Abdushakur is an eccentric artist, known throughout the city for his intricate and meticulous work of art. He spent his days immersed in his work, creating masterpieces that seemed to suggest a degree of craziness. One day, as he sat in a Starbucks, diligently working on one of his pieces, he heard an unfamiliar voice.
“Excuse me,” the voice said, interrupting Abdushakur’s creative trance. He looked up to find a man standing before him, an air of skepticism surrounding him like a dark cloud.
Abdushakur put down his pen and greeted the man, “Yea? What do you want?”
The man looked at Abdushakur’s artwork and then back at him, a stupid grin on his face. “I couldn’t help but notice your talent. But tell me, do you really believe that Allah is guiding your hand as you work?”
Abdushakur just looked at the guy with a serious expression, accustomed to dealing with various fools in his city. “Look,” he began, “do you believe in the existence of the wind?”
The atheist raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the unexpected question. “Of course, I do. I can feel it, and I’ve seen its effects.”
Abdushakur nodded knowingly. “Exactly. So, you believe in the wind even though you can’t actually see it, only its effects?”
The guy hesitated but eventually nodded in agreement.
Abdushakur’s eyes, unamused, stared at the guy. “Good! You see, son, Allah is like the wind, and my art is the effect. Just because you can’t see Allah guiding my pen doesn’t mean He’s not there.”
Someone in the crowd yelled out, “Aww snap! He gotchu, my guy. Deadass!” The atheist couldn’t help but become slightly annoyed. Abdushakur’s slick analogy had turned the tables on him, making him look mad foolish.
Realizing he had been outwitted, the atheist sighed and extended his hand to Abdushakur. “That’s a creative answer, artist. You’ve given me something to think about.”
Abdushakur shook the man’s hand. With a nod, he returned to his art work, leaving the atheist pondering the enigmatic connection between art, belief, and the Unseen Force (Allah) that shapes our world.