keeping them; I am against the idea of making them suffer."
He looked at the rows of cages, his expression somber.
"Having a pet is a massive responsibility, and you are still very young. When you are old enough to truly care for one, you can adopt, and I will support you. Until then, whenever you want to spend time with them, I will bring you here. These animals need someone to play with them and show them kindness. They were left behind, Inny. They miss having a family."
Hearing his explanation, my resentment vanished, replaced by a new sense of purpose.
Since that day, volunteering at shelters has become an anchor in my life. It's more than just a hobby; it's where I find my peace.
Helping these helpless souls find comfort gives me a kind of happiness that nothing else can match.
---------------------------------------After a much needed hour-long nap, I woke up feeling refreshed and headed to the kitchen.
I spent the evening helping Mom with dinner, the air filling with the scent of spices and laughter as I recounted my adventures at the shelter-including the tragic fate of my cream trousers.
Once the dinner dishes were cleared and the house settled into a quiet hum, I went to my parents' room. I knocked softly before entering and made a move I've made a thousand times since I was a little girl: I crawled onto the bed and rested my head in Mom's lap.
As she ran her fingers through my hair, a wave of absolute peace washed over me.
My parents often call me their "miracle," and as I grew older, I realized just how much weight that word carried.
They had spent years trying to start a family, but Mom struggled with conception. In the face of her heartbreak, people could be incredibly cruel.
Relatives and acquaintances would taunt her, even suggesting to my Dad that he should remarry-that he needed a "proper heir" to carry on his name.
But my Dad's love for Mom was unshakable. He never let those voices into their home, and he never once made her feel inadequate. He stood by her as a shield until, finally, I came into their lives.
From that moment on, I became the center of their universe. They loved me with a depth that felt almost sacred, and in return, I truly cannot imagine my existence without them.
They aren't just my parents; they are my sanctuary, my safe place.
Eventually, I pulled myself away from the comfort of their room and headed back to my own. I knocked out a few pending university assignments, the quiet of the night helping me focus. Finally, with a light heart and a clear mind, I drifted off to sleep.
---------------------------------------
Next Day,
As it was Sunday morning, after offering her Fajr prayer, Inayat decided to take Snowy for a walk in the park near their home.
She dressed casually in a grey oversized hoodie and loose black trousers, pairing them with a simple black jersey hijab.
She found a quiet spot and sat on a bench, her grip loose on the leash as she enjoyed the crisp morning air. Suddenly, Snowy bolted.
Inayat gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as she scrambled to her feet. "Snowy! No!"
She chased the white blur who had stopped near a man in a grey tracksuit. His back was to her, and he seemed frozen as Snowy began circling around his ankles.
"Snowy, come back!" Inayat called out, breathless.
The man turned around, clearly startled and trying to figure out why this cat had suddenly claimed him as a scratching post.
As their eyes met, a flash of recognition passed between them. The air grew still for a heartbeat before they both instinctively averted their eyes, the memory of the party rushing back.
Inayat stepped forward, quickly scooping Snowy into her arms.
"I am so sorry for the interruption," she apologized, her voice slightly strained from the run.
"She has never bolted like this before."
"No problem at all," Zohaib replied. His voice was steady and surprisingly warm. "She's actually very cute."
Inayat looked up, surprised. She had expected him to be irritated at having his morning run interrupted.
"Also," Zohaib continued, his expression turning sincere, "I wanted to thank you again for what you did. When My father heard about the incident, he also was incredibly grateful to you for saving our family's reputation."
"It's okay, Sir," Inayat replied modestly. "There's no need to thank me. I was a witness to the truth, and I simply couldn't stay silent."
"Can I... hold her?" Zohaib asked. He sounded just as surprised by the request as she was.
Inayat hesitated. She wasn't used to interacting with men so casually, but there was a kindness in his eyes that made her nod.
She awkwardly handed Snowy over. "Be careful," she warned. "She can be a bit temperamental; she doesn't usually react well to strangers."
Zohaib took the cat, his large hands careful and surprisingly gentle as he stroked her soft fur. Instead of hissing or scratching, Snowy let out a loud, rhythmic purr of pure satisfaction.
Inayat stood stunned. "This is... new," she muttered to herself.
Zohaib looked up, confused. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," she explained, still watching Snowy in disbelief. "Snowy is usually incredibly anxious around new people. Considering this is the first time she's met you, it's amazing how comfortable she is and you also seem pretty comfortable holding her. You don't really look like a person who would pet a cat."
A small, reflective smile touched Zohaib's lips. "I knew someone who loved cats when we were children," he said, his voice trailing off as if he were reliving a distant memory. "She used to scoop up kittens and drop them right into my lap."
He shook off the memory and gently handed Snowy back to Inayat. "I should probably head back. My brothers will be hungry for breakfast by now."
With a polite nod, he turned and jogged away. Inayat stood there for a long moment, processing the interaction and wondering why Snowy-and her own heart-seemed so at ease with a stranger.
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