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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."

Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. 'I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. Just maybe. 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, how the doctors had informed my father privately that there was not much hope that Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn't told though. 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? Hmm? In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. And you Hanan, how long are you going to live? 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.

At eight O'clock in the morning came a pounding on my door. I don't usually wake up at this time. There was crying. Confusion. O Allah, what happened?

Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr. They took her immediately to the hospital ... Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.

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

After an eternity...

It was one O'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. 'Yes. You can come and see her now', said dad's voice on the other end. Dad's voice had changed, 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 long now, so very long. 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 dua' for her Noorah.

We arrived at the hospitals main entrance. One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident and a third's eyes were iced, you couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. We skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.

The nurse approached us. 'Let me take you to her.' As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was. She reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah's condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning.

'Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time.' This was the intensive care unit. Through the small window in the door and past the flurry of white robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.

'You may enter and say Salam to her on condition that you do not speak too long,' mum 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 said.

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

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