Asiya and the Purple Cast

Asiya loved gymnastics. Every Saturday, she and her little sister Sana went to the girls' gymnastics club at the Bolton leisure centre. They came home with pink cheeks and new moves to show everyone.

Next Saturday was special: the club display, her very first one. Asiya had practised her cartwheel so often that Ammi said the living room rug was getting thin.

Then, on Monday, it rained. Hurrying to school, Asiya slipped on the wet leaves by the park and, bump, landed hard on her arm.

At the hospital, a kind doctor looked at the X-ray. "It's broken, I'm afraid," she said gently. "You'll need a cast for about six weeks."

Six weeks. The display was in five days.

Asiya came home with a heavy purple cast and a heavy feeling inside. When Sana ran up with a felt-tip pen, Asiya snapped, "No! Go away!" She stomped upstairs and cried into her pillow.

Later, Ammi came in, sat on the bed and stroked her hair.

"It's not fair," Asiya sobbed. "I practised SO much."

"I know how hard you practised, jaan," said Ammi softly. "It's okay to cry. Crying isn't the opposite of sabr. And you can tell Allah all about it. He always hears you."

Asiya sniffed. "Then what IS sabr?"

"Sabr means you don't give up," said Ammi, "and you don't get cross with everyone around you, because you trust that Allah knows best."

Asiya thought of Sana's sad little face, and her cheeks went hot.

"The Prophet ﷺ told us something special," Ammi went on. "How wonderful things are for a believer! Everything that happens to them is good for them. When something happy comes, they thank Allah, and that is good for them. When something hard comes, they are patient, and that is good for them too."

"Even a broken arm?" whispered Asiya.

"Even a broken arm, if we're patient with it," said Ammi, and kissed the top of her head.

That night, Asiya made dua. "Ya Allah, my arm hurts and I'm really sad about the display. Please help me to be patient." Her heart felt a little lighter, like a school bag with one heavy book taken out.

In the morning, she said sorry to Sana and let her draw a wobbly flower on the cast.

"I'm in the display too, with the little ones," Sana sighed. "But my forward roll always goes sideways."

So every evening that week, Asiya became Coach Asiya. "Tuck your chin in. Hands flat. Roll like a hedgehog!" Sana rolled sideways, then a little less sideways, then perfectly straight.

On Saturday, Asiya sat in the audience with Ammi. When her own group walked out, her tummy gave a little squeeze. But when Sana did a beautiful forward roll and looked up to find her, Asiya cheered the loudest of all, waving her good arm high.

The weeks went slowly, and the cast itched, but Asiya ticked off each day. At last, the cast came off. Asiya's arm looked thin and pale, but it was hers again. "Alhamdulillah," she whispered.

Back at the club, she started slowly, one careful stretch at a time. "There's another display in the spring," said her coach. "In sha Allah," said Asiya. Allah knows the best time for everything, and she knew now that she could wait.

That night, she rested her arm on the soft duvet and wiggled her fingers, one, two, three, four, five. She thought sleepily about happy days and hard days. With thanks and with sabr, both could be good. Then Asiya closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.