leaving little but a trace behind,

but you arrived and somehow came

to occupy a corner of my mind.

You were not promised, nor foreseen,

no prophecy foretold your name;

yet somewhere between what has been

and what became, you stayed the same.

You found me in my scattered days,

when I was neither whole nor sure,

and still, through all my changing ways,

your friendship remained steady and pure.

We made our memories out of little things,

out of conversations without an end,

out of the laughter ordinary moments bring,

and all the nonsense we somehow comprehend.

If life should lead us separate ways,

and years should soften what we knew,

I hope, beyond the passing days,

some part of me remains with you.

For you are more than just a friend,

more than a name my memories keep,

you are a chapter without an end,

a quiet promise my heart will keep.

And perhaps that is all I need to say,

though words could never quite convey

the quiet gratitude I carry through,

for having, even for a while,

a friendship as precious as you.

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Interviewer: Excuse me, please. May I have a few minutes of your time for a short interview?

Me: I’m actually in a bit of a hurry.

Interviewer: I promise it won’t take long. Just a few minutes.

Me: Alright, no problem.

Interviewer: First of all, what’s your name?

Me: Bint Dāwūd.

Interviewer: Alright. So, if you don’t mind, tell us a little about yourself. How would you describe yourself in three words?

Me: Confused, dramatic, and struggling.

Interviewer: Interesting. Could you explain those three words?

Me: Confused, because I’m still trying to figure out quite a lot of things about life and about myself.

As for dramatic… well, that’s simply me. I don’t think there’s much explanation required there.

And struggling? I’m a student. I think that explains itself.

Interviewer: So, what are your hobbies?

Me: Reading and writing, mainly. Those are the things I apparently spend most of my time doing.

Interviewer: You mentioned writing. Do you actually write?

Me: I do.

Interviewer: Have you published your first book?

Me: Yes and no.

Interviewer: How can it be both?

Me: I have written a book before, technically. But I wouldn’t really call it my first proper book. It was more of a test run, a period when I was still trying to discover myself as a writer.

So, yes, I’ve written a book. But no, I don’t quite consider it my debut.

I’m currently working on another book, and I think I’ll be much more comfortable calling that my first proper book when the time comes.

Interviewer: Interesting. What’s the title of the book you’ve already written?

Me: Dear Muslimah; Letters of Hope, Faith and Strength.

Interviewer: And what is it about?

Me: It’s specifically written for Muslim Sisters.

Interviewer: Fair enough. What about the book you’re currently working on? Would you like to tell us about it?

Me: No. Not yet.

Interviewer: Alright, we’ll respect the secrecy. So, how long have you been writing?

Me: Since 2019.

Interviewer: That’s quite a while. How did it all begin?

Me: I started writing during my junior secondary school days. At first, it was nothing serious. I was simply fascinated by those little storybooks we used to read as children, so I started creating my own.

I’d write them on sheets of paper and use broomsticks to hold the pages together, basically creating my own little homemade books.

Interviewer: That’s actually adorable.

Me: Smiles…

Interviewer: So what happened after that?

Me: As I progressed into secondary school, I gradually became more interested in poetry. I started turning little things that happened around me into poems.

Something could happen during the day and I’d somehow find a way to turn it into a poem. I think that was when I began taking writing a little more seriously.

After secondary school, I became even more intentional about it. And even now, I’m still learning, practising, and training myself as a writer.

So, that’s basically how my writing journey began.

Interviewer: Wow. That’s quite a journey. You’re a very inquisitive person, aren’t you?

Me: Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.

Interviewer: What’s something you’re currently trying to improve about yourself?

Me: Probably managing stress. I tend to take on a lot of things at once. I get excited about something, jump right into it, and before I realise it, I’m already overworking myself.

I do believe I’m achieving quite a lot, but I’m also learning that everything needs a pause in between. You can’t constantly be doing,without giving yourself time to breathe. So, I’m currently trying to learn how to slow down, manage my time better, and not overwhelm myself in the process.

Interviewer: What’s something you’re surprisingly good at?

Me: Creativity and writing. I think those are the two things I’d mention.

Interviewer: And what’s something you’re terribly bad at?

Me: Terribly bad at?

(pauses)

What could that be?

Honestly, I have no idea.

Interviewer: How do you balance being a student with writing?

Me: Oh, that’s a whole lot. Especially when writer’s block decides to show up.

Sometimes I feel demotivated and genuinely don’t know what to write, but at the same time, there’s this part of me saying, “You have to be consistent. You need to show up.”

And honestly, it isn’t always easy. It requires a lot of dedication.

I have a channel where I share my write-ups, and I also post on Substack. On some days, I could put out three or even five write-ups. On other days, I might post just one. It varies.

For me, the important thing is simply showing up. Even if I can’t do as much as I planned, I try not to disappear completely.

Interviewer: What inspired you to start writing?

Me: I honestly don’t know.

I’ve been writing since my junior secondary school days, so I’ve never really stopped to think about what exactly inspired me to begin.

But if I had to point to something, I’d probably say my love for novels and storybooks.

Back then, I'm obsessed with storybooks. I used to read a lot of them and I think they played a role in it.

I’m also someone who imagines things very vividly. I can literally sit somewhere and construct an entire scene in my head. So I think my love for books and my tendency to imagine things played a huge part in making me a writer.

Interviewer: Do you think writing chose you, or you chose writing?

Me: Both.

I don’t think I deliberately woke up one day and decided, “I’m going to become a writer.” It just gradually became a part of me.

Interviewer: What kind of writer do you hope to become?

Me: I don’t really have a fixed answer yet.

I’ve considered content writing and a few other areas, but what I genuinely enjoy the most is storytelling and poetry. I think those are the aspects of writing that feel most natural to me.

So, for now, I’m still exploring.

Interviewer: What’s the biggest challenge you face as a writer?

Me: Consistency and writer’s block.

Though, thankfully, I overcame a really bad phase of writer’s block some months ago. But as a writer, I think it’s something that can always come back at different points.

Interviewer: Where do you see your writing five years from now?

Me: Hmm… that’s a difficult one.

I honestly don’t know exactly where it’ll be five years from now, but I hope I’ll have grown into a much better writer. I hope I’ll have written and published books that I’m genuinely proud of, and that my writing will have reached people beyond the little space I occupy now.

I’m not entirely sure what the destination looks like yet, but I know I want to keep moving.

Interviewer: What keeps you going when you feel like giving up?

Me: Consistency, I think.

And belief. Believing that whatever I’m doing is worth continuing, even when I don’t immediately see the result.

Sometimes you just have to keep going.

Interviewer: What do you hope people feel when they read your writing?

Me: I want them to feel like they can relate to it.

Especially with my articles, some of what I write is simply for fun, while some of them carry a lesson or something I want people to take away.

I particularly love fiction, and whenever I write a story, I want the reader to enjoy it but also learn something from it, something they can carry with them after reading.

Interviewer: Wow. That’s quite a lot. It was really nice meeting you.

Me: Thank you. It was nice meeting you too.

Interviewer: And finally, if you had to introduce yourself without mentioning your name, your school, your course, or your work, who would you say you are?

Me: I’m a work in progress.

In the sense that I'm someone who is still figuring things out, still learning, still creating, and still trying to become the person I imagine myself being.

I was still lying like a baby in my matrimonial bed, wrapped comfortably in my blanket and cuddling my pillow like my life depended on it.

The weather was too chilly.

Standing up was simply not an option.

But then, I realized i had a husband.

