At thirty-four, Fatima had built a marriage, a calling, and a life of unmistakable joy as an expat in the blessed city of Madinah - and was quietly running her own body into the ground without knowing it.
The night her husband Hamza finds her gasping for breath in her sleep changes everything they thought they understood about faith, balance, and time.
Told in alternating voices across two timelines - the forty-eight hours she doesn't remember, and the years that led to them - Hasbunallah moves between the rice fields of Bali, the plains of Arafat during Hajj, the Prophet's Mosque at dawn, and the ordinary mornings neither of them knew to treasure until they almost lost them.
This is a novel about a body that finally insists on rest. About a marriage that learns, slowly and imperfectly, to say the true thing out loud. About two sons who watch their parents come apart and come back together. And about a sentence - Hasbunallahu wa ni'mal wakeel, Allah is sufficient for us, and He is the best disposer of affairs - that travels from a husband's desperate prayer in a hospital corridor to a wife's quiet, recovered voice on an ordinary evening.
Warm, honest, and rooted in real expat life, real faith, and real fear, Hasbunallah is for anyone who has ever mistaken exhaustion for devotion - and anyone who needs reminding that the people we love deserve the truest version of our presence while we still have days left to give it.