Through the Shadows: Zarnab's Journey from Despair to Hope

The bright lights of Imtiaz Supermarket in Karachi buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare that only worsened Zarnab’s throbbing headache. She pushed her cart through the crowded aisles, her heart heavy with exhaustion. Her three children—Sarah, 9, Ali, 6, and Noor, just 3—clung to her as they moved through the store, their presence barely registering in Zarnab's numb state. She loved them, she knew she did, but the constant weight of worry and despair had dimmed that love, trapping her in a haze of emptiness.

Ali tugged on her sleeve. "Ammi(Mama)", can we get the biscuits? Please?" His wide, innocent eyes broke her heart. She wanted to say yes, but she barely had enough to cover the essentials. Every rupee was stretched to the limit these days.

"Not today, beta(Son)," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Even saying no felt like a failure—a reminder of everything she couldn’t provide. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him as they moved toward the checkout line.

Her husband, Ahmed, had been deployed to Afghanistan for the third time. Each mission took him further away from her, from their family. There was no support here—no relatives nearby, no friends to lean on. It was just Zarnab and her children, with each day feeling like a battle she was losing. The emptiness gnawed at her, whispering thoughts she tried so hard to silence: They would be better off without you.

At the checkout counter, Zarnab nervously loaded the basics onto the conveyor belt—flour, sugar, rice, and diapers for Noor. The total flashed on the screen: Rs. 10,200($36.66). Her heart sank. She knew there was no way she had that much in her account.

Her hands shook as she handed over her card, a silent prayer on her lips. The cashier swiped it, then looked up with a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Your card’s been declined."

Zarnab’s face burned with shame. The people behind her in line shifted impatiently. She could feel their eyes on her, judging, wondering why she couldn’t even afford basic groceries. Sarah tugged at her kurta, confused and worried.

"I... I’ll have to put some things back," Zarnab stammered, her voice breaking. She reached for the diapers, ready to return them first, when a soft voice from behind her interrupted.

"Let me take care of it."

Zarnab turned to see a woman, maybe in her late thirties, smiling kindly at her. The woman stepped forward and handed her card to the cashier.

"No, I— I can’t let you do that," Zarnab started, her face flushed with embarrassment.

But the woman gently placed a hand on Zarnab’s arm. "Please. We all need a little help sometimes."

Tears welled up in Zarnab’s eyes. She stood there, frozen, as the woman paid for the groceries and helped her bag them, chatting easily with her children. It felt like a dream, a small act of kindness that was so overwhelming in a life where everything had been about survival.

As the woman handed Zarnab the last of the bags, she smiled again. "Just pay it forward when you can." And then, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd of shoppers.

Zarnab stood there for a moment, stunned by what had just happened. No one had ever stepped in like that before. The heavy weight on her chest lifted, just a little, and for the first time in months, she felt something other than despair. Was this Allah's mercy reaching her when she needed it most?

---

That night, after putting the children to bed, Zarnab sat on the floor of her bedroom, her mind replaying the day’s events. She thought about the woman’s kindness and how it had shifted something deep within her. For the first time, the voice in her head wasn’t whispering hopelessness—it was quieter, almost silent.

She remembered a verse from the Qur’an that her mother used to tell her:

"And whoever saves one [life] – it is as if he had saved all of mankind."*

— **Surah Al-Ma'idah (5:32)

The woman in the supermarket had saved her that day. She hadn’t just paid for groceries; she had reminded Zarnab that she wasn’t alone. That there was still goodness in the world, and that with hardship, there could come ease. Zarnab felt hope stirring in her heart for the first time in so long.

---

The next morning, Zarnab made a decision. After dropping the kids at school, she would call her doctor. It had been months—maybe years—since she realized that she needed help, but now she was ready to ask for it. She wouldn’t let the darkness swallow her whole, not when her children needed her, and not when there was still light in the world, no matter how dim.

At breakfast, she hugged her children a little tighter. Sarah looked at her, surprised but smiling. "Ammi(Mama), are you okay?"

Zarnab smiled back, tears filling her eyes. "I will be, insha'Allah(If Allah wills)."

As the sun rose over Karachi, Zarnab whispered a prayer of gratitude. Allah had sent her an angel in the form of a stranger. And though the road ahead would still be difficult, Zarnab knew she had found the strength to keep going.

"...for indeed, with hardship [will be] ease."

— Surah Ash-Sharh (94:6)

There was hope again. She just needed to keep moving, one step at a time.