And apparently, being a wife meant I had breakfast duties.

I was just about to gather the little courage I had left to leave my warm bed when I faintly heard the sound of utensils coming from the kitchen.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Wait.

What was that?

I listened carefully.

My eyes widened.

My sweet boy was doing the dishes.

Omo.

Marriage is beautiful.

I immediately pulled my blanket closer and settled back into bed.

Why should I disturb a man who was already helping his wife?

Let him finish his good work.

But after a while, my conscience wouldn't let me stay there.

So I finally got up, dragged myself to the kitchen and found my sweet husband there.

Without saying a word, I walked behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist.

A warm morning hug.

The kind of hug that says, “Good morning, my love, the calm to my soul.

I believe we're all married here, right?

...No?

Wait.

You're single?

Singlessssss!

My husband smiled as he enjoyed the hug.

Then he turned slightly and said,

“My sweet pie, good morning. I hope you slept well.”

At that moment, I became a baby.

“No, honey,” I replied softly. “I missed waking up and seeing you.”

Awww.

See me being romantic.

Someone should give me an award nawwww.

I wanted to help him prepare breakfast, but he looked at me and said,

“Don't bother, sweetheart. I've got it.”

Excuse me?

My man was cooking, doing the dishes, telling me not to stress myself?

Odogwu!

I stepped aside immediately.

Let him cook!

I stood there watching him move around the kitchen while occasionally reaching out to stroke his hair and beard.

Oh my God!

Men's hair and beards.

There is just something about them.

Especially when you love the person attached to the beard.

You know that feeling when you just want to run your fingers through his hair while staring at him?

Don't worry.

You don't know.

You're singlessssss.

Anyway, breakfast was finally ready.

We moved to the dining table, sat opposite each other and started eating.

And yes...

He fed meand i fed him too.

At this point, I could hear the collective sound of single people closing this article.

“Enough!”

No.

We're not done.

After breakfast, my babe looked at me and said,

“Darling, go and get dressed. We're going shopping.”

I almost screamed.

Shopping?

With my husband?

And he's the one paying?

Awwww.

My odogwu!

Clock ittttt!

I quickly went to get dressed.

We soon headed to the biggest mall in town.

The moment we entered, he looked at me and said,

“Pick whatever you want.”

OMG!!

I picked this.

Then that.

Then another thing.

“Oh, I like this too.”

“Put it in the cart.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

At that point, I stopped asking questions.

I was simply fulfilling my role as a sweet wife.

We walked through the mall together, laughing, talking and occasionally stopping at different stores.

He carried some of the bags while I carried the lighter ones.

Sometimes, our hands met accidentally, he would pull me closer.

You know those little moments?

The ones that don't look like much from the outside but somehow mean everything to you?

By the time we were done, I was exhausted.

My feet hurt and my body was so tired.

And my shopping energy had officially disappeared.

I got home and practically collapsed on the bed.

My husband looked at me, smiled and said,

“Babe, you should rest.”

He pulled me closer, gently patted me and told me to sleep.

I rested my head beside him.

His presence was comforting.

The room was quiet.

Everything felt peaceful.

I slowly closed my eyes.

And then...

I slept.

---

When I woke up, I instinctively reached to the other side of the bed.

Nothing.

I opened my eyes and looked around, but I couldn't see my husband.

I sat up.

“Honey?”

Silence.

I checked the kitchen.

Nothing.

The sitting room.

Nothing.

The bathroom.

Nothing.

My heart started beating faster.

Where did my husband go?

I searched everywhere.

Then suddenly...

I opened my eyes properly.

I was still in my bed.

I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

Then I realised...

It was all a dream.

My husby?

He was in my dream.

And there I was, lying in my actual bed, huggin

g my pillow like it had personally betrayed me.

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Honestly, I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

But one thing I know is...

The dream was beautiful.

Very beautiful.

See them, the singlesssss, down there doing “Awwwwww.”

Go carry your book joor!

And then you look at your own life and think, “What exactly am I doing?”

It is funny how quickly it can happen.

You could be perfectly content with where you are, and then one scroll, one post, or one announcement can suddenly make you feel like you are behind.

I think social media has changed the way we look at our lives.

Before social media became such a huge part of our everyday lives, we didn't constantly know what everyone else was doing. You could be going through your own life without having a running update on somebody else's achievements.

Now, it is almost impossible, someone is always doing something.

And because we see so much of it, we sometimes forget that we are only seeing a small part of people's lives.

We see the graduation pictures, but we don't see all the nights they spent worrying about whether they would actually graduate.

We see someone celebrating the success of their business, but we probably don't know how many times they failed before it finally worked.

We see the happy pictures in a relationship, but we don't see the arguments, misunderstandings and difficult conversations that happen behind closed doors.

We see the result but we don't see everything that came before it, and that is where comparison becomes dangerous.

You start comparing your ordinary days with somebody else's best moments.

You are sitting in your room wondering what you are doing with your life, while someone else is posting pictures from a beautiful vacation.

You are struggling to figure out what you want to do, while someone else seems to have their entire future planned out.

You are taking things one step at a time, while someone else appears to be running and before you know it, you start feeling like you are late.

Late for what exactly? You may not even know.

But somehow, you feel late.

There always seems to be someone ahead of us on social media.

Someone who started earlier.

Someone who is more successful.

Someone with more followers.

Someone making more money.

Someone who seems more confident.

Someone who seems to have everything figured out.

And if you spend enough time looking at other people's lives, you can start believing that you should be where they are too.

But why?

Who decided that everyone's life has to follow the same timeline?

We often forget that people have different circumstances, different opportunities, different struggles and different starting points.

Some people discover what they want to do very early.

Some people don't.

Some people become successful quickly.

Some people take years.

Some people have their lives together on the outside while struggling with things nobody knows about.

And some people simply take their time.

None of that makes one person more worthy than another.

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Yet social media makes comparison almost unavoidable.

There is always another person's life sitting right in front of you, looking better, faster or more exciting than yours.

And sometimes, the problem isn't even that you dislike your life.

You just keep looking at other people's lives until yours starts looking inadequate.

That's something worth thinking about.

Maybe your life isn't boring and you have just become too used to seeing everybody else's highlights.

Maybe you are not behind, you are simply on a different path because social media is not reality.

It is a collection of moments people decided to share.

And there is nothing wrong with sharing the good parts of your life. We all do it. Nobody is going to post every bad day, every rejection, every argument, every failed attempt or every moment they felt lost.

But we need to remember what we are looking at.

A post is a moment and not a complete life.

That person whose life looks perfect might have problems you know nothing about and the person whose life doesn't look impressive online might actually be having the most peaceful season of their life.

Not everything good has to be posted.

Some of the best things that happen to us never make it to Instagram, TikTok or anywhere else.

There are quiet achievements, small wins, personal growth.

Moments when you finally overcome something you've been struggling with for months.

Nobody may even know about them butthey still matter and maybe that is the part we forget.

We have become so accustomed to seeing people's biggest moments that ordinary life can start to feel like failure.

A normal day can feel unproductive.

A slow season can feel like stagnation.

And simply taking your time can feel like falling behind.

But perhaps a life does not have to look impressive to be meaningful.

Perhaps there are things happening in our lives right now that would never make an interesting post, but still matter deeply.

Perhaps we should be a little more careful about the lives we compare ourselves to.

Because behind every picture is a person we know very little about.

And behind every person we envy is a life we have never actually lived.

Maybe the problem was never that everyone else had a perfect life and that we simply got too used to seeing the parts they chose to show us.

