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The Book

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  ✦ Positioning Statement “Aligning Worlds” is not a fantasy novel. It’s a soul-coded blueprint disguised as fiction. In a literary landscape full of magical realism and cultural mythology, this novel does something quietly radical: it dares to reflect the original, divine architecture of the soul through the lens of story. Set at the edge of perception where the seen and unseen meet, Aligning Worlds draws on Qur’anic cosmology and timeless metaphysical truths—not to explain them, but to evoke them. This is not a tale about empowerment, but surrender. Not about finding oneself, but remembering the blueprint one was always meant to live. Perfect for readers drawn to The Forty Rules of Love or The Conference of the Birds , but seeking a narrative less romanticized and more rooted, more real. ✦ Back-Cover Blurb Some stories entertain. Others reveal. When a young woman uncovers a mysterious stencil etched into the margins of her world, she begins a journey that will undo eve...
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Chapter 7: The Awakening Within

Zahra sat back slowly,  the stencil still cradled between her fingers, its weight less physical than spiritual. The room around her seemed to recede, the dust motes in the slanting light dissolving into constellations. Inside her chest, something stirred — an echo, a pulse, a thread unspooling through time. Her breath slowed. Memories not her own — or perhaps memories that were hers, but folded deep beneath layers of forgetting — began to surface like dawn breaking over a still sea. She saw flashes of hands, ancient and worn, guiding ink across parchment. Fingers tracing prayers not just in words, but in sacred geometry, binding sky and earth. She felt the steady beat of a heart syncing with the rhythm of a chant — a lullaby humming through centuries. A whispered phrase rose within her, delicate yet insistent: “Where the light returns, the lineage breathes.” It was no longer words on a page. It was a living breath — her breath. Her eyes closed, and a vision unfolded: A woma...
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✧ Scene: The Manuscript Opens Itself

✧ Scene: The Manuscript Opens Itself The room they entered was quiet but charged — the kind of silence that listens back. Dust-laced light filtered through high windows, catching the gold leaf on aged Qur'anic pages, old ink maps, and genealogy scrolls. Books lined the walls like sentinels, their spines bowed with memory. Aaric moved to the central table and laid the manuscript down with care. Its leather binding, cracked and worn, gave off the faint scent of sandal and cedar. Zahra pulled a stool close, brushing her fingertips over the cover as if it were a pulse. For a moment, neither opened it. It felt like a being, not a book. Then, slowly, Aaric lifted the cover. The script was unmistakable. Zahra recognized the hand immediately — layered, as he had said. His grandmother’s writing, delicate yet firm, interspersed with red marginalia that hadn’t made sense until now. “She wasn’t just copying,” Zahra whispered. “She was encoding.” Aaric pointed to a sequence in the margin: a rep...
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The Pen of TimeChapter Title: The Pen and What They Did Not Write

Zahra sat at her wooden desk,  immersed in spiritual solitude. The soft scent of sandalwood rose from a nearby burner, mingling with jasmine tea left untouched beside her. A brass lamp cast a golden halo across the page, its light steady and warm. Her fingers rested on the open Qur’an, slowly tracing the letters of the Bismillah. Her eyes moved between Surah Yasin and Surah Qalam , searching not for surface meaning, but for the structure within — the map hidden behind the form. Her method wasn’t academic. It was devotional, embodied. Her breath had to be aligned — not shallow, not distracted — for the ink to yield anything of meaning. She paused before the first ayah of Surah Qalam . نٓ ۚ وَٱلْقَلَمِ وَمَا يَسْطُرُونَ Nun. By the Pen, and what they inscribe. The words didn’t just echo in the room. They pulsed through her chest. Nun — the curve of potential, suspended in stillness. Qalam — the force that renders the unseen into form. Wa mā ...
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✧ Scene: The Manuscript Opens Itself

✧ Scene: The Manuscript Opens Itself The room they entered was quiet but charged — the kind of silence that listens back. Dust-laced light filtered through high windows, catching the gold leaf on aged Qur'anic pages, old ink maps, and genealogy scrolls. Books lined the walls like sentinels, their spines bowed with memory. Aaric moved to the central table and laid the manuscript down with care. Its leather binding, cracked and worn, gave off the faint scent of sandal and cedar. Zahra pulled a stool close, brushing her fingertips over the cover as if it were a pulse. For a moment, neither opened it. It felt like a being, not a book. Then, slowly, Aaric lifted the cover. The script was unmistakable. Zahra recognized the hand immediately — layered, as he had said. His grandmother’s writing, delicate yet firm, interspersed with red marginalia that hadn’t made sense until now. “She wasn’t just copying,” Zahra whispered. “She was encoding.” Aaric pointed to a sequence in the margin: a rep...
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✧ Scene: Reunion Threshold

✧ Scene: The Manuscript Opens Itself The room they entered was quiet but charged — the kind of silence that listens back. Dust-laced light filtered through high windows, catching the gold leaf on aged Qur'anic pages, old ink maps, and genealogy scrolls. Books lined the walls like sentinels, their spines bowed with memory. Aaric moved to the central table and laid the manuscript down with care. Its leather binding, cracked and worn, gave off the faint scent of sandal and cedar. Zahra pulled a stool close, brushing her fingertips over the cover as if it were a pulse. For a moment, neither opened it. It felt like a being, not a book. Then, slowly, Aaric lifted the cover. The script was unmistakable. Zahra recognized the hand immediately — layered, as he had said. His grandmother’s writing, delicate yet firm, interspersed with red marginalia that hadn’t made sense until now. “She wasn’t just copying,” Zahra whispered. “She was encoding.” Aaric pointed to a sequence in the margin: a rep...
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✧ Scene: Aaric Reads Zahra’s Message

Aaric sat alone in his apartment,  the city lights filtering through the tall windows behind him — blurred and distant. The manuscript copy lay sprawled across his desk, its presence heavy, like a voice too long silenced. He hadn’t moved much since returning from his father’s house. The confrontation echoed in his mind like a bell that wouldn’t stop ringing. The words “I chose not to indulge her” repeated over and over, not just as betrayal — but as indictment. Of him. Of everything he thought he knew. His phone buzzed. He reached for it absently, then froze when he saw the sender. Zahra. He opened the message, eyes scanning slowly, as if each word carried more weight than the last: Aaric, I have been following the same thread you uncovered. The erasure runs deeper than history—it is in the soul, the very essence of the message. There is a reason we have been drawn to these fragments. It is more than coincidence. I think we are part of what must be remembered. Will you c...
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