Maria Mahat
Chapter 3
Life for Sufiah had always revolved around a familiar routine: school, tuition, home, and the occasional café outing with her girlfriends—provided she had a little extra pocket money. Often, her month-end splurges were modest, typically limited to books and art supplies.
Hand-me-downs from her sister, Saleha, or bundles of old fashion magazines and off-season hejabs from Aunt Noor, her mother’s youngest sister, made up the rest of her treats. Sometimes, her brother, Sabirin would treat her to a meal. It was these simple pleasures that made Sufiah appreciative of her siblings and her favourite aunty.
Her weekends were sometimes filled with faithrelated events, where she hoped to gain as much as possible from motivational and dakwah speakers, some
local and some flown overseas, especially when these events were complimentary. She would usually make a small donation to these events, giving whatever she could afford.
In cosmopolitan Singapore, where the weather is perpetually sunny and the cost of living remains high, Sufiah often strived to be the best version of herself, remaining subservient to the Almighty in the best way she could.
At the same time, Sufiah’s mind could not escape thoughts of her future. Being 19, having just completed one of the most important examinations in her life, she had given careful thought to her next stage of learning— pursuits that aligned with her identity as a Muslim girl—as well as the idea of a man worthy of being her imam in life.
Her next academic pursuit, which higher institution she hoped to enrol in, would determine the course of her future. Would it be a local university or a foreign one? Would she pursue Islamic studies or a secular path? Where could she find the perfect imam for her? Difficult decisions for a 19-year-old!
Now that the vacation had begun, Sufiah spent her time helping at Aunt Noor’s boutique in the heart of Kampong Gelam.
“ Assalamualaikum , Aunt Noor,” Sufiah called out as she stepped into Anne’s Boutique. “Sufiah, at your service!”
Her favourite aunty, Aunt Noor, was her mother’s youngest sister and the most modern, one might say. Always so tasteful and swanky, Aunt Noor carried herself with an air of sophistication, so ‘haute couture’, unlike mak , who was more practical and down-to-earth, yet no less stylish, according to Sufiah.
Aunt Noor dressed in stylish perfection from head to toe. The hejab that covered her crown was always impeccably styled, immaculately woven around her head and neck to perfection, something Sufiah found impressive. It was a modest covering—a symbol of faith—perfectly wrapped and effortlessly styled.
Anne’s Boutique reflected Aunt Noor’s impeccable taste. The shophouse was bright and inviting, with sunlight streaming through the large glass windows, framed by the open French-louvred windows of the storefront. Inside, the boutique had a modern and luxurious ambience, with sleek dark brown wooden racks of neatly arranged clothes; from traditional baju kurungs to immaculate pieces of kebayas .
The flooring was polished wood, giving the room a warm and elegant feel, while a crystal chandelier hung
counter or assist in the backroom—ironing, packing, and checking inventories.
The second floor, accessed via the staircase near the entrance, was a newly rented space for Anne’s Bridal—featuring traditional clothing for men and women, as well as immaculate bridal gowns and suits. Appointments with future brides and grooms would be made upstairs, in the most romantic and cosiest of settings.
Anne’s Boutique and Anne’s Bridal were more than just a shop—they were sanctuaries of style, where every detail reflected Aunt Noor’s passion for fashion and her dedication to making her customers feel extraordinary.
To Sufiah, everything about Aunt Noor—from her personal style to the décor of the boutique and bridal spaces—was a statement: a quiet yet bold testament that faith and worldly desires could, perhaps, coexist harmoniously.
It led Sufiah to believe that striking a balance between the two was not an unattainable ideal but rather a deliberate and achievable choice. Her aunt’s elegance was proof that devotion to faith did not have to come at the expense of sophistication and
modernity; instead, the two could complement each other beautifully.
“Come Sufiah, see this,” Aunt Noor called as she showed pages from a magazine. “Look at these stunning abayas , I would love to have them here. I’ve contacted some designers and manufacturers in the Emirates, so we’ll wait for their catalogues.”
“Yes, Aunt Noor. These abayas are so gorgeous, long and flowy. It must be so easy for you to get them since you’re so well-connected with people from all over the world.”
“Well, my previous career as a flight stewardess certainly came in handy,” quipped Aunt Noor.
“Is that how you met Uncle Abdullah?” Sufiah asked, curious.