Like bruuuh… I almost lost it.

I never even intended to step outside today , but I desperately needed to get a few things, so I had no choice. I just went out to get whatever I needed and come back home.

Our neighbour next door has a dog, and I think it’s a German Shepherd, if I’m not mistaken. Normally, the dog is always inside the compound and chained, but today, it wasn’t chained, and the gate was wide open.

So I could see the dog clearly.

But honestly, I wasn’t bothered. I didn’t even look at it twice. I just walked briskly past the compound and continued on my way.

I got to where I was going, and the woman there had turkeys. And these turkeys were BIG. 😭

I was even admiring how big they were.

Little did I know they were admiring me too. 😂

I bought what I needed and started heading home.

I was walking slowly, and I could hear the turkeys making those sounds behind me, but I was concentrating on something completely different.

Then, a few minutes later, I heard the sound getting closer.

I looked back.

And guess what?

These things were following me. 😩

I didn’t want to run because I knew they could run too. And yes, there were TWO of them.

So I started walking faster.

These creatures increased their pace too.

I turned to another direction.

They followed.

You’re laughing at me ba? I knew it. 😭😂

At this point, I was already losing it. The direction I had turned into wasn’t even the right way, so I turned back towards home.

These turkeys turned too.

That was when I knew I was trapped. 😭

I don’t even know why I decided to run.

But I ran.

And these things ran tooooo.

Likeeeee, WHY? 😭😭😭

I didn’t even bother looking back again. I just kept running and hoping I would somehow make it home.

And just when I was almost home, I passed that same house with the dog.

Immediately the dog saw me running, it came out of the compound and started chasing me too.

At that point, it was no longer funny.

I was saying different Adhkār because I genuinely knew I was in trouble. 😭

It had now become a full-blown racing competition between me, a dog and TWO turkeys.

Three animals versus me.

And I was the only one that didn’t sign up for the race. 😭😂

I ran past houses. I couldn't stop because, honestly, I didn't even want to imagine what would happen if they caught up with me.

You know how people say that whenever you’re in trouble, the craziest solution somehow finds its way into your head?

Well…

Do you know what I did next? 😂😂

Okay, drink water first. 🥺

So, I was running straight ahead when I suddenly decided to turn into a corner.

They followed.

But before they could get to me, I quickly dropped to the ground and lay flat on the grass.

I mean, I literally laid flat on the grass. 😭

Yes, I know it sounds foolish.

But at that moment, we call it a survival mechanism. 😂

I could hear them nearby, but somehow, they couldn’t see me.

I couldn’t even breathe properly. I was just there, quietly murmuring some Adhkār beneath my breath and hoping they would leave.

I stayed there for, if I’m not mistaken, about five minutes.

Five whole minutes.

Until I could no longer hear them.

Then I slowly looked up.

And these creatures were already going back to where they came from.

Do you think I just stood up and went home immediately?

Mee ke? 😂😭

I waited for another ten minutes just to be sure they were really gone before finally heading home.

It was a lottttt.

Like, I genuinely don’t k

now what would have happened if I didn’t think of hiding.

Anyway, I hope you never experience anything like this.

You love my story abiii…🌚🌚

Oya hit the subscribe button.

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She knew it wasn’t something she was supposed to be listening to, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier to stop. It had slowly become a part of her everyday life, something she reached for without thinking, something she listened to whenever she was bored, alone, happy, sad, or simply doing nothing.

She would tell herself, “I’ll stop someday.”

Sometimes she would feel guilty. Sometimes she would make promises to herself that she wouldn’t listen again. But somehow, she always found herself going back to it.

At some point, she realised she wasn’t just listening to music anymore.

She was attached to it.

It started during her Junior Secondary School days. She came from a standard Muslim home where she had been taught what was right and what was wrong. She knew the importance of the Qur’ān, she knew she was supposed to guard what she listened to, and she had even been blessed to memorise the Qur’ān.

But then came the influence of the people around her.

The kind of classmates she had exposed her to things she wasn’t used to. At first, it was just listening here and there. She didn’t think it would become a serious problem. She thought she could control herself.

But peer pressure is sometimes more powerful than we realise.

And Shaytān kept making the wrong thing look normal.

Gradually, she became so attached to music that she started noticing something frightening: she was forgetting portions of the Qur’ān she had memorised.

The very thing she had spent time memorising was becoming weaker while the songs she listened to were becoming easier to remember.

She could remember lyrics effortlessly, yet struggle to recall verses she had once memorised.

It was painful.

Truly, she began to understand that she couldn’t continue living that way. She was trying to keep two things in her heart that were pulling her in completely different directions.

Even when she decided to stop, it wasn’t easy.

There were days when she would tell herself, “This is it. I’m done with music.” But wherever she went, she somehow found herself around people playing or singing music. At first, she would resist. She would try not to pay attention.

But eventually, she would join them.

Sometimes she even felt embarrassed because it didn’t portray her well. The way she dressed, the way people knew her, and the kind of person she wanted to become didn’t align with this habit she had developed.

But addiction doesn’t always care about how something looks from the outside.

She found herself singing almost everywhere.

People who also enjoyed music would hear her sing and say things like, “Wow, this sister can even sing hip-hop songs!”

And honestly, a part of her still felt good whenever she heard such compliments.

But deep down, she knew she wanted out.

She wanted to change.

Yet she didn’t know how.

It even got to a point where, whenever no one was at home, she would take the MP3 player, turn on the radio and wait for the programmes where they played songs.

That was how bad it had become.

And it continued like that until one day.

Then something happened that became a major turning point in her life.

During a break while in school, she was sitting among her friends when she suddenly started screaming. According to what her friends narrated, it happened very suddenly. An Ustādh was called, and he attended to her and performed Ruqyah for her.

Alhamdulillāh, she was relieved after the Ruqyah.

She was advised to get a headset and listen to the Qur’ān daily.

So she started.

But a few weeks later, she experienced something similar again, and this time she was taken somewhere proper for Ruqyah. After everything was done, she was advised to take her relationship with the Qur’ān more seriously and to leave the things that had become harmful to her.

That was when she knew she had to make a serious decision.

She had to stop.

But how do you stop something you have become so used to?

How do you suddenly let go of something that has been part of your daily routine for years?

She started slowly.

She began listening to the Qur’ān every day. She tried to replace the time she spent listening to music with Qur’ān recitation. Whenever she walked past somewhere music was being played, she would move away as quickly as she could.

She avoided situations that she knew would pull her back.

And, importantly, her parents were supportive throughout the process.

They didn’t simply tell her, “Stop listening to music,” and leave her to figure everything out herself. They encouraged her, reminded her, supported her and helped her stay focused on the Qur’ān. Their support made the struggle easier because she knew she wasn’t fighting the battle alone.

There were times when she became tired, when she still slipped and listened to music once in a while.

And she would feel disappointed in herself.

But she eventually realised that falling once didn’t mean she had to give up completely. She had to keep trying. She had to keep returning to Allah.

She began to understand that breaking an addiction requires more than simply saying, “I’m stopping.”

You have to remove the things that keep feeding the addiction.

You have to change your environment when necessary.

You have to replace the habit with something better.

You have to be intentional about what you allow your ears and heart to consume.

And most importantly, you have to sincerely ask Allah for help.

At first, it was difficult.

Very difficult.

There were moments when she wondered if she would ever truly get over it. But she kept trying. She kept listening to the Qur’ān. She kept distancing herself from music. She kept making du‘ā. And she kept reminding herself why she wanted to change in the first place.

