I guard the paper as if it were breath itself,
pressed to my chest,
believing it holds my strength within its folds.

I long for its giver to be as before—
tender,
true.
I pray he will grow deeper still,
that after nikah, I may be the light in his eye.

Yet my thoughts race—
a scroll of green flags,
a river of fears.
I crave assurance
that my home remains in his heart—
secure, and more than before.

So I turn to the Lord:
if khair is written,
joy will come—
greater than I ever dreamed to ask.

And this page is no love letter,
but a cloak of faith to be cherished:
lines of devotion,
handwriting so graceful
that each curve and flourish feels like art.

‎
‎Patience is salt on an open wound,
‎Hotter than the sun at noon—
‎Yet it arms its bearer well,
‎With no regrets when trials are done.
‎
‎And with Allah, no flame can harm,
‎As with Ibrahim in the fire’s embrace.
‎If hardship rains its needles down,
‎Each ***** hides eternal desire.
‎
‎Al-Baqarah whispers, firm and clear:
‎Allah is with the patient near.
‎Patience is the rope that swings—
‎Lifting weary hearts toward the sky.
‎For dreamers of success, it is the key,
‎The crown, the test, the final reward.
‎

I am a dried sea, pleading with the clouds.
‎Parched and hollow, yet a single drop could save me.
‎With every hardship, ease flows near—
‎And for the grateful, light will always rise