Putting the Pen Down… For Now: Wrapping Up Chapter 4 of Love From Al-Khadhimiya

After six months of illustrating, scripting, rewriting, and emotionally investing in the world of Love From Al-Khadhimiya, I’ve finally completed the fourth (and possibly final) chapter of this unexpected manga journey. When I first conceptualized this project, I had no intention of writing a full series. One chapter—just one. A standalone, heartfelt one-shot about a divorced Iraqi woman and the African American man who saw her soul behind her scars. I wanted it to be an artistic exhale, a chance to explore faith, cultural wounds, spiritual healing, and the complicated beauty of human connection. But stories, like love, often take you places you didn’t plan to go.

Now, four chapters later, I’m closing this arc, not necessarily for good, but for now. And it feels like the right time to pause.

The Accidental Series: How One Chapter Became Four

Let me take you back for a second. Love From Al-Khadhimiya started as an emotional response to some of the unspoken realities I’ve observed—through study, research, and imagination—about women living under cultural constraints, especially around marriage, divorce, and societal redemption.

Zulaikha, the main character, emerged as a woman who had been through so many temporary marriages (Muktah marriages) that she no longer believed in permanence. She had become numb, stripped of hope, and was simply surviving.

But then came Asad—an African American convert to Islam, wandering through Iraq on a personal pilgrimage, seeking peace and perhaps penance. He finds her on the brink of suicide. And instead of trying to save her through pity, he offers her something different: respect. That was always the core of their relationship.

I poured everything into that first chapter, and it ended up being 20 pages long. That was supposed to be the end.

But as I finished it, a strange thing happened. The characters kept whispering. I wanted to know Asad’s story. I wanted to show his pain, his past, and his sense of responsibility for Zulaikha—not just as a man, but as a human being who understands what it means to be abandoned and broken. Chapter 2 was born from that curiosity, written entirely from his point of view.

Then came Chapter 3, and then Chapter 4. Each one flowed more easily, building layers, exploring new emotions, and pushing me deeper into unfamiliar but necessary territory: the sexual tension between two religiously devout people, the scars of being culturally "impure," and the awkward, sacred dance of trying to build a marriage out of ruins.

A Risky, Risqué Story

Here’s the thing: Love From Al-Khadhimiya isn’t your average romance manga. It’s not fluffy. It’s not fan-servicey. And while it’s deeply spiritual, it’s also painfully real. It touches on Islamic customs that many would rather keep out of the creative space—especially when paired with graphic storytelling.

This is not meant to disrespect Islam. On the contrary, I wrote Love From Al-Khadhimiya from a place of deep reverence for the emotional intricacies of Muslim life. But reverence doesn’t mean silence. It doesn’t mean censorship of the truth, even if that truth is wrapped in vulnerability, sensuality, or trauma.

That’s why I say it’s a “risky” story. I know not everyone will understand the fusion of faith, failed marriages, human touch, and second chances. I know the art—some of which contains implications of intimacy, spiritual awakening, and emotional exposure—might make some people uncomfortable.

But that’s the point. If you’re not a little uncomfortable, are you really seeing someone else’s truth?

Six Months of Creative Isolation

Working on Love From Al-Khadhimiya felt like stepping into a silent room where time didn’t exist. I’d sit down to draw, and the world would blur. Sometimes, I’d go twelve hours straight, ink bleeding through my fingers, script revisions piling up, panel sequences changing over and over.

I can honestly say: I became a method mangaka during this time. I felt Zulaikha’s shame. I carried Asad’s guilt. Every line, every angle, every decision was tied to emotion. I cried more than once. I deleted entire pages more than once. I second-guessed myself a thousand times. But I never stopped. Not until this chapter—this quiet, soft landing point—was done.

Why I'm Putting It on the Back Burner

Let me be honest: I’m exhausted. Creatively, emotionally, even spiritually, Love From Al-Khadhimiya demanded more from me than I expected. So, after this fourth chapter, I’m taking a breath. This doesn’t mean I’m abandoning the story forever. I still love these characters. I still want to explore what happens if Zulaikha tries to assimilate into American society. I want to see how she handles Asad’s past resurfacing. I want to dig deeper into the Islamic themes of forgiveness, cultural judgment, and the search for stability.

But for now, it’s time to let the readers breathe with me.

Let’s see how Chapter 1 does. Let’s see if this story even wants to be a longer series. And while it simmers on the back burner, I’ve got some other things cooking.

What’s Next? A New Manga & Fresh Content

First, I’ve been dying to catch up on some of my other stories. I’ve let some incredible characters sit on the shelf too long. They’re calling me.

Second, I want to create more video content—YouTube, breakdowns of my art process, behind-the-scenes of how I construct a manga as a method artist, maybe even vlog-style reflections on storytelling, spirituality, and the creative hustle.

Third… drumroll... I want to launch a new manga project: Open Marriage in Montreal.

This one’s going to be a totally different flavor—romantic, controversial, witty, and complex in its own way. It deals with the complications of an intercultural couple who attempt a progressive relationship model while dealing with cultural expectations, lingering guilt, and the fine line between freedom and chaos.

It’ll explore themes of sexual honesty, polyamory, emotional betrayal, and perhaps even the healing of broken norms. I’m very excited about it, and I think it’ll be a bold departure from the more melancholic tone of Love From Al-Khadhimiya. Still emotionally raw, but maybe with more chaos and humor.

Oh—and merch. Yes. I’m finally going to do something with my art outside of storytelling. I want to make prints, stickers, shirts, posters—maybe even a coloring book of my sketches. My drawing style has evolved so much through Love From Al-Khadhimiya, and I think it’s time to let it out into the world in other forms.

Was It Worth It?

Absolutely.

Even if no one reads this manga (though I hope you do), the act of making it changed me. It made me more disciplined. It made me more courageous. It taught me to slow down and listen to what characters want to say—not just what I want them to represent.

It made me believe that a story doesn’t have to please everyone. It just has to be true. And truth, especially in a medium like manga, is incredibly rare.

Final Thoughts: Is This the End?

No. It’s not.

This might be the end of the first arc. It might be the last time I draw Zulaikha crying in her room or Asad trying not to touch her out of respect. It might be the last time I illustrate the alleyways of Al-Khadhimiya or the sacred spaces of a Baghdad mosque for a while.

But the story is still alive.

It lives in my sketchbooks. It lives in my drafts. It lives in every reader who sees themselves in the pain and hope that these characters carry.

If Love From Al-Khadhimiya resonates with people—if it makes even one person feel seen, understood, or brave enough to love again—then I’ll know it was worth every page.

But for now, I’m saying: pause.

Not goodbye.

Pause.

And that’s okay.

Stay tuned.