She didn’t want to lose her connection with the Qur’ān.

She didn’t want songs to occupy the space that should have been occupied by the words of Allah.

She didn’t want to be someone who could remember hundreds of song lyrics but struggle to remember what she had once memorised from the Qur’ān.

So she fought.

And Alhamdulillāh, with sincere effort, strong faith, the support of her parents, and the help of Allah, she eventually broke free.

Today, she can honestly say that she no longer listens to music.

She outgrew it.

What once felt impossible to live without became something she could walk away from.

And looking back, she realised that sometimes we underestimate how powerful habits can become. Something that starts as “just one song” can become a daily routine, then an attachment, and eventually an addiction.

But she also learnt something else:

No matter how deeply attached you are to a sin or a bad habit, you can still leave it.

It may not happen overnight.

You may struggle.

You may fall and have to get back up.

But keep trying.

Keep asking Allah for help.

Keep replacing what is harmful with what is beneficial.

And never think that because you have failed many times, you can no longer change.

She was addicted to music.

She knew it was haram.

And for a long time, she thought she would never be able to let it go.

But Alhamdulillāh, she did.

And today, she is grateful that she chose the Qur’ān over the music she once thought she couldn’t live without.

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Growing up, every conversation found its way back to success. Words like…

“Read harder,”

“Don't disappoint us,”

“Look at your friends” were common.

Those words were not meant to wound me; in fact, they were intended to motivate me.

But at times, words don't land where we intend them to. What felt like encouragement started to feel like comparison.

I found myself desperately doing everything a child could do to make her parents proud.

I tried.

I studied.

I prayed.

I burned the midnight oil.

I sacrificed my sleep, my time, and my leisure activities.

I gave it my best.

Yet, it never seemed to be enough.

Every time I noticed there was always someone faster or someone smarter.

I'm always closer to the top, but I never get to see it.

I was never the student everyone stood up to applaud for.

The story never changed. One morning, I picked up my phone and saw a post from some friends of mine. One graduated with first-class honors.

One received a fully funded scholarship.

One just landed a dream job.

The comment section was flooded with congratulations.

I was genuinely happy for them, so I typed my congratulations too.

I smiled and liked every post.

But the moment I dropped the phone, I felt so heavy.

I could see I wasn't celebrating others' success; I was mourning the life I thought I should have had. I began to question myself.

“What if I'm not good enough?

What if I'm not destined to be at the top?

What if there's a secret they know that I didn’t get to learn?”

Different thoughts came rushing to my mind.

Eventually, I stopped enjoying the process of learning. I was no longer studying because I loved it; I was studying because I was terrified of disappointing people.

The pressure became unbearable.

I researched how to overcome this.

One evening, after days of pretending I was fine while losing it, I locked myself in my room, making Du’a to Allāh to help me find my way back.

“If this path is written for me, strengthen me.”

“If my time has not come yet, grant me the patience to wait.”

"And if I've forgotten who I am trying to become in my quest to be like everyone else, please help me find myself again."

Those were the words I kept repeating.

A few days later, while scrolling through my phone, I came across a write-up that said, "Comparison is the thief of contentment."

I paused.

I kept reading.

I tried to decipher everything I read, and the book made me understand that success isn't something achieved overnight.

The book taught me that life is not a competition.

Growth is personal. Success is not measured by how quickly you arrive but by who you become along the way.

That was the day I made the decision to stop comparing myself to everyone else.

I stopped checking who was ahead; instead, I created a routine that suited my own capacity. I celebrated small progress.

Yes… I still face disappointments. I still fail sometimes.

But failure no longer convinced me that I was a failure. Rather, it made me keep going.

And today, people call me successful. Some admire the career I've built. Others admire my confidence. And some ask about the secret behind my consistency.

They see the destination. They never see the nights I questioned my existence. They never see the hidden tears behind my smiling face. They never see that young woman who once didn't believe in herself.

If I could sit beside the former version of myself today,

I would tell her to breathe.

To trust Allāh's timing.

To stop comparing her life to someone else's.

Because flowers do not compete.

Each one blooms exactly when the Creator ordained.

Your timeline isn't delayed because someone arrived before you.

Your story is not less beautiful because it's taking longer to unfold.

My name is Humairah.

Maybe yours isn't.

But if you've ever carried the exhausting weight of comparison,

If you've ever wondered why your best is not enough,

Then this was never only my ow

n story.

In one way or another,

It has always been yours.

Fiction. Inspired by real-life experiences, shared by many.

I was sitting in a quiet corner of the library, pretending to read but actually lost in thought.

"Excuse me," she said softly.

I looked up.

"Do you have the time?"

I reached for my phone.

"It's 4:37."

"Thank you."

She smiled, adjusted the stack of books in her hands, and walked away.

That should have been it.

Just another stranger in a library.

The following day, I met her again on the staircase leading to the library.

"Good afternoon," I greeted.

She returned the greeting with a smile, and we both walked into the same reading room.

It was around 12:30 p.m.

A few minutes later, it was time for Dhuhr.

I looked at my books, then at the time on my phone.

The masjid was almost an hour away. Going there would take a lot of time, and I hadn't covered much of what I came to read.

"But I can't delay my Ṣalāh either," I thought.

Then another idea came to mind.

"I'll pray here."

In the library?

"Yes... right here."

I stood up, headed to the restroom, relieved myself and performed ablution.

Back in the reading room, I opened a Qur'an app a friend had introduced me to and used it to locate the qiblah.

"This spot should do," I whispered.

The floor was clean enough.

I stood facing the qiblah, and began reciting the iqāmah.

"Excuse me..."

I turned around.

It was the same girl.

"Are you about to pray?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Would you mind waiting a few minutes? I'd like to make ablution too."

"Of course."

A few minutes later, she returned, this time with a hijab in her hands.

We stood side by side and prayed.

When we finished, I remained seated, quietly reciting my adhkār, while she returned to her seat.

I went back to my books as well.

By exactly 3:30 p.m., hunger had won the battle.

I packed my books and was just about to strap my bag when I noticed someone walking towards me.

It was her.

"Are you heading home?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"

"Sure."

She hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"You know... every time I come to this library and it's time for prayer, I never pray here. I just keep postponing them until I get home."

She paused.

"But when I saw you today, I kept asking myself, 'If she can pray here without worrying about who's watching, what's stopping me?'"

I didn't know what to say.

I simply smiled and said, "Alhamdulillāh."

We spoke for a while.

As we were about to leave, she smiled and asked,

"Can I have your contact?"

I was taken aback.

I hardly shared my number with people I had just met.

For a few seconds, I considered saying no.

But something within me said, "Go ahead."

So I did.

That one decision marked the beginning of a friendship I never saw coming.

Our conversations continued online.

I later discovered we were level mates, though we studied different courses.

The more we talked, the more we learnt about each other.

Somewhere along the line, we stopped being two strangers who met in a library.

We became friends.

Real friends.

Slowly, we began encouraging one another in our dīn.

We attended MSSN programmes together, and eventually, I introduced her to Madrasah.

Our friendship grew in the simplest ways.

We shared class materials, reminded each other about assignments, and sometimes stayed back after lectures just to talk about life.

There were days we laughed until people around us stared.

I even watched her become more conscious of her relationship with Allah.

She would sometimes call me just to ask questions about something she had learnt.

Watching her grow made me genuinely happy.

I thought this was how our friendship would always be.

I was wrong.

