From Thought to Reality

The Umrah plan was still not public. No one outside their small circle had been told. There was a quiet fear that ran beneath the surface — not doubt exactly, but a protective instinct. They worried that speaking the dream aloud might somehow invite an unseen force to take it away. The evil eye, some called it. A hesitation perhaps rooted in superstition, but something they all felt nonetheless. So they kept it close. Held it gently. Carried it in silence.

Meanwhile, the other international trip — the one that had existed before Umrah entered the conversation — had finally materialised. Team S was now preparing to leave. And suddenly there was a strange tension in the air. Not anger, not resentment. Just something unnamed. A quiet wedge had formed between the two groups, and no one quite knew how to name it. Everything felt blurry, with both departures aligned so closely.

Then someone suggested a meet-up. The idea came simply, as good ideas often do. Both teams would gather before they left — before they went their separate ways. It made sense. More than that, it felt necessary. And so they met.

A few of the girls had thoughtfully brought small gifts for Team Umrah to carry with them. Both teams wished each other well — each path sacred in its own way. And with that, the air felt lighter again.

As the day drew closer, life moved on as it always does. Work continued. Responsibilities stacked. Routines held steady. Shehnaz shuttled between New Jersey and New York for work, her weeks marked by early mornings and long drives. Nazia was busy with school — grading, planning. Soni ran her textile business, managing orders and clients with quiet efficiency. Saji worked in pharma, balancing the demands of her job with her family.

No one in Team Umrah had begun packing. There was no frenzy, no rush — as if they were already prepared, not materially but spiritually. This wasn't a trip that required new things. It required only presence.

Shehnaz was tired. The weather had been relentless, one snowstorm after another. The weekend before departure brought yet another heavy storm, blanketing everything in white and slowing the world to a crawl. She had planned to pack her cabin bag that weekend, but it grew busier than expected. She decided to travel light, bringing only essentials. Monday arrived. She drove early to New York for work. Three days, then back home to catch the midnight flight. Tight, but doable. Monday and Tuesday passed swiftly. She spoke frequently with Nazia, keeping the connection alive.

Wednesday, however, was different. Wednesday was tough.

Shehnaz left work at the usual time, exhausted. She called her brother Afthu, and a few others — just to say aloud: "I'm leaving tonight." She missed her exit toward New Jersey, adding thirty minutes to the drive. She kept Nazia updated, the two of them tracking each other like breadcrumbs toward the same destination. Once home, she realised her cabin bag wasn't quite enough. She quickly packed a second, relying on her friends to catch anything she might have missed.

Dinner was quick. Shower faster. Salah done. Bags weighed and ready. Saying goodbye was the hardest part. She hugged her sons, holding them a little longer than usual. Her husband Sarin stood quietly nearby. The snow on the driveway was thick, icy, cold. Two bags loaded into the trunk. Shehnaz kissed her sons once more before stepping into the car.

They drove to Soni's home first, picking up Soni, Naufal Bhai, and their daughter Aami. Then toward Newark Airport. Conversation was minimal — a few words, settling into quiet ease. The drive was smooth. They reached the airport well ahead of time.

The red Turkish Airlines logo stood out sharply against the white walls of the terminal. Sarin and Naufal waited in the check-in queue while Mehboob and Nazia arrived with Imaanu. Excitement began seeping through the exhaustion. The children's playful banter lifted spirits around them. Cabin baggage became a small point of contention at the counter, but the team calmly made their decision, willing to take the risk.

Farewells to husbands were quiet and heavy with everything that didn't need to be said. Yet adventure awaited. And that pull was stronger than the ache of leaving.

Shehnaz, Nazia, and Soni passed through security smoothly, comforted by being together. They found a table in the food court, shared a cheesesteak, laughed, observed the crowd, and talked about the journey ahead. A Mallu family sat nearby, prompting the familiar, quietly amusing thought — what if they assume no one around them understands, and then realise someone does?

Time moved quickly. Shehnaz thought of her sons' love of planes, of Sarin's fascination with aircraft, of the strange, unfolding fact of this adventure. They gathered their things and headed to the gate. Everything fell into place. Boarding completed, seats secured, hearts full of anticipation.

The lights of the city faded below as the plane climbed higher — higher, closer. In that quiet ascent, surrounded by the hum of engines and the warmth of those beside her, they whispered silent duas into the dark.