Finding Faith

By S. H. Miah

The latest short story collection from S. H. Miah. A collection of dazzling stories that are certain to inspire.

 

The Finding Faith collection includes:

• Lost at Sea
• At The Very End
• To Live For
• Old Crutches
• Saving
• Path of a Prophet

If you want to better your faith, these aren't stories you want to miss. Prepare to be dazzled by S. H. Miah's latest literary pursuit, a short story collection to inspire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Muslim Fiction Project
• Release date: Aug 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223789390

Book preview

Finding Faith

A Collection of Inspirational Short Stories

Lost at Sea

At The Very End

To Live For

Old Crutches

Saving

Path of a Prophet

S. H. Miah

Copyright © 2023 by S. H. Miah

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This publication is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Introduction

Lost at Sea

Blurb

Lost at Sea

At The Very End

Blurb

At The Very End

To Live For

Blurb

To Live For

Old Crutches

Blurb

Old Crutches

Saving

Blurb

Saving

Path of a Prophet

Blurb

Path of a Prophet

Newsletter

About MFP

About S. H. Miah

Introduction

As a born Muslim, I love hearing revert stories. I love hearing stories of those born without the Islamic guidance, and how they managed to, in their own individual ways, embark on their journey towards Islam.

This short story collection is an homage to those who have reverted, those who will inshAllah in the future, and all Muslims tiring in their pursuit of bettering their relationship with Allah.

I hope that Allah accepts this collection from me. And I hope that you, no matter who you are, can find inspiration within these pages.

JazakAllahu Khairan for reading,

S. H. Miah

Lost at Sea

A Short Story of Finding Faith

S. H. Miah

Copyright © 2023 by S. H. Miah

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This publication is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Blurb

Ginny always wished to be a sailor. Always wished to follower her father’s footsteps amongst the waves.

She forays into the sea for the first time, in the worst situation imaginable. And she loses herself at sea.

But, in the process, she uncovers something far greater. Something she could have never foreseen.

A short story of finding faith by S. H. Miah, perfect for fans of heart-wrenching stories with inspirational twists.

Lost at Sea

Ginny always wished to be a sailor, ever since she saw that wooden ship languishing atop her father’s desk, just waiting to be seen, to be pored over by a young girl much too curious of the world around her.

Ginny, at the tender age of four, had dragged over a little stool her mother used as a footrest beneath her reading chair in their quaint living room. Ginny had promptly deposited the stool right below her father’s desk after hauling it, with little thumps on every step along the staircase, to his room. The stool was heavy, far too heavy.

But Ginny Hargreaves was determined if anything.

Using all the muscles in her four year old body, and with the smell of heady excitement fuelling her on, she climbed onto the stool. Her balance teetered for just a second, then stabilised itself. The world looked smaller, luscious red carpet swirling beneath her, and Ginny felt the first shivers of her now iron-clad fear of heights.

She’d reached from that stool to the heavens above, scraped her hand across the chipped and cracked wood of her father’s mostly unused desk, and swiped the ship off in one motion. It hit the carpet, making not a noise. Ginny hopped down after a moment’s hesitation, a gasp of excitement egging her on. The ship was finally within her grasp.

It was made of wood, and smelt of the fresh pine lingering in the picturesque forest trail just outside their townhouse. It was, strangely, both rough and soft to touch at the same time. Rough since the wood was carved with harsh slits, detailed to perfection by its maker. Soft since it carried the essence of her father’s travels, her father’s source of joy in life—other than Ginny herself of course.

She turned the ship over in her fingers, gentle fingers, careful not to smudge the surface since her mother chastised her about it all the time when they finished finger painting. Ginny would almost rub her nose and mouth and hair in the mixture of green and red, much to her mother’s annoyance.

But the ship wasn’t finger paint. It was special. Dear to Ginny’s heart in a way her four year old self could not express, only feel.

Ginny stared into the ship’s hull, poked a finger across the top deck and down the ridged ladder that led to the lower decks. She positioned the ship in her hand such that she could see into the lower floors.