Everything began to change the day she introduced me to someone I had never seen before.

To be continued…

Author's Note: This is a work of fiction. While some emotions and experiences may feel familiar, the characters and events in this story are imagined.

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I'm in love.

Yes, you heard me very well.

Before you start shouting, "Who is the lucky guy?" or rushing to the comment section, calm down first. 😂

Ehn... I can already see some of you smiling.

Relax.

Take this chocolate first. 🍫

Now that everyone is calm...

Let me tell you how everything started.

So, I met this dark, handsome guy at an academic centre.

No, it wasn't love at first sight.

In fact, the first day we met, we simply greeted each other like every other student. Nothing special. No butterflies.

Just two people existing.

Don't interrupt me. I'm getting there. 😂

As the days went by, we kept seeing each other around the centre. We exchanged greetings once in a while and occasionally had little conversations.

Nothing serious.

At least... that's what I kept telling myself.

Then one day, we were given a group assignment.

By what I called "divine arrangement," we both ended up in the same group, and he was chosen as our group leader.

Omo...

That's where my problem started.

This guy was brilliant!

Not the type that talks too much just to sound intelligent.

He actually knew what he was saying.

The way he explained things...

The way he coordinated everyone...

The calmness with which he handled disagreements...

The confidence...

Everything just made sense.

I found myself paying more attention to him than I was paying to the assignment.

May Allah forgive me. 😂

Fortunately, our group came out as the best.

Everybody was celebrating.

Me?

I was celebrating something else entirely.

I won't lie... I think that was the exact moment I started liking him.

I began noticing little things.

Sometimes I would catch him looking in my direction.

Immediately our eyes met, he would look away.

"Hmmm..."

My mind started doing calculations that even a scientist couldn't explain.

"He definitely likes me."

"This must be destiny."

"The signs are obvious."

You know how imagination can confidently lie to someone? 😂

One day, I even overheard one of his friends mentioning my name while they were talking.

That was all I needed.

My brain completed the remaining story.

Butterflies?

My dear, they didn't just fly.

They rented an apartment inside my stomach. 🥹😂

Another day, I happened to be walking behind him.

Guys...

Can we talk about that walk?

The composure.

The confidence.

The calmness.

The neat appearance.

The aura.

Everything was just giving...

"Husband material."

I even started rating him in my head.

Looks? 100%.

Intelligence? 100%.

Modesty? 100%.

Good aura? 100%.

Then I heard from one of his friends that he could cook.

Ha!

Finished.

At that point, I said to myself,

"This one is complete."

The only thing remaining was for him to submit his application.

I even started planning.

"What if I tell him first?"

"Before another sister carries him away?"

"Life is too short."

"Closed mouths don't get fed."

See me motivating myself. 😂

I almost convinced myself to shoot my shot.

In my head, everything had already happened.

We had become friends.

He admired me.

We got married.

Had children.

Lived happily ever after.

Our grandchildren were probably already playing outside.

Only for me to suddenly pause...

And ask myself,

"Wait... who exactly said this guy likes you?"

Silence.

Then reality landed.

Everything...

Absolutely everything...

Was happening only inside my head.

Meanwhile, I had already written, directed, produced and completed an entire romantic series. 😂

So...

Did I shoot my shot?

No.

Did he confess?

No.

Did anything happen between us?

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Absolutely not.

The only relationship that existed was between me and my imagination.

Anyway...

You people are too nosy.

See how you patiently read everything because you wanted gist.

Bye. 😂🤍

Unlike many children around me, I wasn't exposed to social media at a young age. In fact, we didn't even have a television at home. My dad never saw the need to buy one, and looking back now, I think it was a decision both he and my mum agreed on.

The only time we got to watch television was during festive periods when we visited our grandmother's house. That was where I first discovered Yoruba movies and other TV programmes. It felt like entering a different world because it wasn't something we experienced at home.

Even when Android phones became common, I didn't own or use one until after I graduated from secondary school. Surprised? That's simply how things worked in our house.

My dad believed that children shouldn't be exposed too early to the distractions and vices that come with the internet and social media. He always felt that before giving a child such access, the child should be mature enough to know the difference between right and wrong, think independently, and filter what society throws at them instead of accepting everything they see.

My mum was no different. If my dad was strict, my mum's monitoring spirit was on another level. She fully supported his parenting style and made sure the rules were followed.

It wasn't only about gadgets and television. Even physically, we lived a very sheltered life. We weren't allowed to keep friends outside our schoolmates. Bringing just anyone home wasn't acceptable. Going out for fun was almost impossible because the answer to "Can I go out?" was usually a simple "No."

With time, I got used to that lifestyle. It became normal.

When I eventually got my first Android phone, I noticed something funny about myself. Unlike many people who immediately became addicted to movies, I wasn't interested. For almost the first two years of using my phone, movies hardly appealed to me because I simply wasn't raised with them.

Even today, if you catch me watching one, it's probably because I'm trying to pass time. It's still not something I naturally enjoy.

Of course, there were moments when I felt my parents were being too strict. As a teenager, I couldn't understand why my life seemed so different from that of my friends. I questioned many of their decisions.

There was even a time I promised myself that the university I would attend had to be very far from home. In my mind, distance meant freedom. I imagined I would finally go wherever I wanted without asking for permission or hearing "No."

That was the mindset I carried for years.

But life has a way of teaching lessons you cannot learn from words alone.

When I eventually entered the university, I realised something that completely changed my perspective. Freedom isn't really about being far away from your parents. It's about who you are when nobody is watching.

Character travels with you.

The values you were raised with don't disappear because you've changed your environment. If discipline has become part of you, you'll still practise it even when no one is there to remind you.

Ironically, the freedom I longed for didn't change me. I still found myself choosing to stay indoors while everyone else was outside. I still avoided many things people considered normal. Not because anyone forced me to, but because that was how I had been shaped.

Looking around today's society with all the distractions, unhealthy influences, and pressure to follow every trend, I understand my parents much better now. What I once saw as excessive strictness, I now see as protection. They weren't trying to control my life; they were trying to protect my mind, my character, and my future.

No parent is perfect, and every parenting style has its strengths and weaknesses. But as I grow older, I find myself appreciating many of the decisions I once complained about.

Sometimes, the things we resent while growing up become the very things we thank our parents for later in life.

Looking back now, I may not have understood their methods then, but today I understand their intentions. And for that, I am grateful.

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The days when I could sit with my books for hours and feel genuinely curious. The days when understanding a difficult concept felt rewarding and not exhausting. The days when I didn't have to convince myself to open my notes.

Somewhere along the line, things changed.

These days, I spend more time battling my thoughts than actually studying.

Sometimes, it's not even laziness.

It's not a lack of ambition either.

The dreams are still there.

The goals are still there.

The desire to succeed has never left.

But my mind...

My mind is tired.

Tired of deadlines.

Tired of expectations.

Tired of constantly worrying about the next test, the next assignment, the next exam.

Tired of feeling like no matter how much effort I put in, there's always something else waiting for me.

On a particular day, I found myself staring at a page for more than twenty minutes.

Just staring.

The words were right there in front of me.

The pen was in my hand.

The book was open.

Yet nothing was entering.

Nothing was registering.

I felt stuck.

Completely stuck.

And the funny thing is, I couldn't even fathom the reason.

Was I tired?

Was I overwhelmed?

Was I mentally exhausted?

I honestly couldn't tell.

All I knew was that my body was present, but my mind felt miles away.

I read the same line repeatedly.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Yet it felt like I had never read it before.