“Oh yes!” Aunt Noor replied with an air of nostalgia, her eyes softening as memories came flooding back. “He was once on the same flight I was working on. According to him, I was too beautiful to let go, so he somehow managed to get my number.” Aunt Noor let out a bemused laugh, her eyes twinkling. “We ended up meeting at a café in New York, but I wasn’t about to go alone, so I brought a colleague along as my bodyguard.”
“And?” Sufiah leaned forward, clearly interested in the love story of Aunt Noor and Uncle Abdullah who was Moroccan.
“Well, when we met, he turned out to be quite charming. Polite, funny, and oh, he had this way of making you feel like the most important person in the room. I thought, ‘Why not give him a chance?’ And the rest is history,” Aunt Noor said, a glint in her eyes as she reminisced about those early days of courtship with her husband.
“Was it love at first sight?” Sufiah teased, curious, yet intrigued.
“That’s what he claimed!” Aunt Noor laughed heartily. “But definitely not for me.”
“I guess Uncle Abdullah knew what he wanted,” Sufiah said in admiration.
“Oh, he did,” Aunt Noor replied with a laugh. “And he didn’t waste any time, either! He proposed within two weeks!”
“Two weeks?!” Sufiah gasped. “But how sure were you that Uncle Abdullah was the person you wanted to spend your entire life with?”
“Life is about taking risks, isn’t it, Sufiah?” Aunt Noor replied with a question.
believed in building a life together, wherever that may be at the time.”
Sufiah nodded in understanding. Uprooting one’s life for a partner was no small gesture. It took a great deal of courage, commitment, and sacrifice to sustain a marriage.
“He also knew that I’m not one to sit around and do nothing,” continued Aunt Noor. “So, he suggested that I start my own business. He knew about my boutique idea, and he supported me all the way. That’s how Anne’s Boutique was born. It was partly his idea that Anne’s Boutique should cater to Muslim women with discerning and sophisticated tastes—women who want to be stylish yet modest.”
Sufiah was mesmerised by Aunt Noor and Uncle Abdullah’s sacrifices and their unwavering support for one another. The way Aunt Noor spoke about love and marriage was not just theoretical; it was based on lived experiences, deeply felt and honest.
Sufiah admired Aunt Noor. She was well-travelled, well-informed, and well-connected, having built lasting friendships and strong partnerships across the world. She was gregarious yet knew her boundaries.
She was organised and managed to care for her family without a domestic helper, all while building up her fashion and bridal business into a flourishing one.
Aunt Noor seemed to have it all—a thriving business, a loving family, and a supportive, understanding husband who stood unwaveringly by her side, blessed with abundance from the One.
Among her friends and clients, Aunt Noor was also affectionately known as “Anne”, a name she had been given and adopted since her days as a cabin crew member. Sufiah initially thought the name sounded too anglicised for her aunt, but Aunt Noor explained it with a smile.
“It started with my ex-colleagues calling me by the first letter of my name, ‘N’. Over time, it just morphed into Anne. I liked the play of sounds, so Anne’s Boutique was born.”
Similarly, her only son, Jim Iqbal, was named in similar fashion. “Jim” ( ج ) is the fifth letter of the Arabic alphabet. She was inspired to use “Jim” because Jim Iqbal was born on the fifth of January at five in the morning, in hospital room number five. His name was not Western, as many had assumed.
Without knowing the reasons behind their names, one might assume that these Easterners, Asians, or
Muslims were overly influenced by Western or Middle Eastern cultures. Those unfamiliar with their background often make assumptions, perceiving them as either proAnglophones or inclined towards Arabisation.
Such judgements and perceptions overlook the multifaceted backgrounds that one possesses—whether through intermarriages or by choice—especially when one has lived in other parts of the world.
Rather than getting offended, Aunt Noor would often laugh or smile at the many preconceived notions that some people in her own community held about her name or her son’s name. Some battles were simply not worth fighting. She felt it was better to channel her energy into productive and meaningful pursuits rather than engage in mindless, petty chatter.
She believed in the wisdom of the quote that she often shared with Sufiah: “Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.”
Before settling back to Singapore for good, Aunt Noor and Uncle Abdullah had lived in the United States and Dubai. Jim was born in the United States and spent his early years in Dubai. However, despite being half Moroccan and half Malay, Jim was very much Malay at
That was how Sufiah met and got to know Mel, often playing the role of chaperone and sometimes, the “third wheel” on their many outings.
Initially, Sufiah thought Jim’s crush on Mel was merely “puppy love”, but their friendship blossomed into a meaningful relationship that had withstood the test of time. Their twelve-year-long friendship was soon to turn into marriage.
