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Fatima

Each night, as the world outside quieted into stillness, Fatima found peace in her sacred routine. Seated on her prayer rug, the Quran rested gently in her hands as she recited verses from Surat Al Imran. Her voice, soft yet steady, filled her modest room with tranquility—loud enough to be heard within the walls, but not beyond the window shutters. It was in these moments, wrapped in divine words, that she never felt truly alone, no matter how empty the house seemed. Just as she reached the final ayat, a sudden knock shattered the serenity. It was loud—urgent. Unusual. Fatima wasn’t expecting anyone, least of all at this late hour. The knocks came again, more frantic this time, followed by a desperate voice calling out. “Sitt Fatima! Help me!” Startled, she carefully leaned on her nightstand and pushed herself up. With her cane in one hand and a lantern in the other, she made her way through the dimly lit hallway toward the front door. From behind the door, her voice rang out, firm but...
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Safiyah

The sun rises over Cairo, casting a warm golden hue across the bustling streets of the Fatimid city. Safiyah, a young merchant’s daughter, stretches as the sounds of the city fill the air—vendors calling out their wares, the rhythmic clinking of coins, and the distant hum of people bargaining in the crowded souks. Her father’s shop, a small but well-stocked stall near the bazaar, is already alive with activity. Safiyah adjusts her headscarf and steps into the street, her sandals tapping lightly on the stone. She catches glimpses of the grand minarets of the nearby masjid towering above the narrow alleyways, their shadows stretching long in the early light. The heat of the day presses against her skin, but a cool breeze from the Nile provides some relief. As she walks beside her father’s stall, she sees merchants bartering loudly, their voices rising and falling in a rhythmic dance. At midday, the Azaan rings out from the masjid, deep and resonant, echoing off the stone buildings and ov...
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