That's when it hit me.

Maybe I was overwhelmed.

Maybe I had been carrying too much for too long without admitting it to myself.

But then another thought crossed my mind.

Who am I to give up?

After coming this far?

After all the prayers I've made?

After all the sacrifices?

After all the nights I stayed awake hoping for a better tomorrow?

No.

I may be tired.

I may be struggling.

I may have lost my spark for a while.

But giving up cannot be the ending of my story.

Because the truth is that many of us are no longer fighting academics alone.

We are fighting exhaustion.

We are fighting self-doubt.

We are fighting anxiety about the future.

We are fighting battles nobody can see.

Some students are carrying family problems.

Some are carrying financial burdens.

Some are grieving.

Some are trying to heal from things they never talk about.

Yet every morning, they still show up.

They attend classes.

They submit assignments.

They write examinations.

They smile when people ask if they're fine.

And somehow, they keep moving.

People often see the results.

They see the grades.

They see the certificates.

They see the achievements.

What they don't see are the countless moments when a student sits alone questioning everything.

The moments when motivation disappears.

The moments when confidence crumbles.

The moments when your books are open but your mind is drowning in a thousand thoughts.

The moments when you wonder whether you're still capable of becoming the person you once dreamed of being.

And perhaps that's what hurts the most.

Not failing.

Not the workload.

Not even the sleepless nights.

But missing the version of yourself that once had so much energy, so much passion, and so much excitement.

Missing the version of yourself that believed anything was possible.

Missing the spark that made everything feel lighter.

Yet, despite everything, I still have hope.

Hope that this season will not last forever.

Hope that one day the fog will clear.

Hope that the pages I struggle to understand today will eventually make sense.

Hope that Allah will never allow my efforts to be in vain.

Because maybe strength isn't always being motivated.

Maybe strength is opening the book when you don't feel like it.

Maybe strength is trying again after a bad result.

Maybe strength is showing up when your heart wants to stay hidden.

Maybe strength is continuing the journey even when you've temporarily lost the spark that started it.

So if you're reading this and you've been feeling the same way, know that you're not alone.

If you've ever stared at a page for twenty minutes without understanding a thing, you're not alone.

If you've ever questioned your abilities, you're not alone.

If you've ever felt overwhelmed by everything happening around you, you're not alone.

And if you've ever felt like giving up, but chose to keep going anyway, then perhaps you're stronger than you realize.

For now, I may not have all the answers.

I may still be figuring things out.

I may still be searching for the spark I once had.

But one thing I know for certain is this:

I didn't come this far to stop here.

So I'll keep moving.

One page at a time.

One lecture at a time.

One assignment at a time.

One prayer at a time.

Trusting that the same Allah who brought me this far will carry me through the rest. 🤍📚

Photo credit: Pinterest.

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It was supposed to be a straightforward journey. The kind of trip you mentally prepare five hours for, give or take a few minutes. Nothing extraordinary. Just another road trip from one state to another.

But somewhere along the way, the road decided it had other plans.

What should have taken five hours eventually consumed ten.

Ten hours.

At first, nobody seemed too concerned. Traffic is part of the Nigerian experience. You see brake lights ahead, reduce your expectations, and carry on. But this wasn't ordinary traffic.

For nearly three hours, we barely moved.

Not slowly.

Not gradually.

We simply stopped.

Vehicles stretched endlessly ahead of us and behind us. Engines idled. Conversations faded in and out. People peered through windows searching for answers that never came.

The strange thing was that nobody seemed to know what was happening.

No announcements.

No visible accident.

No construction work.

No broken-down truck blocking the road.

Nothing.

Just an entire highway held hostage by an invisible cause.

As the hours dragged on, exhaustion began to settle in.

I am usually the kind of person who avoids eating before travelling. It has always been one of my personal rules. But somewhere between hunger, fatigue, and uncertainty, that rule quietly surrendered.

Yesterday was not the day for principles.

The road had already won.

What fascinated me most was the hope I kept holding onto.

I kept telling myself:

"When we finally get to the front, we'll see the cause."

Surely there had to be one.

Surely something significant had happened.

Surely there was a reason hundreds of people had collectively lost hours of their lives.

But when we eventually arrived at the supposed source of the traffic, there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

The road simply opened up and continued as though nothing had happened.

I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

But because it felt absurd.

How could so much delay come from something nobody could identify?

How could thousands of people lose time to a problem without a face?

And perhaps that's not just a road problem.

Maybe that's life too.

Sometimes we find ourselves delayed by things we cannot explain.

Plans take longer than expected.

Dreams arrive later than anticipated.

Opportunities seem stuck in traffic.

And often, there is no clear reason why.

You simply keep moving and trust that eventually the road will open again.

Yet despite the frustration, something beautiful emerged from the waiting.

The delay forced me to pay attention.

I looked outside more.

I observed.

I watched.

I noticed things I would probably have missed if the journey had gone exactly as planned.

The trees especially caught my attention.

They stood quietly along the roadside, completely unconcerned with human schedules.

They were not worried about arrival times.

They were not frustrated by delays.

They were not calculating lost hours.

They simply existed.

Rooted.

Calm.

Patient.

Unbothered.

There was something deeply peaceful about them.

As I stared at those trees, a thought crossed my mind.

What if human beings could live with even a fraction of that tranquility?

What if we weren't constantly rushing toward the next thing?

What if every inconvenience didn't feel like a personal attack?

What if we learned to stand firm through seasons the way trees do?

Life often feels like a never-ending cycle of hurdles.

One challenge ends and another begins.

One problem is solved and another appears.

The ups and downs can become exhausting.

Yet nature reminds us that not everything needs to be fought.

Some things simply need to be endured.

May Allāh ease our journeys through life just as He eases our journeys on the road.

As if the day hadn't given me enough to think about, something else caught my attention.

A billboard.

At first glance, it seemed ordinary.

Then I looked closer.

The design was clearly AI-generated.

And honestly, I was surprised.

I have seen AI-generated flyers all over social media. They appear daily on timelines and WhatsApp statuses.

But seeing one stretched across a massive billboard felt different.

Perhaps because billboards are meant to command attention.

They're meant to represent brands, businesses, and messages at their best.

Yet this particular design felt lifeless.

Technically impressive.

But emotionally empty.

And before anyone misunderstands me, I am not against AI.

Far from it.

Artificial intelligence is one of the most remarkable tools available today.

Even graphic designers can use it to improve efficiency, generate ideas, and enhance their workflow.

But a tool is still a tool.

Creativity remains human.

Design remains human.

Taste remains human.

The ability to communicate feeling, emotion, and meaning still relies heavily on the person behind the screen.

Maybe I am old-fashioned.

Maybe I am biased toward human craftsmanship.

But I still believe that great design should do more than look impressive.

It should feel alive.

It should communicate.

It should inspire.

And often, the difference between something generated and something genuinely created is easier to notice than people think.

Then there were the hills.

SubḥānAllāh.

The hills were magnificent.

Rising quietly in the distance, they seemed untouched by the chaos of human life.

No traffic.

No deadlines.

No confusion.

Just a powerful display of Allāh's creation.

Every landscape I passed reminded me of something important.

The world is full of signs.

We are often too busy to notice them.

Too distracted.

Too rushed.

Too concerned with getting somewhere.

Yet those signs remain.

Waiting patiently for us to pay attention.

By the end of the journey, I realised something.

The delay was frustrating.

The exhaustion was real.

The wasted hours cannot be recovered.