“Make the outfit simple, please. Mel and I don’t want all these…”
“…bling bling…” Sufiah smiled, sighed, and continued, “Yes, weddings have been outrageously exorbitant since time immemorial!”
“It’s a lucrative industry, you know,” emphasised Aunt Noor.
“But why can’t we all just do what our religion asks of us—perform the akad nikah and give the mahr ?” enquired Sufiah. The akad nikah is the groom’s declaration of marriage during the solemnisation, while the mahr is the mandatory payment—whether in money or gifts—made by the groom to the bride at the time of marriage, legally becoming her property. These, along with the bride’s father or the Kadi—the officiating minister—and two male witnesses, are the
only requirements for a marriage to proceed and be valid.
“You’re right, Sufiah. Haven’t I told you that Mel and I completely agree with you? But our elders disagree,” Jim added, emphasising the word “elders” cheekily without being disrespectful.
Aunt Noor remained deadpan. This was not the first time they had this conversation and debate about customs— adat and agama . When it came to weddings, even the staunchest of Muslims would succumb to culture and extravagance instead of going back to the basics.
“So, both of you will just perform the akad nikah and give the mahr —no ring and dowry?”
“Yes, why not? It would be financially less stressful for both men and women!” Jim quickly added.
“But a ring would be nice,” said Sufiah sheepishly. “The ring can be my mahr !”
Jim’s phone rang. He scanned the number, but it was unfamiliar. There was no name displayed. He stepped away to take the call.
“And maybe, Aunt Noor, just one simple outfit, a small reception for the family, and…”
“…do your own selfies and wefies? No need for a photographer?” Aunt Noor teased.
“Hmmm… actually, Instagram instant photo prints used to be really popular at weddings because they weren’t expensive!” declared Sufiah. “The pictures can be uploaded instantly to your Instagram account like a digital photo album. But well, if your account is private, it might be tricky,” Sufiah tried to explain.
Even though she was not as avid a social media user as her polytechnic friends, her generation was well aware of both the benefits and drawbacks of social media.
Aunt Noor shook her head in disagreement. “Well, Sufiah, I’ll see what your mak and bapak will say about this when it’s your turn.”
“I don’t know. We’ve never talked about this before. I’ll make sure they agree to a simple wedding too.”
“Do you remember Saleha’s wedding? It was decent, but not simple. Just wait and see when it’s your turn.”
A Malay wedding can be very lavish. In Singapore, where most people live in public housing of high-rise flats, the ground-floor void deck serves as a communal
“Ma, guess what?”
“What? Mel can’t make it today?”
“No, it’s not about Mel. Reza is back.”
“Oh, is he?” Suddenly, Aunt Noor raised her voice an octave higher. “For good?”
“Yes… for good… and looking for a job. Well, I think he’s already found something. He wants to meet up.”
“Well, bring him to see me.” Aunt Noor looked as if she already had something up her sleeve.
“I know—this must be your project,” guessed Jim.
“But of course! Aren’t you picking Mel up?” Jim looked at his watch.
“Go and pick her up,” Aunt Noor insisted. “Be here soon and fast but drive safely.”
“Okay ma, assalamualaikum .” “ Wa’alaikumussalam .”
“Sufiah… bye-bye cousin!”
“ Assalamualaikum ,” Sufiah responded instead.
Jim chuckled slightly, knowing that the wedding debate would never end. As he made his way out of the boutique, he called out, “May peace be upon you too!”
Sufiah was curious to know who Reza was and why Aunt Noor was so excited to have him back for her “project”. She wondered what the “project” could be.
As the thought lingered in her mind, it quickly vanished when an email arrived in the boutique’s inbox, a lookbook from a designer in the Emirates.
“Oh, Aunt Noor, we’ve got a lookbook!”
“Open it. Let’s take a look.”
Sufiah quickly opened the lookbook and gushed over the beautiful abaya designs within its pages.
Chapter 4
Singapore is a small country. Anyone can take the intracountry train service, the Mass Rapid Transit (MRT), from end to end in about an hour, with another hour needed to explore each end in detail by bus. Though crowded, Singapore is highly connected, well-wired, and extremely efficient in many ways.
As Sufiah did not have to be at the boutique today, she wanted to meet up with her bestie, Lyana, and catch up. They had agreed to meet in the last carriage of the train.
It was their usual pact, even during their school days. If Sufiah was early, she would hop off the train and wait for Lyana on the platform. If Lyana was early, she would check if Sufiah was in the last carriage before hopping on; otherwise, she would wait for the next
“Oh yes! Let’s—but within a budget, please.”
