Suad was her name. It probably still is. But who am I to know? One thing she constantly reminded me was ANYTHING is possible.
Let’s walk through history, I met her months ago, and naturally, we didn’t get off to a good start. Mainly because of our elders who were working behind the curtains, trying to forge a friendship of some sort between us two. Her, the carefree adolescent and me, the almost religious girl. It should be noted that she was one year older than me and I was supposed to be the good influence? Anyways, you can say we strongly disagreed with our elder’s doings. Surely we didn’t need one another in each other’s life for a reason as plain as that.
Nevertheless, her and I got past their plans.
Throughout life, we try to find that one person we’re almost alike. And often we do not. But I did. A real shocker. The more I learned about her, I saw me, the more she talked, I heard myself, a mixture of the old me, the new me. We were so much alike. She was the spitting image of the me I can’t forget, the me I can’t forgive. Hence, I always sympathized with her. Being misunderstood has no perks. Her pain was once my pain. Hence, she will never be forgotten for her struggle flows in my veins.
Despite knowing one another for a few months, I find myself endlessly wishing she comes back to Allah before death approaches her; endlessly wishing her prolonged suffering comes to an end, endlessly hoping she doesn’t come across people such as myself, potential hypocrites; endlessly wishing she’ll have a big enough heart to forgive me someday.
Where ever she is, I hope she’s doing better than she was when she left me.
Words of a Ramadan Addict 