But perhaps the journey was never only about arriving.

Perhaps there was something to learn in the waiting.

Something to notice in the stillness.

Something to appreciate in the inconvenience.

Photo credit:Shot by Me

You tried to hold them open.

You knocked.

You waited.

You made du‘ā in quiet moments no one saw.

You mentioned it in sujūd like it was the only thing that mattered.

You adjusted.

You compromised.

You told yourself, “Maybe if I try a little more…”

But somehow… it still didn’t work.

Not because you didn’t try hard enough.

Not because you weren’t sincere enough.

Not because you didn’t deserve it.

But because that door was never meant to stay open for you.

We like to comfort ourselves with, “If it’s meant for you, it will come.”

But we don’t talk enough about the things we forced…

the things we held onto tightly…

the things we wanted so badly that we started ignoring the signs.

The delays.

The discomfort.

The subtle uneasiness in your chest that you kept brushing aside.

You called it hope.

Sometimes… it was a warning.

That relationship you kept trying to fix.

That opportunity you kept chasing.

That version of life you built so beautifully in your head.

You saw ease.

You saw happiness.

You saw “this could finally be it.”

But Allah saw the unseen.

He saw what would come after the excitement fades.

He saw what it would do to your heart, your imān, your peace.

He saw the version of you that would slowly get lost trying to maintain something that was never written for you.

Sometimes, what feels like rejection

is actually protection in its most painful form.

Because if that door stayed open:

• maybe it would’ve distanced you from Allah in ways you wouldn’t notice immediately

• maybe it would’ve tied your heart to something temporary

• maybe it would’ve broken you so deeply that putting yourself back together would take years.

So it didn’t just close…

It was locked.

And that… that is the part that hurts the most.

Because a closed door still leaves room for “maybe.”

Maybe later.

Maybe again.

Maybe if things change.

But a locked door removes the illusion.

It confronts you with a reality you didn’t want:

This is not yours.

And acceptance?

Acceptance is heavy when your heart is attached.

You start replaying everything.

“What if I said the right words?”

“What if I waited a little longer?”

“What if I was better?”

You begin to question yourself…

when in reality, it was never about you being enough.

Some things are not withheld because you lack something.

Some things are withheld because they lack goodness for you.

And if we’re being honest…

if Allah allowed everything we desired…

We would choose what harms us.

We would run toward what looks beautiful but carries hidden damage.

We would hold onto people who slowly pull us away from who we’re meant to be.

We would mistake attachment for destiny.

We would mistake comfort for good

So Allah, in His mercy, interrupts.

Not always in a way that feels gentle.

Not always in a way that makes sense immediately.

But always… with knowledge that is far beyond ours.

There are things you’re crying over today

that your future self will quietly thank Allah for removing.

One day, you’ll look back and realize:

if that door had stayed open,

you would have walked into something that looked like a blessing…

but carried the weight of a test you weren’t meant to carry.

And maybe that’s why it didn’t just close.

Because if it only closed,

you might have gone back.

You might have knocked again.

You might have forced it open.

So Allah locked it…

out of mercy you didn’t recognize at the time.

So no…

you didn’t just lose that opportunity.

You were redirected.

Carefully. Intentionally. Precisely.

You weren’t just rejected.

You were protected.

Even if it didn’t feel like it.

Even if it still doesn’t.

And maybe the real test isn’t the closed door…

It’s what you do when you realize it’s locked.

Do you keep standing there, hurting yourself trying to force what isn’t written?

Or do you turn away… trusting that whatever Allah has kept for you will not require you to break yourself to attain it?

Because Allah does not take something away

except that He knows exactly what He’s saving you from…

and exactly what He’s preparing you for.

Even when you don’t understand it yet.

Even when all you feel is loss.

So take a step back.

Breathe. Reflect.

Not every “no” is deprivation.

Not every ending is failure.

Not every closed path is misguidance.

Some are divine redirections.

Some are silent rescues.

Some are protection disguised as pain.

Some doors didn’t close…

Allah locked them for you.

No rehearsed conversations.

No trying too hard to be liked.

No carefully constructed versions of yourself.

With them, you arrive as you are,

and somehow, that is enough.

They don’t make you feel like you have to earn your place in their lives.

They don’t make you question where you stand.

There is no anxiety in their presence, no silent competition, no emotional guessing games.

Just peace.

And maybe that is what home truly feels like not perfection, not constant laughter,

but a quiet, steady kind of peace.

A place where your heart can rest.

Friendships that feel like home are not always loud.

They don’t always show up in grand gestures or dramatic moments.

Sometimes, they exist in the ordinary.

In random “how are you doing?

” messages.

In voice notes that start with nothing important but end with everything meaningful.

In sitting together, doing absolutely nothing, yet feeling completely full.

They are in the little things

the unnoticed things,

the things the world might overlook, but your heart does not.

And the beautiful part?

They don’t disappear when life gets hard.

When you are overwhelmed, distant, or not at your best,

they don’t take it personally.

They don’t withdraw love like a punishment.

Instead, they stay.

They check in gently.

They give you space without making you feel abandoned.

They understand the versions of you that you are still trying to understand yourself.

That kind of friendship is not common.

Because many people are around for the good days,

the easy days,

the days when you are fun, present, and glowing.

But the ones who feel like home?

They stay for the quiet days too.

The confusing days.

The days when you don’t even have the words to explain what you’re feeling.

They sit with you in your silence

and somehow, that silence speaks.

And maybe that is why losing friendships like that hurts differently.

Because it doesn’t just feel like losing a person,

it feels like losing a place you could rest your soul.

But when you have them, even if it’s just one person,

you begin to understand something important:

You don’t need a crowd.

You don’t need constant validation.

You don’t need a hundred connections that barely touch your heart.

You just need the ones that feel like home.

The ones who see you,

not just the version you show the world,

but the parts you hide, the parts you are still working on, the parts you don’t even fully understand.

And they stay anyway.

In a world that moves fast, forgets quickly, and loves loudly but shallowly,

finding a friendship that is soft, steady, and sincere…

is a quiet kind of miracle.

A gift.

A mercy.

So if you have that kind of friend,

the one you can be silent with,

the one who feels like safety,

the one whose presence calms your storms,

hold them gently.

Not out of fear of losing them,

but out of gratitude for having them.

Because not everyone gets to experience

a friendship that feels like home.

Envy is that quiet feeling in your heart when you see what someone else has… and you wish it was yours.

Not just admiration but discomfort that they have it.

Jealousy is deeper.

It makes you feel threatened, like someone else’s progress is somehow taking from you.

They are silent emotions… but very loud in the heart.

RELATABLE PART

Take for Instance,those of us that lives in hostels.

In the hostel, it shows up in ways we don’t always admit:

Your roommate gets gifts almost every week… and you start wondering why yours hasn’t come.

Someone is always reading and seems to understand everything in class… and you feel somehow behind.

One person is always neat, dressed well, put together… and you start comparing.

Another is always laughing, always surrounded by friends… and you feel left out.

Sometimes it’s even little things

who cooks better, who has nicer clothes, who people like more.

And slowly, without noticing, comparison enters…

and comparison gives birth to envy.

CONTENTMENT (THE MISSING PIECE)

Contentment is not having everything.

It is being at peace with what you have while trusting Allāh for what is coming.

Your journey is different.

Your timing is different.

Your tests are different.

What Allāh has written for you cannot be taken by someone else.

When your heart is content, you stop competing with people…

and start focusing on your own growth.