But the entire ship was empty. Four year old Ginny couldn't believe it. Why was the ship empty? Why wasn't it filled with gold and treasures like those stories her father had regaled?

Ginny could imagine herself on the top deck, the blue sea magnificently swirling in every direction she looked. The wind would be soft, like a hug from her mother, the breeze carrying the scent of infinite life beneath the surface of the waves. A scent of vitality, of being able to achieve dreams.

Ginny would then climb down the ladder, into the lower deck, and open the chest on the far side. And there, right there, would be her treasure, gold and silver in droves, stacked with a sparkling twinkle like her father's left eye.

Is that me ship? a voice said.

Ginny gasped, whirled around, and the ship proceeded to fall from her grasp and hit the carpet.

Sorry to scare ya, pumpkin, her father said, his wrinkled smile so endearing Ginny could picture at any moment. He rubbed her hair with a calloused hand, then picked the ship up from where it had fallen. I take it ya want to be a sailor then?

Ginny nodded. I want to go on the sea like you Daddy.

I'm sure ya will, one day. I'm sure ya will. But her father's eyes were hooded for just a second. As if the prospect of his daughter floating across the waves brought with it dread.

But four year old Ginny couldn't sense that emotion. She only felt the aura of excitement breathing off her father. And she let it wash her over.

I'll be the best sailor ever, Ginny said.

Her father nodded with a smile, then gave her the ship again to take a closer look around.

What Ginny didn't know was that her first voyage across the waves would be coming a lot sooner than she imagined.

And in the worst circumstances possible.

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Reading another one of them sea stories again? Ginny's father asked. He was wrapping a khaki green raincoat, the one with the straps like her mother's dungarees, across his body. His smile was always in place, though at the sight of the novel Ginny was reading in the living room that afternoon, his expression soured.

They're good stories, Ginny said.

Her father humphed. "Good fiction, I think is the phrase ya looking for. Bears nothing on the real word, let me tell ya."

Ginny turned to him, closing the book with a snap. What is the real world then? Cos I sure as hell don't know. Ginny's eyes narrowed, and she could tell her father smelt the hot tension crackling between them. I wonder why that is, huh?

Her father sighed. I just…I just want ya to be safe okay. Reading them sea stories instead of actually living them. It's a father's only wish to see their daughter safe, ya know. Especially when they’re eighteen and actually go out in the world.

Oh I know all right. A little too safe if you ask me.

Her father paused for a second, a thousand emotions flying through his eyes in the space of a mere moment.

I'll take ya next week Friday then, he finally said. When the water’s calm we can take a trip around. But just one trip, ya hear me?

Ginny's eyes widened. She could barely believe it, barely contain her excitement. You will?

He nodded, jerkily, like the motion cranked his neck six ways to a Saturday. I will.

Ginny jumped from her seat and embraced her father. Drew in the heady scent of the waves he always carried with him like an aura.

Thanks, Dad, she said.

Her father nodded, tearing up slightly, then turned to leave through the hallway. Ginny heard the door shut, then silence waded through their townhouse.

She'd have to make them dinner tonight. Maybe a tuna casserole since her father loved the fish. Or maybe the lethargy that had overtaken her after her mother's death would kick in once more. In that case, she'd probably make some fish and chips in the air fryer and be done with it.

She needed her father's life. A life of the sea. A life of the waves.

Next Friday would start that voyage across her life. The voyage she'd been waiting to embark on for so long. The voyage that was her destiny ever since stumbling upon that ship atop her father’s desk.

It was only meant to be a quick check up for her father. Get on the boat with a couple of his workmates and survey one of the work projects they couldn't check that day because of the tide making the water murky.

At least, that's what Ginny had been told. She'd no reason to doubt it.

But when her father hadn't returned two hours later, and sunset was bordering on the horizon, panic began tearing at Ginny.

And she realised her journey across the waves would start a lot sooner than next Friday.

And in circumstances she could have never imagined.

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Ginny's father always used