There was noise everywhere, and all she wanted was a quiet place to sit and think, alone. She grabbed her brand new colorful notebook; that reflects her “outer” personality and appearance but rarely her true feelings, ran downstairs, put her shoes on and went outside. It’s ironic how the first place she thought of was out there, out there where everything seemed strange to her, where she faked most of her smiles and cheerfulness, where it simply wasn’t safe. But none of this seemed to matter, as she put her red jacket on and headed outside.
A place on the staircase seemed perfect, and luckily her old man kept the lights on. She sat down, crossed her legs, opened her notebook and began writing, “Why is this place unfair? Why is it that every time I try to get up on my feet, I stumble and fall back down? No one can help me, for I am helpless myself. This failure is tearing me to pieces, to an extent where I once had impure thoughts of hurting myself! With God’s will I got over that phase, by realizing how wrong this is and turned my heart to Allah.
But in a way I’m still hurting, something’s missing in my life, something is not right and I’ve got no one to turn too. Funny thing is everyone’s around, from my parents, to my siblings and friends, but I just can’t bring myself to talk to them! I just can’t. I can’t talk to anyone, because I don’t know if anyone would understand what I’m going through. What if they thought wrong of me? What if they got sick of what I keep on saying each and every time? Well, I guess that’s how life works, peoples’ intentions are good, but no one can help you but yourself.”
She pulled her left sleeve up and looked at the time, 10:26 pm, wondering how time goes by so slow during winter nights. Before closing her book and getting up, she had one last look at the half-moon that was right across of her and wrote back in her book, " الحمدلله في فرح, و في حزن. الحمدلله على كل شيء" then continued her way back in.
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