Sharminara Haque

Thu Apr 29 2021 04:00:00 GMT+0000 (Coordinated Universal Time)

44315Sar

Every time we went to Bangladesh, the lagar bari fua (the boy next door) and his family would look out for us. His family and my family were neighbors before I was born. They were always good and generous. In 2018, my dad decided to get my two older brothers and me married. We went back to Bangladesh, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy next door. I thought about him during the entire two-day plane ride. He was sweet with his mom and sisters and everyone knew him as the good and quiet guy.

Both of my brother’s marriages were settled but I kept rejecting proposals. Something didn’t feel right so I finally spoke to my Nani, my best friend. I told her how I felt about him and that I wanted to marry him. I didn’t care if he wasn’t rich or educated. If I married him we could build our lives together in America. My Nani just looked at me and said “he’s the one.’

I didn’t question my feelings after that. I told my dad I wanted to marry him, Jabed. My dad and parents were screaming in joy. They didn’t care about his financial situation or education. They just knew he’d keep me happy. We were Islamically married on November 25th, 2018. My husband told me then that he had been in love with me ever since we were little. He would always smile back to the little moments, like when we played carem and koothkooth. He had been praying nonstop to marry me and for me to marry him. I looked at him and said ‘is that why I kept seeing dreams of you in sujood just praying?’ And he said that he had a dream of his late grandmother blessing him when he told her the news of our marriage.

His late grandmother passed away in 2001, waiting for her husband who had been lost for 48 years to return home. In January 2020, I saw a Facebook post of an old man from our village who had been lost the same 48 years. He was in the hospital with a broken arm, crying for his kids. His memories had returned and I knew he was my husband's lost grandfather. He looked like my father-in-law in every way possible.

Allah is the greatest. At the time, my younger brother and my dad were in Bangladesh and I was able to get in contact with my dad right away. My dad took my in-laws after jummah and ran to Osmani hospital in Sylhet. He confirmed that it was my husband’s lost grandfather. Many believe he was possessed by jinna mumins (Muslim jinns). Many said he had schizophrenia and a woman who was like a daughter to him took care of him all that time.

After so many years, it was a bittersweet reunion with tears and joy. I know my story seems like a movie. I had hope and faith in our marriage and despite tough financial times, we are stable and happy, and Alhamdulillah for that. My husband's educational background didn’t matter. He got his green card, license, and a job. He bought a car and we finally live in our new home. Keep your cool and go with the flow my loves. Everything happens for a reason.

Love, Family, Islam