“There are giants in the sky,” I whispered to my little cousin, tucking her in as I flipped to the…
In Jannah, inshaAllah, I pray my home will be made of many rooms, each one holding a memory of those dearest to me. One of those rooms will be a red-bricked house, part-dorm, part-home..
My son whimpers in the dark of the night and I stir awake as his soft sounds swell into cries. It’s my turn to comfort him. Is he teething?
I never knew that that softness, too, is a color of strength. Not a shade, not a hue, not a tint—but a true color palette in its own right. A warm yellow, in some moments; a deep, steady blue in others. The white of surrender, the red of warmth, the deep brown that builds a home.
My maamu gets this look in his eyes when he peers into his telescope—a look of longing. A poet and an astronomer all in one, he was a boy with a notebook full of Urdu shairi and philosophical musings who grew into a man that chose a life of stability, of paying the bills.
October 7th was a day that shook the world to its very core. It shifted the global tide, uprooting our hearts – redefining everything we thought we understood about humanity, morality, and ourselves.
I scratch the edge of the pendant and admire the copper rust collecting under my nail beds.A testimony – that the dustings…
Four years later and I still remember her voice breaking down on the other end of the phone. That day…
