It was a beautiful Monday morning,
yet my body hesitated to rise.
It was love that lifted me โ
my husbandโs quiet encouragement,
a reminder that strength can be shared.
Three periods passed,
thirty-five minutes at a time,
my voice steady,
my heart trying its best.
Then books, red ink,
silent work โ
and home by two.
The air-conditioned room
hid thirst from me,
wrapped me in false ease.
But outside,
the sun met me fiercely,
its rays like tingling needles
against fasting skin.
Soon, even the heat softened.
The hot air became a blanket,
not cruel,
just present.
At home, I stood before Allah.
In prayer,
my heart opened without effort,
contentment flowing quietly,
a peace words cannot hold.
After Asr,
the kitchen welcomed me again โ
hands moving,
heart remembering.
And as the day always ends,
ten minutes before ifแนญฤr,
I poured myself out completely,
every worry, every hope,
returned to the One
who already knew.
This is Ramadan โ
tired bodies,
soft hearts,
and a satisfaction
that lingers
long after hunger fades.
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