Every blessed Friday, before the time for Friday prayers arrived, I would make it a habit to get ready and head to the nearest mosque.
After living in Lahad Datu for decades and having performed Friday prayers at several different mosques, I eventually chose Masjid Gerakan Polis Marin Lahad Datu as my regular Friday mosque. It was only a few minutes away from the Palm Oil Industrial Cluster (POIC) Lahad Datu.
Whenever I saw engineers or staff still deeply occupied with their work at the office, I would urge them to stop for a while and join me. Sometimes, without much planning, two or three cars would be filled with colleagues, and we would make our way together to the mosque.
It had become our weekly destination.
There were several reasons why we chose this mosque instead of Masjid Ar-Raudah, the main district mosque in Lahad Datu, which was also not far from our workplace.
The congregation at Masjid Gerakan Polis Marin was smaller, parking was easier, and, importantly, it was much easier to leave after the Friday prayers.
But our Friday routine did not end at the mosque.
After completing the prayers, we would usually head to one of several nearby restaurants at Bandar Singgahmata. Each restaurant had its own specialty—grilled fish, steamed rice dishes, seafood, Western food, or simply a good cup of coffee.
The atmosphere would immediately change.
Faces that had looked serious and busy at the office would become cheerful once the food arrived. Everyone would enjoy the meals they had ordered while conversations moved far beyond the usual topics of work.
We shared experiences, discussed life, answered one another's questions, and, of course, enjoyed plenty of laughter.
Among our group was a young mechanical engineer named Raimi.
At that time, he was the only one among us who was still single and unmarried. Naturally, because of that, he often became the subject of our friendly conversations during those Friday lunches.
What made Raimi even more interesting was that, despite being from a younger generation, he did not have any social media accounts. In those days, that was rather unusual.
Several months passed.
Eventually, news reached us that Raimi had found someone and that a wedding date had been set for the following year.
Without being asked, I began sharing some thoughts with him about preparing for marriage.
I told him not to spend excessively on the wedding ceremony. I suggested that it would be better to save some money for the days after marriage, when real responsibilities would begin.
And if possible, I told him, prioritize what comes first according to the syariah—if both families and the couple had agreed, perform the akad nikah first.
The wedding celebration could always be arranged later.
At that time, my advice was nothing more than casual lunchtime conversation, mixed with laughter, jokes, and words of encouragement from the other colleagues around the table.
Almost two years later, I was transferred to another mill.
One day, I happened to see Raimi's WhatsApp status. It showed a photograph of his akad nikah, surrounded by some of our former colleagues.
I was genuinely happy to see the news.
I immediately called him.
“Wow, congratulations! You are married already! But why didn't you invite me?”
Raimi answered the phone with laughter and excitement.
He explained, “That was the akad nikah last month. The wedding ceremony will be held in September. You must come, boss!”
I fell silent for a moment.
Then he continued,
“Remember, boss? You were the one who told me to get married first and have the wedding ceremony later.”
His words touched me deeply.
I replied, “Congratulations, Raimi.”
Unfortunately, I was now thousands of kilometres away, across the sea, and work commitments made it difficult for me to attend his wedding ceremony.
I apologized and prayed that everything would go smoothly, that his wedding would be blessed and filled with Allah's mercy, and that he and his wife would remain happy together until they reached Jannah.
Raimi thanked me for my wishes.
The brief conversation ended.
I sat quietly by myself for a while, lost in thought.
My heart was filled with mixed emotions.
I was happy because my former colleague had finally started a family of his own.
I felt a little proud too—not because I had done anything extraordinary, but because a few simple words of advice, spoken casually during a Friday lunch, had somehow made an impact on another person's life.
Sometimes, we never realize how far our words can travel.
A piece of advice may be spoken casually, between a meal and a cup of coffee, accompanied by laughter and ordinary conversation. Yet, years later, those same words may still be remembered and may even influence an important decision in someone's life.
Today, Raimi has welcomed his first child.
Looking back, I realize that perhaps this is the true meaning of Qaulan Baligha—words that reach the heart, words that leave an impression, and words that may quietly become guidance in another person's journey.
That is my story today.
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