“I know. We’ll split the bill, as usual.”
As the train zoomed underground, commuters were either deep in thought, engrossed in their mobile phones, listening to music, or pretending to sleep. Lyana asked, “So, have you made up your mind?”
“I’ve decided to apply to NUS, NTU, and IIUM,” replied Sufiah, referring to two highly sought-after universities in Singapore: the National University of Singapore (NUS) and Nanyang Technological University (NTU), as well as the International Islamic University of Malaysia (IIUM).
“I thought you were considering al-Azhar too?” Lyana asked to be sure.
“I don’t meet the prerequisites, remember? We went to polytechnic instead of pursuing Islamic studies at pre-university. We won’t qualify for al-Azhar.” Sufiah lamented, acknowledging her improbable entry into the prestigious university in Cairo, Egypt.
“You can take a two-year bridging programme before applying to al-Azhar, but you must be sure about what you want to pursue there,” Lyana explained.
“A two-year bridging programme? Hmmm, I don’t know if I want to spend another two years in a bridging course before entering al-Azhar. I’m still unsure. At least you’re certain about choosing NUS or NTU. Maybe I want to do something completely different.”
“Hmmm, girlfriend, are you at another crossroads?”
“Yeah, but who knows? I might want to be an Islamic artist. Or a businesswoman, or maybe... a fashion designer.”
“A fashion designer?” Lyana glanced up and down at Sufiah, her eyes widening in amusement at her friend’s unlikely aspiration before letting out a chuckle.
“A Muslimah fashion designer!” Sufiah quickly added, playfully slapping Lyana on the arm.
“Oh sorry! I laughed at you, but I thought you were nothing like your Aunt Noor. Or maybe you’ve been influenced by her since you’ve been working at her boutique.” Lyana tried hard to keep her lips pressed together, suppressing her giggles.
“Stop laughing at me. I’ve done my research. The halal industry is worth USD7 trillion, and the Muslimah fashion industry is part of this huge pie. I could possibly take up designing at a few places here or elsewhere. And
when I have the rezeki , insha Allah, I want to contribute to society. Mendirikan rumah anak-anak yatim ke? Mendirikan …”
“… masjid ke ?” they said in unison and burst into laughter, much to the annoyance of some commuters on the train who wanted peace and quiet.
Mendirikan rumah anak-anak yatim means to build an orphanage. Mendirikan masjid literally means to build a mosque, but figuratively, it refers to establishing a matrimonial home.
Sufiah was wistful. Images of a young man, Abdul Matin, occupied her thoughts. She could hear his deep, melodious recitation of the al-Quran. She could still hear the nasheed —those spiritual songs without music or sometimes accompanied by acoustic percussion instruments—sung by him. She vividly remembered how articulate he was in public speaking and debating, having taken part in and won national debate competitions.
“Hello, Ms Sufiah, are you here? Subhanallah … you’re daydreaming. Now, who’s the lucky man you’re building the masjid with?” teased Lyana with playful mischief.
“Nobody!” she protested, but her shy smile betrayed her.
grow closer to her own spirituality. With every thought of Abdul Matin, her heart felt a little lighter, and her dreams of a serene, God-centred future grew a little brighter.
He was the kind of man she felt was qualified to be her imam —a God-loving husband who would protect and provide for her, leading her to Jannah. Insha Allah .
Sufiah took out her phone from her colourful haversack and showed an e-brochure to Lyana. “Lyana, let’s go to this event. It’s free, and it’s at Sultan Mosque.”
My intention is to increase my knowledge. The intention must be right .
Deep inside, she knew that part of her intentions was to see Abdul Matin and, by chance, meet him. Hopefully, he would remember her.
As the train reached their destination, they quickly hopped off and made their way to try the latest trending cafe.
Chapter 9
The crowd moved slowly into the auditorium at Sultan Mosque. Many arrived with friends, families, or in small groups for an evening of syarahan ; an Islamic lecture and burdah ; the recitation of devotional poetry accompanied by rhythmic drumming.
Sufiah wore a light pink modern abaya with lace a shade darker at the cuffs, paired with a deep crimson lightweight, silky shawl. Though it was not a new outfit, it was something she rarely wore. If she did, it would be for special occasions. Somehow, this occasion felt special.
“You look nice!” Lyana teased, rolling her eyes. She wore a simple dark blue cotton dress with a floralprinted shawl.
Sufiah smiled sheepishly. “It’s just an old outfit.”
Lyana quipped, “Yeah, an old outfit for an old crush!”