THE WAY OUT

You were never behind…

you were just looking at someone else’s timeline instead of your own.

The feeling may come but you don’t have to let it stay.

Check your heart early.

The moment comparison starts, remind yourself: “This is not my portion, and that’s okay.”

Make du‘ā for the person you feel envious of

it purifies your heart faster than anything.

Shift your focus, improve yourself instead of comparing yourself.

And most importantly, build your relationship with Allāh.

A heart that truly trusts Him finds peace, even when it is still waiting.

Because in the end…

you’re not in competition

You’re on a journey written differently just for you.

As a student, there is always something demanding your attention lectures, assignments, exams, group work, and the constant pressure to perform well. At the same time, your deen also requires commitment: your ṣalāh, your connection with the Qur’an, your dhikr, and your overall consciousness of Allah.

The challenge comes when these two worlds begin to feel like they are competing with each other.

There are days when academic stress takes over, and acts of worship begin to feel rushed or postponed. You tell yourself, “I’ll do it later,” or “I’ll read Qur’an when I’m less busy.” But “later” often turns into “not today.” On other days, you may try to focus on your deen, but your mind keeps drifting back to unfinished assignments and upcoming tests.

This back-and-forth can leave you feeling guilty, overwhelmed, and sometimes even spiritually disconnected.

However, the reality is that balance does not mean perfection.

Islam does not demand that you abandon your responsibilities as a student. In fact, seeking knowledge is itself an act of worship when done with the right intention. What matters is how you manage both aspects of your life without completely neglecting one for the other.

One important step is understanding that small, consistent acts of worship are more sustainable than occasional intense efforts. Praying your ṣalāh on time, even on your busiest days, helps you stay grounded. Taking a few minutes to make du‘ā or read a short portion of the Qur’an can make a significant difference in your spiritual state.

It is also important to be realistic with yourself. There will be days when you feel exhausted, unmotivated, or emotionally drained. On such days, instead of giving up completely, focus on doing what you can, no matter how small it seems. Consistency, even in small deeds, builds a stronger connection with Allah over time.

Another key point is recognizing that your deen is not separate from your daily life. It is not something you attend to only when you are free. Rather, it is something that should exist within everything you do. Studying with the intention to succeed and benefit others, maintaining honesty in your work, and being patient under pressure are all part of practicing your deen.

Pressure, especially in school, is almost unavoidable. Deadlines will come, expectations will rise, and there will always be moments of stress. But your connection with Allah is what gives you the strength to handle these challenges. Without that connection, everything else can start to feel overwhelming.

In the end, balancing deen, school, and pressure is not about having everything under control at all times. It is about trying, adjusting, and returning to Allah even after moments of weakness.

You may not always get it right, but as long as you keep making the effort, you are already on the right path

.

I know you’re tired… but you’re still trying.

To the girl who is tired… but still showing up,

I see you.

Not the version of you that smiles in public or says “I’m fine” when asked.

I mean the real you, the one who lies awake at night, overthinking, praying silently, wondering if things will ever make sense.

You’re exhausted.

Tired of trying.

Tired of hoping.

Tired of putting effort into things that don’t always give back.

But somehow… you’re still trying.

And that matters more than you think.

You think you’re weak because you feel everything so deeply.

But the truth is, it takes strength to keep going when your heart feels heavy.

It takes strength to still make duʿā’ when it feels like your prayers are hanging in the air.

It takes strength to believe in Allah’s plan when your own plans keep falling apart.

Let me remind you of something you may have forgotten:

Allah sees you.

He sees the tears you hide.

He hears the duʿā’ you whisper.

He knows the battles you don’t talk about.

Nothing about your struggle is invisible to Him.

Not your patience.

Not your silent endurance.

Not even the moments where you almost gave up… but didn’t.

You are not behind.

You are being shaped.

Softened.

Prepared for something your current version of you is not ready to hold yet.

And maybe that’s why it feels slow.

Maybe that’s why it feels heavy.

Because growth isn’t always loud or exciting sometimes, it looks like survival.

Sometimes, it looks like getting through the day and still turning back to Allah at night.

So if all you did today was not give up…

That is enough.

If all you did was whisper “Ya Allah, help me”…

That is enough.

If all you did was try again, even with a tired heart…

That is more than enough.

You are doing better than you think.

And one day, you’ll look back and realize

those quiet, difficult moments were not empty.

They were building you.

Hold on.

Allah is closer than you feel.

Just passing by… how’s your day really going?

Mine? Hmm.

It started off classically boring 😅

You know those days that just feel… flat.

But thankfully, my roomies are full of vibes, so the boredom didn’t fully win.

We were gisting, random talks, random laughter, and somehow the topic shifted to marital life. One of my roomies started talking with so much excitement. We were all grinning, and then she said, in this dramatic, almost dreamy tone:

“I have vision.”

The way she said it? So confident. So sure.

I didn’t interrupt. I just listened quietly.

And in that moment, something formed in my head:

“The way I envision my vision.”

It stayed with me.

Because it’s one thing to say you have vision.

It’s another thing to actually sit with it… and see it.

Not just “I want a good life.”

But what does it look like?

Who are you in it?

How do you speak?

How do you carry yourself?

What kind of peace surrounds you?

Sometimes we hold dreams loosely, like distant ideas.

But what if we held them intentionally?

What if we moved from vague wishes to clear pictures?

Don’t just say you have a vision.

Close your eyes and step into it.

Feel it.

Believe it.

Then start becoming it.

That small gist turned into a small reminder for me.

Maybe it’s a reminder for you too 🤍.

Pause for a moment and imagine it.

Someone places a plate before you and tells you: “Eat the flesh of your dead brother.”

Your stomach would turn instantly. Your heart would recoil in disgust. The thought alone is unbearable.

Yet in the Qur'an, Allah uses this exact image to describe something that happens in conversations almost every day.

“...And do not backbite one another. Would one of you like to eat the flesh of his dead brother? You would hate it…”

<<Qur’an 49:12>>

Backbiting rarely looks dangerous. It slips quietly into our gatherings, hidden in laughter, casual remarks, or conversations about someone who is not present.

But the Qur’an removes the disguise.

It paints a disturbing image so that the believer understands how serious this sin truly is. Speaking about someone behind their back is compared to eating the flesh of a dead brother, something every human being naturally detests.

This powerful comparison reminds us that a person's honor and dignity are sacred in Islam. Just as we would never violate the body of a person, we should never violate their reputation with our tongues.

Before speaking about someone who is absent, we should pause and ask ourselves:

Would I say this if they were standing right in front of me?

And if our tongues have slipped before as they sometimes do,the verse ends with hope. Allah reminds us that He is Most Accepting of repentance and Most Merciful.

So we turn back to Him.

We guard our words.

And we protect the dignity of others as carefully as we protect our own.

Because sometimes, the strongest act of faith is simply choosing silence over a harmful word.

We live in a world full of hatred and envy. Life is too short to measure your worth by others’ reactions.

From that moment, everything changed. I stopped chasing likes. I started setting boundaries. I followed peace, and I could finally feel internal happiness. I no longer begged for attention. That, I realized, is what we call growth.

Becoming her isn’t loud or flashy it’s quiet, deliberate, and lived. It’s the strength that comes from experience, the calm that comes from choosing peace over proof, and the freedom that comes from focusing on yourself instead of validation.

Yes, I’m new here, though I’ve wanted to write for a while. Procrastination held me back, but Alhamdulillāh, I’m live.

I remain Bint Dāwūd, learning, growing, and healing in every paragraph.