Jeon.J lowered his head and slipped through the mosque gate quietly, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he wished to make himself smaller than he was. He didn't want anyone to recognize him. Outside, only a few people were present, but inside the hall, more figures were present — mostly young. Each of them held a similar book in their hands. He didn't know what book it was. He didn't know what they were reading. To him, it was just pages filled with lines he couldn't understand.
They were seated in two perfectly straight rows, a narrow space left between them like an invisible path. At the very front, facing them all, sat a man. He wasn't Mr. Donghyun. Still, there was something calm about him — not authority, not fear, just a quiet steadiness. One by one, a person would rise from the line, walk toward him, open the book, and read a few lines. The man would listen with a gentle, patient smile, then lightly place his right palm on the reader's right side of the head before returning to his spot. The motion was small, repeated again and again, almost ritual-like, yet soft.
Jeon.J stood there without understanding the meaning of any of it. He only observed.
No one looked restless. No one checked a phone. No one whispered or glanced around impatiently.
Some faces held faint smiles that appeared for only a second and then faded. Some eyes were lowered, but not in sadness — more like quiet focus. Others looked serious, yet not tense. It confused him. The silence inside wasn't heavy; it wasn't empty either. It felt… full, though he couldn't explain with what.
He didn't know what they were doing. He didn't know why they seemed so composed. He only knew that the atmosphere was different from the outside world — slower, steadier, untouched by hurry.
As he watched those faces, that strange stillness reflected at him. Without realizing why, his head dipped a little further down. He wasn't searching for meaning, and he wasn't thinking about faith or prayer. He was reacting to what he saw — a room where people seemed anchored, as if each of them was holding onto something invisible yet certain. And for a brief moment, standing at the edge of the rows, he felt like the only person who didn't know what that "something" was… but could see its effect written quietly across every face.
Jeon.J looked around, scanning the room carefully for Mr. Donghyun. His eyes moved from one row to another, noting how no one paid attention to the newcomers. Each person sat quietly, absorbed in their books, smiling faintly as they read. No one even glanced up at the gate or at those entering. They were entirely immersed in their own world.
Jeon.J didn't see Mr. Donghyun at first. His gaze drifted toward the corner where he had noticed the women yesterday. Today, a few young girls sat there, along with a couple of small children. Each had her head covered with a scarf, and each held a book in her hands, reading with the same quiet devotion as the boys.
The meaning hit him subtly: "Today, we will host you… You have made time for us."
Jeon.J turned at the voice and saw, behind him, Mr. Donghyun standing with a calm, reassuring smile. His face radiated tranquility, a kind of peaceful authority. A shiver ran down Jeon.J's spine. He was taken aback, unsure of what to say. He started to look around again, nervous and uncertain.
Mr. Donghyun seemed to understand his confusion. With a gentle smile, he said, "I think you've come to pick Zoya. Don't worry… You will be given another chance to be properly welcomed. Come with me, young man."
He guided Jeon.J to a small, quiet room off to the side. The space was calm, almost private, a stark contrast to the mosque's hum outside. Against one wall stood a table, with a head chair at its far end. Along the walls were only three simple chairs, keeping the room open and uncluttered. A window faced the back of the mosque, where the last light of evening touched the prayer area. Though it was technically late afternoon, the scene looked more like night, with the city's lights glowing faintly outside.
Mr. Donghyun offered one of the chairs to Jeon.J and took a seat himself.
"Your voice is beautiful, young man," he said softly.
Jeon.J smiled and muttered a quiet "thank you."
"Would you give me a Korean translation?"
Before Jeon.J could answer, a knock sounded at the door. Both men turned. A boy, around fifteen or sixteen, stood at the entrance. Jeon.J barely glanced at him.
Mr. Donghyun rose from his seat with a gentle smile. "Why not come with me? I'll guide you." As he started to move, he paused, glancing back at Jeon.J. "Please, stay here. I'll be right back."
After Mr. Donghyun left, Jeon.J rose and began pacing slowly, surveying the room again. Another window caught his attention, this one lined with curtains. From behind them came the faint sound of voices — soft, shy, asking questions, or perhaps discussing something quietly. Something inside told him he shouldn't peek, but curiosity got the better of him.
He gently pulled the curtain aside. Beyond it, several girls were gathered in a corner — the same area designated for women. His eyes widened as he realized that Zoya was among them. An older woman, seated with them like a teacher guiding her students, looked over her charges with quiet authority.
Jeon.J froze. Every instinct told him he should leave, that he had no right to be there. But he couldn't. Something about the scene compelled him to stay — to listen, to watch. The questions being asked, the gentle guidance of the teacher, the focused, serene faces of the girls… he wanted to hear the answers.
"Yeoja Seonsaengnim… what should we do when we see someone on the path that only the true light illuminates?"
A young girl, sitting two places to Zoya's right, raised her hand timidly.
"내 딸… My daughter," she began softly. "My name is Seo-yeon, but you may call me Mrs. Dongyun," she added with a small, nervous smile.
Mrs. Dongyun returned her smile gently. "Now, to your question," she said. "You must invite others politely toward the light and explain its importance. But notice this — if someone listens and then chooses their own path quietly, it shows respect for the true light. Faith cannot be forced; guidance belongs only to Allah."
The girl listened intently.
"My daughter," Mrs. Dongyun continued softly, "sometimes in life we hope that someone we love will share the same faith and values. You are thinking of marriage, yes? Remember, you can pray and make dua for them, but their heart is in Allah's hands. You cannot force faith, and the outcome is for Allah to decide."
The girl's eyes filled with tears. "Yes… I want to marry him, but only if he walks sincerely on this path. I fear — if I am gone from this world before he finds it, we may be separated in the Hereafter."
Mrs. Dongyun gestured gently, inviting the girl closer. "My daughter, your sincere intention and prayers are precious to Allah. Continue to pray for him, and remain patient and kind. Trust that Allah hears your dua, and that He will guide in His own time. The joy you hope for — in this world or the next — will come according to His wisdom."
The words filled the room with a calm so deep that it could be felt like a tangible presence. Every person present felt it — the peace that grows stronger with patience, sincerity, and trust in Allah. Even Jeon.J, standing silently by the window, absorbed every word.
Then another familiar voice arose. Jeon.J didn't need to turn — he knew whose voice it was.
My heart longed to speak in Arabic. Any language could be used to speak to Allah, for Allah hears all and knows all. But my soul wished for Arabic — perhaps the language Allah favored, for the last holy book was revealed in it. I had begun learning it little by little, from social media and practice, so when I raise my hands for Dua, I request Allah…
اللَّهُمَّ اهْدِهِ وَاغْفِرْ لَهُ (O Allah, guide him, forgive him…)
Zoya hadn't even finished her prayer yet when, in the silence, the sudden ring of a phone echoed from the direction of the window. At once, the room's quiet seemed to pause, and she went still.
Jeon.J felt embarrassment — why had he not silenced his mobile before entering? He canceled the incoming call, recognizing immediately that it must be someone from the studio.
Despite Mrs. Dongyun's instructions, Zoya did not speak again — she had learned from previous gatherings to recognize his phone's ring, knowing he was nearby without revealing herself.
"Always remain under the shade of mercy, my daughters," Mrs. Dongyun said, her voice gentle but filled with authority. The students turned slightly towards the women's corner entrance, smiles spreading across their faces at the blessing embedded in her words.
"My daughter, Zoya," Mrs. Dongyun said, calling out softly. "If you are free, come now. Someone has been waiting for quite some time. I think he comes to pick you."
Zoya froze, startled. She had just told Minji that she would come on her own.
Why does he come?
To be continued...
Regards
ZK💌