“ Shhh !” Sufiah pulled a face, shaking her head as if in denial. Ceasing their giggles, they quickly made their way to the best seats they could find. As they settled into their seats, they noticed men in white thobes and kopiah entering through the door closest to the stage. Among the sea of white-thobed men stood Abdul Matin.
There is a Malay saying: sejuk mata memandang, sejuk lagi perut ibunya mengandung , which means that a person who is pleasing to the eyes must have been a joy and a comfort to his mother during pregnancy.
There was a calmness and glow about Abdul Matin: quiet charisma, an enchanting persona, and undeniably, the perfect husband material.
As soon as Abdul Matin took the microphone and gave his salaam , he confidently opened the event with a few verses from the al-Quran reciting them in a soothing tone. That voice. That stage presence. Just as Sufiah remembered it. It was like freshly brewed sarabat tea—deep and soulful.
The event had ended, and the crowd was thinning in the lobby. She hoped to catch another glimpse of Abdul Matin while waiting for Lyana, who was in the ladies’ room. But instead, a woman in a black abaya and niqab stood there, calling her name. Sufiah tried to discern the woman’s identity through her eyes.
“How are you, Sufiah? It’s been a while since we’ve met.”
“ Alhamdulillah ! Sis Siti Rahmah? Masha Allah !” Both women hugged, touching cheek to veil three times.
“We haven’t met since you left for Egypt,” continued Sufiah. “Are you back for good?”
“Not really. I have one more year to go, and we’re considering staying on in Egypt, Saudi, or Yemen, insha Allah .”
“We?”
Shyness flickered in Siti Rahmah’s eyes as she lifted her right hand, revealing a simple gold wedding band on her ring finger.
Sufiah’s eyes widened in excitement. “ Masha Allah , sis! You’re married!” “ Alhamdulillah . I came back for my nikah . Our parents made the decision for us, and we feel blessed
to have their support. I’m happy to accept him. Alhamdulillah , Allah has shown me that he is the best for me, insha Allah .” “ Alhamdulillah . Sis, I’m happy for you.”
I know what you mean, sis. He’s the best for me too.
Sufiah had felt a deep attraction to Abdul Matin for years. Today, those feelings finally made sense. As she lingered on thoughts of Abdul Matin, she caught sight of him emerging from the auditorium. He noticed her, and it seemed as though he was walking towards her. That smile, that glow on his face - it was simply divine. Sufiah’s heartbeat raced.
Maybe he remembers me after all these years. Maybe he’ll acknowledge me. If not, I will give him my salaam first.
Siti Rahmah turned to see what had distracted Sufiah, but all she saw was Abdul Matin. She approached him, took his right hand, and kissed it.
“ Habibi , she is my friend from madrasah —our junior,” Siti Rahmah said gently.
Abdul Matin lowered his gaze and smiled. He nodded briefly without looking directly at Sufiah, then returned his gaze to Siti Rahmah.
“I’ll just wait for you outside,” he said in his deep gentle voice—the voice Sufiah had remembered all these years, though something about this moment felt off.
“ Mashi, habibi (yes, my love),” replied Siti Rahmah.
Abdul Matin walked out of the lobby and onto the pavement, searching for his shoes. Siti Rahmah turned to Sufiah and spoke almost shyly.
“Sufiah, he is my husband, Abdul Matin. He’s our senior. If you remember, he’s a hafidz and a debater. He also performed in our madrasah’s nasheed .”
Of course, Sufiah remembered it all. The image of Siti Rahmah kissing Abdul Matin’s hand and the sudden revelation that they were married were undeniably shocking.
In those few seconds, everything felt disconnected —dark, blurry, and chaotic. Confusion and helplessness washed over Sufiah, and she felt a tightness rising in her chest.
“Sufiah, it looks like it’s going to rain soon. My husband is waiting for me. I better go. Insha Allah , we’ll keep in touch. Let’s keep each other in our prayers.”
About the Author
Maria Mahat’s journey into writing has been nothing short of divine. Since 2015, this accidental author, publisher, educator, and storyteller has written over 22 children’s picture books, middle-grade chapter books, short stories in anthologies, and this novel.
In addition to writing, Maria enjoys mini retreats, having coffee or tea while reading a good book or watching a film. She is also involved in various community initiatives that support women and children.
Based in Singapore, Maria believes that writing has the power to ignite her imagination, take her to new places, and connect her with readers around the world.
Connect with Maria on the following social media platforms: Maria Mahat
maria_mahat
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